"What Doesn't He Eat?"

I have learned I need to be concerned when people start asking "what doesn't he eat?" My wife's uncle turned 54ish this Saturday, so the family trekked out to Lau Fau Shan, a fishing village on the edge of Hong Kong. The restaurant is owned by a grade school chum of my uncle's who hooked us up with a private room.

Before the food arrived, we took a tour of the village fish market. There we saw the typical five semi-stray dogs, one of which is pregnant, living in surprising harmony with a fleet of cats who are convinced they're in heaven. The part that surprised me was the freshness of the fish for sale. I'm used to fresh seafood, but an aunt tells me all of the local restaurants will let you pick your prey, buy it, bring it to them and pay a nominal fee for them to cook and plate it. Apparently you can also pick which cut of the fish you want, judging from the half of a fish I saw lying on a chopping block, its now exposed heart still beating.

Back inside the restaurant, I was treated to steamed crabs, razor clams, scallops, abalone, breaded shrimp, a whole steamed fish, and a very large shrimp whose name literally translates to "pees its pants shrimp." While I loaded up on the vegetable dish when it came around, my generous relations made sure I had at least two servings from each of the other dishes.

In the end, I caught the bus home nursing a bit of indigestion, but none the worse for wear. The person suffering is likely my uncle. In Asian generosity, its his birthday, his party, his bill. Unfortunately for him, school chums don't cut deals; I think he shelled out around 3500 HKD for the meal. Ouch.

The Joy of Cooking

Cooking is a joy, no matter where you live. Hong Kong has challenged that notion for me, yet, more and more, I think it's starting to be true again.

Let me begin by laying out some of the challenging aspects of cooking in Hong Kong. Sure, good cooks have too be flexible, but I sincerely doubt that Julia Childs ever cooked in a 3' by 4'7" kitchen. The close quarters require great coordination for a few reasons. First, any time a knife comes out of the drawer, it is pleasantly close to other people. Second, that means all of the appliances attached to this tiny space are likewise tiny. No oven, a fridge half the some of the one I had in the States and one medium-sized sink. The other drawback is that valuable counter space has to be given up to our office-sized water cooler and microwave; if you can't drink the tap, then we have to keep something handy. Turns out the giant water cooler was cheaper than stocking cases of bottled water. Throw in storage space, and it feels like I’m working in an airplane galley.

All that aside, there are some good things going for the DIY gastronomic in Hong Kong. I long lamented in the States the infrequency of fish in my diet; I want to be like one of those 90 year old Japanese dudes still working as a fisherman and playing tag with my greatgrandkids. Since I presently live on a peninsula attached to an archipelago, it is convenient and cheap to get all manner of seafood. For example, I visited a fishing village yesterday, where groups of people gather around the pier when a boat comes in so they can yell their orders down.

Which brings me to my second point. Fresh food in Hong Kong is cheap. To cook dinner last night, we spent the equivalent of $1 US to buy four kinds of vegetables and then another $5 for freshly prepared fish and beef balls. This, along with some rice, made enough for dinner and lunch today, and these ingredients are impeccably fresh since we can easily walk to our choice of markets everyday. We have a Western-style supermarket as well as the traditional Chinese wet market within a ten-minute walk.

I grant, this still means I have to cook whatever I buy in a small wok on my gas range, but I'm learning to be creative. When all else fails and I can't fight my cravings for lasagna or cookies, there is a Mrs. Fields in my train station and a half-dozen Italian restaurants on the way home.