DIGESTING HONG KONG
On a whirlwind, food-stuffed, sensory-overloaded cookbook research trip, Adrienne Katz Kennedy tucks into some of the local cuisine, and was kind enough to share a snippet of her Hong Kong street food experience with Kitchen Table. Food photographer Kris Kirkham beautifully captures the neon glow of Hong Kong’s nightlife.
Wok chefs feeding throngs with a flick of the wrist at dai pai dong—a foundational aspect to Hong Kong street food that is quickly becoming extinct.
STREET FOOD DELICACIES
We spent the first two days of our trip stuffing ourselves with Hong Kong sites and street food delicacies; beef brisket noodles at a crowded noodle stall complete with punters standing behind you whilst you ate, keen to fill your seat the second you considered leaving it. Peanut butter-filled French toast glazed with lashings of condensed milk alongside Hong Kong milk tea sieved through in the traditional silk stocking method at a family-owned cha chaeng teng in Central.
In a mere 48 hours we had also been chased out of a shop dishing out freshly poured cheung fun for chatting too much and not eating fast enough. We stood mesmerized to the point of speechlessness by the nimble wok cooks dishing out razor clams and ginger and spring onion crab with a simple flick of the wrist to throngs of people at the street side dai pai dongs. We cupped our hands around half a dozen or so perfumed teas at a specialist tea shop, hundreds of varieties of herbs and flowers meant for steeping and drinking lining the walls. Incessant chatter from both the city and each other, we were keen to spend a bit of time with the wind in our faces; an opportunity for silence and to reflect.
The neon glow of Hong Kong's nightlife.
Spoilt for choice with street food options.
ESCAPE BY BICYCLE
Leaving the bustling Saturday morning Tai Po market, scampering as best we could around the throngs of locals with their wheelie carts, bags, and sharp elbows we escaped by bicycle; mine pale yellow with an old fashioned looking frame, complete with a bell and basket. It was clear I wouldn’t be going for speed. We took to a crowded-but-maneuverable Plover Cove Country Park, weaving in and out amongst the tandem cyclists, toddlers testing out their first set of wheels, couples out for a romantic stroll, and showboating kite fliers dotted along the edge of the pier. Aside from a few deep sighs and gestures towards the misty mountains in the distance, we were quiet; the wind providing as much white noise as was needed to reassure us there was no need to talk over it.
As we cycled, we gazed into the empty open air, our pupils adjusting to the spacious view and light, vast by comparison to multi-layered skyscrapers towering over jam-packed side alleys in Central Hong Kong. Following the pier, our route passed hordes of hungry Hong Kongers gathered around a sea of picnic tables and barbeque pits. Breezing past the wafting scents of chargrilled meats I somehow felt hungry again and in need of a cold beer despite having devoured heaps of roasted goose and suckling pig two hours prior. Though still winter, the air was just humid enough to resemble cooler days of British summer.
Busy hands making dim sum at Tai Po market.
Offerings of Siu Mai.
IN MY OWN WORLD
We kept peddling, reluctant to leave the hum of the breeze whistling past our ears and the rhythmic spin of our wheels in motion. The road narrowed as we exited the more popular cycling routes into smaller neighboring villages of Tai Po. Off in my own world, a few good paces behind the rest, I watched as my three travel companions gradually became smaller and smaller dots on the horizon. I had the fleeting thought to stand up on my pedals and work to catch up with them, but the wind and the scenery—both of which I preferred to take in at my own pace—convinced me otherwise.
The road eventually narrowed to an impassable width, traffic separating me from my travel mates. Annoyed, but unconcerned, I reached the bottom of an underpass, and found to my complete surprise the road split in two: left or right. I looked down one as far as I could and then the other. No sign of anyone, nor had I any direction where I was meant to end up. “That’s it,” I thought, playing out the worst scenario in my head, “this is how I end up accidentally cycling through Asia with only the wares in my basket.”
Ovens filled with steaming buns at a local bakery.
Parcels of glutinous rice and wind-dried sausage wrapped in a pandan leaf.
Adrienne Katz Kennedy is a London-based food and culture writer. She uses food and storytelling as a means to explore and connect to people, history, and culture. Adrienne has written four cookbooks with chef Jeremy Pang, including Hong Kong Diner, based around the street foods of Hong Kong. You can read some of her recently published work here, including a guide to Jewish bakeries in London. Learn more about Adrienne in this interview at Pit Mag.
Kris Kirkham is a London-based food photographer and former chef, giving him intimate knowledge of how to create mouthwatering images.
Bamboo steam baskets ready to be filled with dim sum.