Someone once asked me whether I have a favorite restaurant in Hong Kong. Hong Kong is one of those freakish places where food is almost always good, else it's just merely mediocre. The more fundamental issue is figuring out whether it's a good restaurant located in Hong Kong, or a good Hong Kong restaurant. I can spend thousands at Robuchon in Central or sushi at the mid-levels with fish fresh from Tsukiji market, but is it reflective of Hong Kong? Sure, it's bona fide authentic for recreating an experience overseas, but it's like being in the company of pandas at the Washington zoo - an alien transplant. Does the menu incorporate local ingredients or give the local taste a nod? If it doesn't, it's not really Hong Kongian. A notable trait of Hong Kong is that it's a land of immigrants - A third of Hongers are not native here, and as such, we are all anchor babies who throw something back into the mix. Hong Kong's cocktail buns are a derivative of Filipino Spanish rolls. Egg tarts are our take on Portuguese pasteis. Hell, even our own beloved afternoon glass of silk stockings milk tea is a British colonial holdover by the way of Malaysian teh tarik, suited to our own ethnographic narratives. You could arguably state that the minchi flavored broiled fried spaghetti casserole at a Kowloon cha chan teng (eaten with chopsticks) is, while hopelessly un-Italian, quite authentically Hong Kong.
As a guy who was born and grew up here, a certain bit of involuntary memory recall always manifests itself when it comes to food, romanticizes past engagements and tampers judgment. For example, the charcoal grilled eggettes served from the street carts outside of the Jordan Yaumati ferry terminal. Or Yan Chim Kee coconut candies. Or those dinky Chinese cha-chan-tengs (diners) that serve a quick and greasy breakfast with freshly made buns, none of which exist anymore. Are they all gone? Am I truly home?
Oh, except for Spring Garden street - down the block from Hopewell Centre, amongst the lovely chaos of Tai Yuen street, accessible to the tramways on Johnston Road...we have Kam Fung. Yeah, the waitstaff are a bit brusque, but the buns are still baked on premise, fresh, soft, crisp. The Bolos are still straight-up the best I ever had in Wanchai and will no doubt keep me up at night here in NYC jonesing for them. The cold milk tea is served cold and iceless to keep the flavors rich and decisive. Breakfast is a geopolitical power play for elbow room where everybody shares the tiny stalls, but unlike Game of Thrones, you just order more food for satisfaction. Typical fare is macaroni soup, toasts with eggs, and stuff like that. It has the hallmarks of a good Hong Kong breakfast - decent value, fresh, not too bad, product of honest hard work, and quick to get you in and out quickly so you can do yours. If you want some civility, wait on the second line outside, get it to go, eat at a park bench at Spring Garden Park next door. Watch the yobbos from the mid-levels sneak their MacLarens and Mercs down the hill, park on the curbside, hop out for a bun, and come out like a satisfied billionaire...because sometimes all an expat want is a slice of the old Hong Kong to recharge the soul. Because this one, this one is local. And in a city where the local is constantly being squeezed out by foreign experiences, it's worthy of your attention. Welcome home, Kev. Drink some tea, have a bun and ponder your inner Honker. read more