Don’t tell me that the so-called “food paradise” crown is all deceptive lies in travel brochures.
It’s not the stars that Michelin gave to the streets of Hong Kong. What really makes the streets of Hong Kong exude heat is the wild atmosphere of resolutely facing up to difficulties even if it doesn’t work out.
Is barbecued pork sinful?
some.
Sometimes I go downstairs in the middle of the night and go to the Prince's barbecue restaurant that has been open for 40 years.
The boss's hand when chopping the barbecued pork was shaking, he was really old.
"If the younger generation refuses to learn, sooner or later this place will turn into a tea restaurant." He said.
Suddenly, I truly realized that the most important lesson of Hong Kong’s food philosophy is not that it tastes delicious, but that it’s “reluctant to give up.”
I don't want to let go of the unique smell of charcoal fire, I don't want to let go of the eyes of the old neighbors full of stories, and I'm afraid that this city will let me lose my way without knowing it.
The "Mandarin Duck" philosophy of the tea restaurant
Coffee is not like coffee, milk tea is not like milk tea.
Some people think it is neither this nor that, but this is precisely the characteristics of Hong Kong - with mixed blood, showing a complex and diverse state, finding balance in a narrow space.
The cold butter in the pineapple oil slowly melted when it met the hot bread just out of the oven.
It's very much like our generation, with ice cubes in their hearts, but they insist on living a hot life.
The violent aesthetics of street stalls
You have to endure the noise, endure the indescribable swear words from the crowd, and eat a bowl of chicken wings in the smoke-filled environment of Temple Street.
But the piping hot, unadorned umami taste will hit you straight into your stomach.
I suddenly felt that Hong Kong’s tolerance was not an act.
It can accommodate the most expensive abalone and the dirtiest rubber stool.
The Michelin chef who creates molecular cuisine is playing related games upstairs, while downstairs, Abel, who only makes fried ghosts, is also playing with what belongs to him. There is no situation where one of them is more noble than the other.
The stomach of the rich and the dignity of the poor
That three-star French restaurant in Central uses gold and silver foil to wrap foie gras, and it's a classy meal.
At the Tang Cake Shop in Sham Shui Po, wife cakes still cost five yuan each, and you can eat them for a living.
Miraculously, these two parallel lines can live in peace for decades.
It’s not that food is inclusive, but that people living in this city have learned early on to follow their own paths and find their own place.
The genetic mutation of that bowl of wonton noodles
The thing that broke my inner defenses the most was seeing a young chef using Teochew preserved vegetables with pasta.
Someone in the barrage said "nondescript".
But I remembered that when I was a child, my grandma would tear up the roast goose that had been cooked overnight and make porridge.
The so-called inheritance is sometimes a gentle "betrayal".
Should we keep the old prescription and wait for death, or should we change the prescription and survive?
Hong Kong chose the latter.
In fact, there is no philosophy
It's just the struggle in front of the stove that generations of people have been forced into a corner by life.
In the 1960s, some poor people invented "Chezi Noodles". They took the leftovers and cooked them. The result was so delicious that it has been passed down to this day.
If you don’t have money to eat real shark fin, you can use vermicelli instead.
This cunningness of finding joy in suffering is more moving than any lofty dietary concept.
The wine and food tour will be held again this October.
The Central waterfront will be packed with people again, holding glasses of wine and showing off.
But I guess people who really understand Hong Kong will turn into the alley next door.
I found a food stall with a vague or even hard-to-read sign, ordered a plate of soy sauce fried noodles, and listened to the uncle at the table next to me chatting and joking.
Then in that greasy but warm wind, I tasted the city’s last stubbornness.
The delicious skin is the same, but the interesting soul weighs two hundred pounds.
The two hundred kilograms in Hong Kong are all weighed down by those stoves that are about to disappear.
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