Part 3: Seaweed Pringles - Hong Kong

After throwing myself into a weekend in Kuala Lumpur, I thought it probably about time I started to get to know Hong Kong. I don't think it's possible to live on hard boiled eggs and kimchi forever (is it?). Eating in Hong Kong means dim sum, roast meats, noodles, fresh seafood and a million other things, so you’ll have to bear with me.

I had a few run ins with roast meats- pork, goose, duck, the first of them being in my local grocery store, Taste. The food counter at Taste was like a playground for a girl who gets excited by the sushi counter at the back of Asda. The counters at Taste were stacked with fried chicken gizzard, uni temaki, and catch you'd never find in the aisles of Asda or Tesco. Not even M&S. My first Char Siu pork came cling filmed in a styrofoam tray from the Taste hot food counter and in my limited knowledge, I thought it was pretty good.

Most streets in Hong Kong house at least one window lined with glistening roast ducks and geese, pigeons if you’re lucky. These birds are stuffed, marinated, dried, and roasted until the skin shines a deep golden brown, and the restaurant-fronts decorated with them are one of the most iconic symbols of the city. Yat Lok is a tiny Michelin starred restaurant in the Central district, one of the most famous places for a plate of Cantonese-style roast goose. I’m a skeptic when it comes to restaurant

recommendations, and that includes Michelin. The guide currently lists 204 establishments in Hong Kong- impressive considering London has 394 and is almost 1.5 times the size. It was practically impossible to live in Hong Kong for 12 months and not eat somewhere in the Michelin Guide. Give me a break!

We placed our order (thank you to my Mandarin-speaking friend for taking care of the hardest part): one roast goose with rice and one with noodles. Going for noodles was my first mistake, I could feel it as soon as the server left our table. They were impossible to keep hold of so there I was making a fool of myself sliding noodles onto a spoon with a pair of chopsticks, hoping and praying no one noticed the fumbling foreigner. But that was nothing compared to what I did next. My second mistake was much, much worse: I stupidly underestimated the strength of chilli oil here, and even more stupidly overestimated my tolerance for it. Having said this I really did add a tiny amount, but that tiny amount stayed with me for the following hour. Sweat, tears, the lower half of my face almost totally numb. I learnt my lesson, to say the least.

Let’s turn our attention to Peking duck. Often confused with Cantonese roast duck due to their similar appearance, Peking duck differs in preparation and serving. It’s favoured for its natural flavour and served with steamed pancakes, hoisin, spring onions and cucumbers, while its Cantonese cousin is stuffed with aromatics and herbs, more commonly served with rice or noodles. Peking duck is also known for the intricate carving before serving, and the best way to eat it is to watch the whole show. We wandered around Tsim Sha Tsui slightly lost and confused before shuffling up the stairs into one of Hong Kong’s thousands of hidden restaurants. We ordered a few things but really only cared about the duck. Thin pancakes, cucumber, spring onion, and hoisin sauce were set on the table in preparation, then out came the bird. It was wheeled over by a  smartly-dressed gentleman with a cleaver in his hand and a duck on his tray. He got to work, slicing evenly and thinly- a treat for the old eyes. He left the plate on the table and an air of competition emerged. Who’s going first? Which piece has the crispiest skin? I want that one! No one needed to say a thing. We each made up our pancakes and silently took the first bite. I thought I knew what to expect after extensive experience with the typical British-Chinese takeaway item, ‘1/2 Crispy Aromatic Duck with Pancakes’, but this was something else. This was ridiculous, ridiculous enough that I’ll never be able to enjoy a Chinese takeaway again.

It wouldn’t be right to discuss the dishes that make this city special without mentioning the astounding amount of fresh seafood in the area. Hong Kong is surrounded by small islands, each of them with their own culinary hallmarks. I’ll tell you about my most memorable visits.

One of the islands popular for day trips is Cheng Chau, where I had a bowl of noodles with smoked duck and clams in a deeply flavourful clam and seaweed broth. This bowl of noodles set the bar high for every single bowl I’ve had since, regardless of whether they are remotely similar. A broth this good was not on my hit list for this trip, nor was it a combination I thought existed, but I am forever grateful it does.

Tai O is a historic fishing village, home to the famous Tai O shrimp paste and a number of unique seafood dishes. We entered the village onto a street lined with bakeries and small stores, and followed it to a stunning walk through some very close living quarters with houses built on stilts to accommodate for the tide. Outside many of the homes were lines on which fish were hung up to dry, and some had tables on the street with packages of their dried skin or salted flesh for sale to passers by. Peering at various menus during our walk told us fried soft shell crab was the dish to try, so we put in an order before even hitting the seats. Three crabs with a generous dusting of crispy fried garlic which was arguably the best part. The coating was fluffy, clumped up in some areas for little pockets of texture.

Lastly, Ap Lei Chau. An even smaller area located just off Hong Kong Island, known for its fresh catch and fish markets. A small ferry takes people from one side of the harbour to the other, and this is where you’ll find quite the reward for your journey. Working from his boat, this man moves up and down Aberdeen harbour in his boat, serving the subsequently named Boat Noodles, the only way to find him being social media. Walking up and down the promenade wasn’t looking hopeful, but a plume of smoke in the distance perked us up. We stared intently as this man filled disposable bowls with noodles, fishballs, roast duck, BBQ pork, and chicken, before pouring in a ladleful of steaming broth. The soup and its contents were simple but it needed nothing more. Just like the Peking duck, watching the process made it taste even better. Eating something like this in the heat and humidity of Hong Kong sounds like a nightmare on paper, but I’m choosing to remember this as a moment of satisfaction.

Of all these unimaginably exciting things I was introduced to, I have what some might call an underwhelming favourite. This is my personal symbol of Hong Kong; something I tried once and searched for in every shop after that. I stuffed 5 of these in my suitcase, quite literally throwing away clothes to make room. Seaweed flavoured Pringles. These tickled my tastebuds like absolutely nothing else and I think about them at least once a week. Found once in 7/11 and scoured every 7/11 that followed, and I went to a lot of 7/11s. An honourable mention in the same vein is the seaweed seasoning from McDonald's, of which I also ordered 8 at a time to have at my disposal. If you’re lucky enough to get your hands on some, treasure it. Or send it to me.