Project Fragrant Harbour, part II

Tung Po Seafood Restaurant
2/F, 99 Java Road
Java Road Municipal Services Building
North Point
Tel: +852 2880 9399

I suppose every country has its own version of comfort food – and our equivalent of tze char cuisine would be the dai pai dong fare in Hong Kong. The traditional dai pai dong referred to the open-air food stalls operating on sidewalks, with foldable chairs and tables set up around them – but there are precious few of those left, and dai pai dong is now used to refer to any generic hawker-type setting or food. One of the best places we went for this type of cuisine in Hong Kong was Tung Po Seafood Restaurant.

The word “restaurant” is quite a misnomer, for Tung Po is actually just one of many kitchens set up directly above a wet market. It therefore takes up one of many sections of tables and chairs set up on the second floor of the Java Rd Municipal Services Building, in North Point. This was one of Anthony Bourdain’s stops during the Hong Kong leg of his No Reservations TV show. Now I have never tasted Anthony Bourdain’s cooking, but I saw a segment once pitting him against Eric Ripert in a battle of “sell-out” celebrity chefs. The segment threw them into the heat of the bistro kitchen on the premise that each of them – caught up in their celebrity – had forgotten how to handle the frenzy that is the kitchen. Cut to two hours later, and Bourdain is sweating like a pig, backed up on his orders, and in desperate need of a break and a cigarette. Yet Ripert is still sailing along, the look on his face serene and placid, still churning out steaks to order. Ever since then I have taken on a (probably misguided) dim view of Tony Bourdain, and of course that isn’t helped by the immense jealousy I feel at the places he gets to go to and things he gets to eat.

Nevertheless, Daselin reaffirmed that this place was worth going to, and so we orchestrated an outing one night. Now, there is almost nothing you can say to romanticise the surroundings, unless you are a true-blue heartland Hong Konger. Yet there is something so comfortable about the spartan setup, the noise levels, and the hustle and bustle – that it just makes you want to eat, and eat a lot. Tung Po may occupy humble settings, and it is often loud and boisterous; but it is always a great atmosphere to enjoy great wok-fired food.


One of the greatest things about this place was that they served beer in pre-chilled bowls that they called 战斗碗 (Bowls of Battle). My hypothesis is that it is easy to get drunk this way, because you have no concept of how much liquid is in a bowl. When you drink pints of beer, you know roughly how many you can have before you need to take it easy (too many). But when you are drinking from bowls, you have no such advance knowledge, and so you just keep drinking. Coupled with the fact that the friendly beer-girls top you off incessantly, it is a recipe either for a great night, or for disaster – whatever your point of view.

The food at Tung Po cannot be considered traditional Cantonese food – although there are the staples on the menu. According to the segment on No Reservations, the chef-owner worked in a hotel restaurant before taking over Tung Po from his father, and has since created dishes unique to his palate that have been roaring successes. There are at least two with cosmopolitan influences – a squid ink pasta dish with cuttlefish balls, and deep-fried pork knuckle. Both of these were executed with Cantonese influences, and were very good. I loved the squid ink but thought it needed a little more pepper to be a truly spectacular and satisfying dish, while the pork knuckle was good without being great.



Of course no meal is complete without rice, and Daselin recommended the rice steamed in lotus leaf, that she had tried on an earlier visit. This was done rather well given the large portion size, and we attacked it with gusto.


I love bamboo clams, and these were excellent, with spice and just enough heft. The clams were also fresh and meaty, and it spoke volumes that this was the first dish to be finished.


Tung Po was relatively cheap too, since we did not have any of the big-ticket items like crab or steamed fresh fish. We trooped away for dessert at a nearby stall, feeling like happy campers, and thoroughly prepared for the rest of the night. (It turns out that we were in no way prepared, but that is another story, for another forum.)

Project Fragrant Harbour, part I

I spent the last few days in Hong Kong, and I must confess that at no point through the entire trip did I ever feel anything close to hunger. The entire trip was a whirlwind of eating, drinking and karaoke. It was absolute heaven for someone as enamoured with Cantonese cuisine as myself, and I came back in severe need of sleep and exercise.

My first stop after dropping my bag off at the hotel was a shop called Kau Kee (九记) - famous for its beef brisket noodles. I had heard much about this place, most of it good, and it was one of the must-visits of my trip. I had heard about the long lines, especially during mealtimes on weekends, and so I planned on stealing a march on everyone else by arriving in the mid-afternoon on a Monday. Daselin was lazing at home after a night of drinking, and everyone else was in the office, so I decided to check it out on my own.

Kau Kee is a tiny place that seats maybe about 30 to 40, and according to my sources frequently has just as many people waiting outside for a seat. Thankfully, there was no queue when I got there, and I was ushered in with brusque efficiency. There is really only one thing to order - the beef brisket noodles - in several variations. You can get it in the clear beef broth, or a curry broth; and you have a choice of hor fun (thin wide rice noodles), meen (flat egg noodles) or mai fun (vermicelli). I went for the former in the broth.


Perhaps I have not experienced true greatness where beef brisket noodles are concerned, for to me this must have been as good as it gets. At first sight it was very much less than impressive, and the small size of the bowl gave me pause. But the brisket was well-marbled and chewy, with a taste of beef that was just strong enough. The noodles were cooked well and absorbed the flavour of the broth. The broth, though, was the true star of the show. Clear, with a good consistency and the kind of flavour that can only come about with time - it was amazing even in 30-degree heat. God only knows how much more enjoyable this must be in the winter.


The other must-try at Kau Kee is the house-made chili sauce. I feel sorry for those who do not eat spicy food because adding this to the broth is taking it to another level taste-wise and colour-wise. The chili had a sour, spicy tang that complemented the sweetness of the broth perfectly. I liked this place so much that I went back again the next day, one of only two places in Hong Kong that I visited twice. The second time around I tried the curry version, which was sadly not as impressive, but I made up for the disappointment by ordering a bowl of the broth.

The other place in Hong Kong that I visited twice was Tai Cheong bakery for their egg tarts. My love of egg tarts is well documented (and well-evidenced in my physique), but this egg tart completely blew my mind. The pastry was not flaky, but rather solid and tasted like sweetbread. The fat-to-flour ratio was off the charts. Even though I don't bake much, I knew that shortcrust pastry was half fat to flour, and Shanaz had told me once that the best puff pastry in France had a 3.5:4 fat to flour ratio. But someone had told me that there was more fat than flour in the Tai Cheong pastry, which completely astounded me, especially since not all of the fat is butter (they use lard as well). It didn't taste as sinful as I make it out to be, but good lord it was delicious. The custard was just runny enough to be able to slurp down, yet not too runny that you made a mess while eating it. I bought one and ate it as I walked down the streets of Central and got myself completely and utterly lost since I stopped paying attention to anything other than the egg tart.


Next up on the list was a restaurant recommended by Camille (and Camille's dad), and corroborated by a Hong Konger I'd met the weekend before my trip. Camille promised a melt-in-your-mouth char siew, and honestly she had had me at "melt", so Eugene and I made the pilgrimage to Causeway Bay to try this restaurant - called Sai Yuen.


The cut of meat usually used for char siew is pork shoulder, which tends to be leaner and results in a chewier dish; quite different from siu yoke, which uses pork belly, and is a lot fattier. At Sai Yuen, they use a much fattier cut of meat for their char siew - either the belly or the tenderloin - which is unorthodox but results in a very sinful version of the dish. It was good without being great, and in comparison with the version at Overseas Restoran in KL, it was a shade inferior.

Personally I prefer my char siew not too fatty (but not too lean as well!) Some of my favourite versions of char siew use the part of the pig between the shoulder and the belly - the pig's underarm, if you will. This is typically called 不见天 char siew (directly translated as char siew that never sees the heavens), since it is from a part of the pig that never sees the light of day. There is a stall in Tiong Bahru market which does this very well.

Victor also dragged me to a nondescript restaurant in Wanchai called Che's Cantonese (车氏) because he had had an amazing version of 流沙包 (custard cream buns) there. These are steamed buns with a runny custard filling of egg yolk, butter and cream, to be differentiated from a closely related food item, 奶黄包 (custard buns), which have a solid custard filling. Curiously enough, I have not seen the former made much outside of Hong Kong, while the latter has had more success at export. Whatever the case, both of them are mini heart attacks and should be consumed in moderation.


Victor made an elaborate act out of eating these - from the initial deep breath to draw in the smell of the freshly steamed buns, through the delicate pulling apart of the bun to reveal a runny yellow mess seeping out, to slurping down the creamy custard while nibbling on the doughy goodness of the buns. The whole scene took close to four minutes. I for one, did not have his patience, and finished the bun in a matter of bites. He convinced me to try it his way the next time round, but still I was less than impressed. It was good, that was certain, but nowhere as life-changing as Victor had made it out to be.


What was the true star at Che's was the crispy chicken (脆皮鸡). I have always loved this technique of preparing meats (duck, goose, chicken) - where the the heat is turned up for the last part of cooking the bird, to crisp the skin. Beforehand, the skin is also scored and salted heavily. Even so, it is a feat of skill to keep the meat cooked just right and still moist, while the skin is broiled to a crackling crisp. Even more difficult is ensuring that the excessive salting of the skin does not make it inedible. The version at Che's had a thin, crispy skin which you could break off by hand, and yet the meat was still tender and just cooked through enough. As a reasonably skilled home cook there are many things that I won't eat when eating out, especially if I thought that I was perfectly capable of making the dish as well if not better. This was one of those times where I just crumpled in my seat thinking, well eff that, I'm not going to be able to make this myself at home, so it's a good thing I can pay someone to make it for me.