The day before yesterday started off with a whimper. I went looking for the dim sum/yum cha place down the street recommended by the driver of my taxi from the airport. I checked with the hotel front desk and they said that there was a better place just up the street. No one takes bookings for yum cha so S, J and I should just show up and get a table. The directions were something like, “You go up to this next street outside that door. Turn left and it is a couple of blocks down the street, on the other side of Hennessy Street.” This all sounded good in theory, but it helps if you can remember the name of the restaurant and whether it was before or after the McDonald’s. In my defence, I’m not sure the coffee kicked in at all that day.
Thank goodness S and J were such good sports. Eventually we found the place and we also managed to pass a shop where J had to get a couple of things, while I tried to remember what the concierge had said. S suggested we should try the other direction since the one in which we were currently proceeding had brought us back in a circle (and bad memories in my mind of wandering the streets of London last April for an hour only to return to my starting point). Well done, S!
Holy laid back dim sum, Batman!
Lei Garden(s?) is apparently part of a chain of restaurants, one of which is famous for molecular something-or-other and requires 72 hours notice. This place lacked the feeding frenzy atmosphere which is often a part of the cart service and we watched with some bemusement at the older gentlemen reading their papers at some of the other tables. We ordered off descriptions on the English menu. I’m not sure that this helped because we couldn’t match all of the dishes to our list when food started to appear.
Given that the English menu provided us with about 4 dishes once we had ruled out the ones with pork, which I generally refuse to eat, the fried dishes and the ones that just sounded weird, I decided to be adventurous and went with J’s suggestions. We may not have known what we were eating, with the exception of the prawn dumplings, the lotus rice, the prawn rice noodles and the fried turnip cakes, each dish bore as little resemblance to its counterpart in a Western yum cha place as I do to my brothers.
The dumplings were a little smaller than those at many yum cha places in various Chinatowns so you could pop the whole thing in your mouth without looking like a squirrel with a mouthful of nuts, only less cute and furry. For another thing, the roast pork left us speechless except for J’s insistence that if I tried one thing on this trip, it had to be this pork. My prejudice against pork is that I don’t like the way the meat tastes. As long as meat doesn’t taste like meat (beef, chicken, pork) I will eat it. Pork generally tastes porky unless it has had so many preservatives, salt and other bad-for-you stuff added to it that it is just a vehicle for those other things. So the highlight of this meal was the one thing that I thought I would absolutely hate.
I don’t know what they did to this but – the skin (?) was crispy and light, kind of like a really good tempura batter. The meat didn’t taste porky and the bite didn’t have that awful greasy feel in the mouth with a lingering aftertaste. Somehow they had cooked it so that the fat had rendered itself out without drying the meat and all you felt and heard was the crunching of the golden crust along with some salty goodness in small pieces about the size of petit fours when you are at afternoon tea. J then had to go to a work function, leaving S and me to do some girly bonding.
Window shopping is only incidental
There was some window shopping at various locations (Times Square being one) and several other ones in the guide books. I can’t remember their names and it was all incidental anyway as our mission was pretty simple: get a birthday card for one of S’s friends in keeping with their tradition, find some postcards for me, which was surprisingly hard, have some ice cream (mmm, Haagen Daaz – ok, I have no idea how to spell that) and buy some household groceries for S & J. My quest to replace my concealer has also been surprisingly unsuccessful to date, but that is for another day.
If you were to ask us what we talked about, we would be hard pressed to tell you anything more than “some upcoming travel plans, moving, being unable to find things because they are under boxes, infuriating telecommunications companies, just stuff”. Guys, think of it this way. It’s a way for those of us, who are unfamiliar with the words “gym” and/or “exercise” in connection with ourselves, to burn a few calories. I understand the ice cream didn’t really help, but that was so not the point. It’s our bonding time. If you’re lucky, we might remember something that you need/might like/mentioned, so you get triple the fun:
1. we’re happy, which should make you happy;
2. we are doing our version of exercise, but which we doesn’t feel like exercise; and
3. you might get a treat. Or not.
Ladies, I’m sure you all see where I am going here. Gentlemen, just go with it. It’s a lot easier for all of us when you don’t argue. A wise man whom I heard at a wedding advised his new son-in-law, “The key to a happy marriage is encompassed in two words: yes dear”. It sounds so sensible, I definitely think it’s worth a try (at least occasionally) although yes, I do realise that this recommendation is biased in my favour.
There is one odd thing about shopping in Hong Kong: although many of the shopping centres are connected by elevated walkways and seem designed to keep you in them all day (if only by virtue of the fact that you could get lost and wander in expensive circles all day) not many of the doors are automated. In other words, they are not Mommy-and-stroller (or even slightly handicapped) friendly. S and I weren’t sure if this meant that you were supposed to have a nanny to mind the kidlets while you go shopping, or whether it all stops when you have kiddies. If anyone knows the answer, feel free to share.
Michelin star Sunday
Dinner had been booked at a ramen place called Mist, about which S and I both wanted to try after reading about it in several magazines. Mist is, according to Time Out Hong Kong, one of two Japanese restaurants in HK to be awarded a Michelin star (www.mist.com.hk, 4 Sun Wui Road, Causeway Bay, Hong Kong, 2881 5006). The business card says that it is a member of the Paul Martin Noodle Club. I don’t know what that is but I want to find out...
Mist was amazing – it managed to stunt my generally satisfactory repertoire of superlatives and left S, J and me groping for words. J’s fish tartare was a white fish (perhaps yellowtail?) mixed with avocado and something else to make it look a bit creamy. This was then served on a red cabbage/endive leaf, which resulted in eliciting noises which are only appropriate when eating divine food or...well...so anyway, my smoked scallop salad then arrived – the smokiness of the scallops permeated the entire dish, the scallops themselves just barely cooked through and all of it topped with tobiko and some kind of dressing that I can’t describe. More inappropriate noises ensued. I thought this could be the perfect first date, as long as you are prepared to be unable to move at the end of the meal. Mara, I really could have used your input last night!
S’s starter was a baked mushroom medley. The mushrooms included the king mushrooms, shimeji, possibly others, all torched then topped with torched panko crumbs and some kind of “herb sauce” which bore a large resemblance to pesto...there was some cheating as J is not supposed to have gluten, but I think S’s and my inarticulately happy mumblings goaded him into taking just a teensy bite. He managed to restrain himself with one more teensy bite, but it was a heroic exercise in self control.
This all happened before the main event: the ramen which was the subject of the Time Out article. The noodles are slightly thinner than is traditional (according to the write up), made from wheat sourced from 3 separate locations in order to get the texture (?) right (according to the restaurant’s blurb). There were 4 types or broth: miso, karamiso, ume-shio and one other which I currently can’t remember, being in a complete food coma. Our noodles arrived and after the first spoonful, there were insistent exchanges of “you have to try this, this is amaaaazing!” with which everyone gleefully complied. My ume shio also had some kelp (as described by the enthusiastically helpful staff but which appeared to be like mozuku, only green) hidden under the shiso leaf and ume. The ume was large and sweet, which seems like a contradiction given that it’s been pickled. It added that extra zing to the chicken and konbu stock (Time Out’s description) which elevated my light broth from merely really delicious up to “worth a special visit”.
The karamiso broth was richly flavoured without being heavy, the noodles’ delicate appearance belying their ability to stand up to the robust broth and our inability to inhale the noodles as quickly as the man seated to my right who finished his dinner before I had made a dent in mine. Bear in mind his dinner arrived after mine as well, but I just couldn’t keep up with the slurping to my right...anyway, the noodle was still as al dente when I chased the last couple around the bottom of my bowl as they were when I took my first bite.
I could go on further about all this except that S, J and I looked at each other and then booked our seats for Tuesday night (my last night in HK) before we even asked for our bill for Sunday’s dinner. We also requested the exact same seats, rather than the banquettes and tables in the restaurant. I promise not to bore you with a second rendition on Mist but rest assured I will enjoy it just as much.
We had been seated by the counter instead of the tables because we booked late, but this actually added to the experience. I unashamedly stood up on the rail on which you can rest your feet while sitting on the tall stools, to look over the counter and watch the chefs. Every once in a while one of the waitresses or chefs would come over to us and explain what they were making (the ramen sushi, the spoons, the chiba pork...) which were then delivered to another table. I love how chatty people get when you are genuinely interested in what they do.
The service was excellent, friendly and very attentive (although no bonus points for clearing our dishes before everyone was finished). I’m debating bonus points for the white gloves worn while setting out the cutlery for our appetisers, but then I thought maybe that was a requirement for a Michelin star. Or it could be a wanky affectation and I just have no idea.
Dumpling noodle soups and SoHo Monday
It wasn’t chatty at Mak’s noodles earlier yesterday at lunch (Wellington Street, SoHo – with an article by Anthony Bourdain of No Reservations proudly displayed under the plastic cover on our table). S and I had had a bowl of soup noodles each and shared an order of green vegetables and jah jiang mein (basically Chinese spaghetti Bolognese with chili). I love Hong Kong sizes – they are small enough that you can try several things, especially if you eat a lot. On the way out we paused by the front window where you can see the three chefs plying their craft – one dipping and cooking the dumplings, one taking those dumplings and/or noodles and cooking them some more and possibly doing other esoteric things to them, the last one ladling the appropriate soup/sauce on the dumpling and/or noodles. They did, however, wave goodbye to S and me when we finally tore ourselves away from the front windows.
The broth for the (shrimp) wonton noodle soup was everything Bourdain promised – shrimpy, rich, moreish and no greasy feel in your mouth afterward. The broth that came with the jah jiang mien suffered in comparison, being a bit heavy on the fish and leaving an oily feeling coating your mouth. We didn’t have any more of that stock but ended with our noodles and more pork sauce, where only salty, sweet, slightly crunchy and spicy deliciousness remained.
S unfortunately did not feel well in the later afternoon and had to have a quiet night home to recuperate for today. In the meantime, I had made arrangements to catch up with another friend, PD whom I knew from Sydney. We started with drinks in SoHo (Peak Bar), then went to another dumpling noodle soup place for dinner. He had offered several options for dinner but I thought we should do what he would do on a normal night. How else to make the most of having a local to show you around?
PD let me order, but I had gotten used to the smaller portions and...whoops. Too much or not, we managed to get through most of it although I wrote most of this while in the midst of a food and jetlag induced coma. Our dinner was delicious and I am still taking mental notes although that space is rapidly running out. One wonderful bonus about catching up with PD was that when conversation turned to coffee, he could recommend one that serves Australian coffee! Not only that, we happened to walk past it on our way to after dinner drinks at one of several local watering holes so he pointed it out on our way past.
I couldn’t tell you what we talked about either. I think there was something about jetlag, keys and our respective solutions to a dilemma involving both. The garrulousness that I remember is still alive and very much in evidence, as is his palpable air of contentment. There was some talk about what his life is like as an expat, etc. etc. I believe that we discussed the meaning of life but did reached neither a satisfactory nor agreeable answer.
It is now Tuesday morning and my last day in Hong Kong. Tomorrow morning I will have to wake up at some ridiculous hour and get to the airport to fly to London. I trust there will be little or no traffic as HK doesn’t seem to really wake up until after 10am.
In the meantime, it is time to see if I can find the cafe with good coffee on my own. At least I know where it is and kind of remember what it looks like. I hope it won’t look too different during the day! There are high hopes as Toby’s Estate is served at a couple of my favourite Sydney coffee places. By the by, PD, did we have a time frame on the wager and suit fittings? I’m trying to figure out if September is too soon and whether those final three months will make much of a difference...
