Posts from the ‘Hong Kong’ Category

Da Ping Huo

See, I'm not a foodie, fixated on ingredients, provenance, preparation, minutiae. Eating is fun, but I'm more about the experience. I regret not being able to recall details from every dish at this meal, but there were so many items, and not in tasting portions either. While I got over my public food photography phobia, I didnt feel this was an appropriate venue for geeking out (though I dont think anyone wouldve minded, after all, we were the only diners).

Si fang cai, a.k.a. speakeasies or unlicensed restaurants, seemed to be the rage in Hong Kong a few years ago, and still carry on. I'm not sure if Da Ping Huo still fits into this secret code, hidden door, word of mouth category, but it still feels worlds away from an established restaurant. It's not someones cozy home, but an austere concrete, metal and wood affair. Minimalist, chic-stark, but hardly soulless.

I knew the routine, primarily because I like to over plan and never leave anything to chance. It's like this: you must call ahead, there are seatings at 6:30 and 9:30, the menu is set and costs HK 250 ($32, which is a serious bargain) per person, and the eatery is owned by a couple. The husband, an artist with paintings adorning the walls, plays host, while his wife stays mostly behind the scenes as cook. Shes also a former opera singer, and I knew that she serenades diners at the end of the meal. Um, but I left this tiny detail out when originally explaining the concept to James, which was wise because it predictably freaked him out when brought up at dinner.

We were treated to (or traumatized by, depending on how much attention you crave) an unintentional private dining experience. My original worries about getting reservations were unfounded, and made me worry and wonder how they stay afloat (we were told they had four parties the night before). By this point during our vacation we were slightly more accustomed to the notion of being catered to in an unfilled room, and accordingly felt more relaxed than during our other foray into near solo dining at Frangipani.

We ordered a not too expensive Sauvignon Blanc (their corkage fee was surprisingly high, about $20, but I'm so not the oenophile—I'd never tote in my own bottle anyway) and waited for the food parade to begin. And once it started, there was no letting up. There are only so many synonyms for spicy and chile oil so allow me some slack because theres going to be some repetition.

First out were three cold appetizers in small saucers: shredded jellyfish in spicy oil, sweet and sour cucumber spears and bean curd rolls filled with tofu and mushrooms. Then there were impossibly slippery and chopstick-unfriendly transparent wide noodles bathed in yes, chile oil (I love chile oil, but I can see how its copious use might freak some folks out) and topped with something unexpectedly crunchy. After checking with the cook, we were able to deduce from our young waiter that they were deep-fried soybeans. The owners spoke next to no English and the waiter had a so-so command of the language, but didnt necessarily know food words and translations such as soybean. That was ok, it was kind of like a puzzle. We had cold poached chicken in chile oil, as well as a chicken and cabbage soup.

This was plenty of food and satisfying, but only the beginning. I realized we didnt have any rice, which would be a nice foil for all the chile spiked sauces, but perhaps its an appetizer/entrée thing because we were then informed that main dishes would be coming. Our plates were changed, rice was brought, and the big guns started appearing. A bowl of stewy, chile laden beef was brought out. At first I thought it was tripe, which I love, the meat was so chewy, but it was just a fatty cut. But good fatty (though gross seeming, I ate the remnants right out of our mini fridge before heading to airport two days later—it wasnt half bad cold) and tender. Classic ma po tofu arrived almost simultaneously and was crazy hot. It was at this moment that we realized that maybe youre not supposed to eat all of the food presented to you. I had no idea how many items were ultimately coming so it was hard to pace myself. We ended up “taking away” two dishes, both of these only at the owners suggestion. Normally I'd feel weird about this because I couldnt get a grip on doggie bag culture in Asia, which James and I are both unashamedly fond of.

The ma po tofu came with a preface that it would be spicy, which I was only half inclined to believe because I'm so used to restaurateurs saying items are hot when they are not, especially to Americans. Wow, the owner wasnt lying. The dish was tongue tingling in that front of the mouth hot way that you can even feel in your ears, not deep and creeping like Thai hot. On top of the burn Sichuan pepper conducted a background mouth buzz. The ground pork was firm and rich, the silky tofu like atomic white sponges. Breathing in or out merely fanned the flames. Our waiter seemed surprised that we could handle so much and admitted that he didnt like hot food (something we noticed common to many Hong Kongers). Maybe our taste buds have been dulled from smoking.

When new plates and a metal cracking implement were presented we got excited. A chile and garlic laden crab came hacked into large chunks. I'm not so good with extracting the meat since I didnt grow up eating crustaceans, but it was still fun. Seafood was followed by a dish of pork and yams, two flavors I adore but was too full to appreciate. Rich, almost gooey pork belly had melded into sweet tuber slices like a casserole. A peppery palate cleansing broth teeming with pea shoots buffered between the next and final savory course of pork dumplings. Two long slender skins were filled with smooth pate-like meat and sitting in a pool of what looked like red hot chile oil, but turned out to be mild and sweet. Dessert came in the form of tofu drizzled with a ginger syrup, which is very much in the Chinese sweets canon, and totally un-American. Refreshing rather than filling.

James posited that perhaps the cook wouldnt sing since we were the only diners. Ha, no such luck. Being serenaded can put pressure on you (do you smile, stay neutral, make eye contact?) and this was no strolling violinist or dinner theatre contralto. These were ear-piercing notes of Chinese opera. Which one, we didnt know, only that it was a “love song.” We were waiting for our wine glasses to shatter. It was definitely other worldly, at least other country-ish.

Somewhere during the middle of the meal there was a surprise interrupting incident when a large British group, ranging in age from maybe six to 76 randomly showed up asking “Sichuan?” They mustve had an inkling of what they were doing since they found the place and knew the style of cuisine, but thats where their knowledge ended. They then demanded to be served despite being walk-ins. The severe language barrier made it impossible for the owner to explain himself and the normal procedure. I could totally see a comedy of errors ensuing, but severely lacking in the comedy. I almost felt like I should say something helpful because it was going to end badly, but didnt think that was my place.

The waiter set the table, seated them and ran into the kitchen, likely telling the cook that six diners had popped in without notice. Mandarin shrieking commenced. Meanwhile the patriarch of the clueless crew was having a shit fit because there wasnt a menu. He just couldnt get the omakase (I know thats Japanese, but I dont know a better term) concept. “What do you mean, theres no menu. Ive never heard of such a thing.” Which turned into “Well, if theres no menu then well have to leave.” Completely offended and put out, the group were total preposterous British stereotypes, “well, I never…”

I was quietly busting a gut, but felt bad for the proprietors. And they apologized to us after the family left in a huff. And people think Americans are gauche. The fact that we “got” the meal and appreciated the efforts and graciousness of the hosts, made the evening feel more exclusive, like we really were members of some secret club. It's not that often that I feel more like a connoisseur and less like a clod.

Da Ping Huo * 49 Hollywood Rd., Hong Kong

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Spring Deer

1/2I'm sorry to have missed the famous roast goose at Yung Kee, but at least I got a dose of Peking duck (and plenty more roasted meats in between). If James had it his way we wouldve had peking duck every night in Hong Kong.

I'm sure there are fancier spots, but Spring Deer provided all that a peking duck meal should be: fun, mildly theatrical and fat-filled. We accidentally upped the cholesterol quotient by ordering a "vegetable." At least bamboo shoots and scallops sounded semi-healthy. Our charmingly intimidating mobster-esque waiter did warn "its fried," which didnt make sense at the time. What arrived was a massive tangle of shredded deep-fried greens speckled with deep-fried bamboo shoots and dried scallop floss. I had no idea how this dish was supposed to be eaten–in small quantities, as an accompaniment to something? We just plowed into it, and well, it was good, especially since were already fried greens converts thanks to Sripraphais watercress salad, which is deep-fried and battered.

Finally, the duck arrived. It took some time, but allowed us to snoop at the proceedings at nearby private dinner parties (we were seated in a weird back room, which was our own fault for showing up over an hour early. On the train ride from the airport James called and made reservations for 9pm, which made the host seem to freak out, so me being a nervous person about being the only diner in an empty room decided we should just show up at 8pm, especially since the whole reservations craze in Asia seemed like a joke half the time as wed end up in near vacant rooms. But this restaurant was crowded and they had a little name plate Mr. James made up for us for 9pm. We totally threw things off). There was lots of cognac and what looked to be sweet and sour prawns we were envious of. One party was wheeled over a salt baked chicken, which was ceremoniously cracked open with a wooden mallet wielded by a drunk and/or goofy member of the group.

We were carved a lot of duck, really too much for two people, and on vacation getting food to go isnt terribly practical. But the duck was perfectly crispy and fatty, the flesh a different stronger better flavor than we were used to. The pancakes were also thicker and floury, almost tortilla-like. My only complaint would be that the cucumbers and scallions were cut too thick and stubby, making the roll ups too chunky. But thats a minor source of contention in the scheme of things.

Spring Deer * 42 Mody Rd., Hong Kong

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Maxim’s City Hall

We were unintentionally the first people in this not-so-hallowed, but popular dim sum hall. I'm never up, out and anywhere before noon, but our body clocks were out of whack since it was our first morning after twenty hours of traveling. I was thinking that dim sum was an earlier affair, more breakfast than lunch. I swear NYC dim summers are early birds. We got to the doors just as they were opening at 11am, but I didnt get this at first and tried to barge in, not realizing the red panels were shut for a reason and that the eight-to-ten other folks lingering in the foyer werent just loitering for fun.

It was a parade of treats, just the way I like it. Later dim sum at Xin was too austere and Victoria Seafood was pristine, but lacking the visual allure of picking and pointing. Ive heard that the cart style, which were accustomed to, is a dying breed, but its thriving at City Hall. I couldnt even tell you what we ate, as it was our first meal and faded from memory, and also because we tried so many tidbits that its a blur.

I know there were mini sesame topped pork buns, chee chong fun, taro dumplings a.k.a. woo gok, little stubby, yellow open-topped dumplings filled with pork and possibly orange roe (these were everywhere, but new to me). Also popular but new were super light and crispy shrimp-filled cylinders that werent quite egg rolls, yet were battered and fried and served with mayonnaise. Odd.

I know we had twice that amount of food, and werent ashamed of our gluttony until we noticed other tables were daintily picking at perhaps two to three dishes. Well, the tourists at least, who mightve been timid about ordering or possibly truly dainty eaters.

Despite being unfashionably early, it was a wise move since the vast room was almost to capacity by the time we left. The meal went smoothly (more smoothly than our finding the restaurant–its upstairs and in the middle of a municipal complex). NYC dim sum can be more frustrating, have longer waits, shared tables (I'm surprised we got one to ourselves here) and language barriers (we once waited an eternity in Brooklyn for our number to be called before realizing they were doing it in Chinese. Duh). Hong Kong is a breeze by comparison.

Maxim's City Hall * 7 Edinburgh Pl., Hong Kong

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Tai Hing Roast

Chinese fast food, sort of, and possibly better than Maxims or Café de Coral. Tai Hing serves roast meats on rice like NY Noodletown, which is a style I can identify with and certainly get into. We kept it simple and ordered individual servings of roast goose and roast pork that came with rice and a few greens. Simple and satisfying. Other people had dipping sauces that I guess you have to ask for. Being in HK 24 hours at the point, we had already caught on to a few local customs. The big one being how everyone washes their chopsticks and bowls in hot tea that comes when you are seated. It's for rinsing not for drinking, and I'm still not exactly sure why its done. Luckily, I never made any drinking the fingerbowl water faux pas. I'd seen this done a couple times in NYC Chinatown and thought the people were freaks. Now I know that its classy.

Tai Hing Roast Restaurant * 484 Jaffe Rd., Hong Kong

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