Part 1: Chongqing Snack - Hong Kong

There’s something special about plane food, I can’t put my finger on it. Call me a loser but nothing excites me like a dry bread roll, a tiny block of cheese and rock solid butter. And if you’re smart, you’ll save that nature valley bar for later. The perfect fuel for a 21-hour trek across the world.

Arriving in a new place at night is never ideal. Especially if that place is the complete polar opposite of where you just came from. I grew up in a small town with a concentrated centre and just a few good places to eat, so to land in a place where the airport is in the middle of the city, surrounded by skyscrapers was… confusing, to say the least. In all honesty, I hadn’t thought much about what Hong Kong would be like when I got there, or what the plan was on Day 1. To start an entire year with this approach was silly, I must admit. I had no idea where to begin.

The first half of my year was been dedicated to figuring things out. The second half of my year was also dedicated to figuring things out. So I spent the better part of 11 months abroad figuring things out. It was only in the second half that I tackled Hong Kong in the way I knew best: with a list. But let’s talk about life pre-list. Thanks to the great power that is City University of Hong Kong, I met a very helpful French-Chinese friend who took on the great responsibility of showing us ignorant folk around. This, combined with learning to navigate an outrageously awkward kitchen, is what made up my months of August-December, 2023. In an ideal world, I’d have been able to go out for every meal, or in an even more ideal world, had a more functional, less revolting kitchen. Alas, such is the student lifestyle- my resources were limited.

Before going any further we must discuss this kitchen- equipped with a toaster oven, a microwave, a boiling water tap, and just two fridge-freezers between no less than 30 students from various countries with their own various habits. There was no way this was going to be easy. 8 cupboards, all empty save a multipack of Lee Kum Kee soy sauce which actually had mould inside the bottle (???); I thought it best to keep my belongings as separate as possible. Refrigerated goods in a bag right at the back of the cleanest looking fridge, and the largest drawer in my desk reserved only for cooking utensils and ingredients. This kitchen was scary, and that’s me being nice. If you don’t believe me, photo evidence of the mushrooms growing from under our 9th floor sink is available upon request. So when I show you the next few images, please bear all this information in mind.

The bar was lower than low. Not knowing where to shop or what to shop for was obstacle number two. I spent the first week without a frying pan, which resulted in the meals you see here:

A lot of eggs, a lot of kimchi, and a lot of disappointment. The only successes I had in these months were, unfortunately, outside the kitchen.

One of the first truly good memorable things I ate was during a hunt for the exciting Hong Kong street food I’d heard so much about. I trailed around the Mong Kok area with a couple of friends and like an angel descended from heaven, right in front of us was Chongqing snack. Thinking about it now, I can see the rays of light gleaming from behind it. If only I’d known the impact this experience was about to have on me. We ordered a couple of the signature cumin sausages, and as I ate, I watched a man order a pot of what looked like rice noodles with a bunch of toppings. I said to my friend, "I want that.” There was no way I was missing this so I forced myself to pluck up the courage to order. I pointed at the pile of prepared pots sitting on the counter assuming I was supposed to choose my toppings too, so began to point at cucumber, coriander, so on. Wrong. The lady behind the glass went for it- yes, I got my cucumber and coriander, but she also threw in spoonfuls of fried soybeans and peanuts, chilli oil, vinegar, chilli powder, soy sauce. She tossed all these goodies together, chucked it back in the box and handed it over. "Twenty-five". Twenty-five??? Twenty-five Hong Kong Dollars. That’s about £2.50, for reference. I took my first bite and my eyes opened right up. Could this be the tastiest, most texturally intriguing thing I've ever put in my mouth? I couldn't believe it.

Something I hadn't beed fed via Instagram or TikTok, something that I hadn't seen on any list. The cold noodles from Chongqing Snack became my go to meal when I had no idea what else to get. I recommended it to everyone I could, picking up boxes of the good stuff for friends in hopes they’d share some of my astonishment at the addictiveness of this unassuming little pot of joy. In the months after leaving Hong Kong, these noodles did not leave my mind; I probably mentioned them to every single person I spoke to. For some reason, I just recently I took it upon myself to finally do some research. Turns out this dish is called Liang Pi and is fairly simple to make at home. More on my semi-successful attempt at a later date.

Thank you for reading the first in a series of articles, quantity TBC.

Chongqing Snack, Yau Ma Tei, Hong Kong