Concluding Hong Kong: Featuring Conspiracy Theorists And Some Fish We Didn’t Eat

As my previous posts on Day I and Day 2 have indicated, most of the fish we’d encountered were on our plates, steamed, stewed. Appreciating them for their aesthetic, rather than culinary, value was nice for a change; I’m exactly the kind of person who likes looking at fish as much as eating them. Call me Asian, I guess.

Fish Street is located in Mongkok, which on the Tsim Sha Tsui side of the city. We took the metro across the strait and surfaced in a section of the city that seemed a lot more “down home”, less trendy than Lan Kwai Fong. There were a lot of small neighbourhood shops, the types where you get giant bottles of shampoo for a dollar and dried fruit. It was a little hard to find Fish Street itself, among the untidy sprawl of the dime stores and many, many street intersections we came across.

At long last, we came upon a series of fish signs floating above the heads of the passersby and stacks of tanks full of bright, predominantly orange, blobs swimming around in them. We had hit the motherlode! Unfortunately, we soon found out that we had arrived far too early to witness the spectacle of hundreds of aquariums and their exotic inhabitants lining the street. The shops that were open were few and far between; we wondered if everyone stayed up the night before to party in Lan Kwai Fong and Soho. Ah well. At least we were rewarded with a fraction of the full fish street experience. The places that were open displayed their wares in abundant clusters of plastic bags that collectively looked like the magnified spawn of some aquatic alien.

What really interested me, quite aside from the display, were the creatures themselves. I’d expected to see only standard freshwater fish, maybe about two rare species of goldfish to set the place apart. I certainly hadn’t counted on encountering some of the animals, a few of which are quite possibly considered endangered….

Not sure what this is, but it might be related to a stonefish somehow....

Perhaps, this factors into the ridiculous prices for caviar....

My suspicions strengthened after we came across this store where they absolutely refused to let us take pictures of their merchandise. Granted, most of the creatures were probably photosensitive and hated flash, but still. Most of the inhabitants of the tanks were marine, and were not restricted to a few clownfish and anemones. There were rays, jellyfish, sea horses, and a whole slew of others that would not be the first things I look for when I go to a shabby, roadside store. It’s instances like this when I feel a bizarre combination of outrage and guilty admiration for the mother continent. Asians are well-known to be thoroughly cavalier about animal rights. We’ll cram a bunch of ailing fish into a tank with barely any breathing space only to slice them up while they are still alive, nonchalantly chop fins off of sharks and toss them back in the sea, and fill claw machines with jars of little critters (no kidding, saw this in Japan). I don’t condone animal cruelty at all; as a kid, I used to be traumatised for days after watching those sobering ads on the Discovery Channel about shark find. However, there is definitely a part of me that feels ever so slightly refreshed by our political incorrectness.

What we did next doesn’t sound too exciting on paper; we went to a mall. However, this is listed as part of the quintessential shopping experience in Hong Kong. I was initially sceptical myself, but Langham Place was an evolved specimen. Even as far as aesthetics went, it attempted to impress. The architect probably envisioned some form of sculpture when he drew the plans.

Content was not lacking either. Instead of the generic Gap and Zara chains, we found quirky, even avante-garde Japanese brands in abundance. And Muji was ridiculously well stocked. Yep, the mall was definitely run by Japanophiles. However, we didn’t get much of a chance to forget where we were. At lunch in a fancy tonkatsu place, the chef bellowed loudly at one of his underlings for all to hear in a display of very local effusiveness. Not quite the image of Japanese restraint, I imagine.

We’d put off Victoria Peak for a while, but as it was the last day, we didn’t have much of a choice. We braced ourselves for the queue, and weren’t disappointed. Like a vast tapeworm, it looped several times around the tram station to accommodate traffic. As there were so many bends in it, we were treated to several interesting vantage points of some very important public service announcements stuck on the fences surrounding us.

In case that was difficult to read, the CIA is using wireless mind control! Osama was a victim, and you will be too if you don’t watch out. If you have any concerns whatsoever, give Dr. Yan Xu a call. The world is a dark, dark place…..

His choice of venue for his ads was a pretty strategic one. The building towering over us would have been right at home on a mind control facility. In Mars.

All this was good build-up, but Victoria Peak was…. a letdown. It really shouldn’t have been. Cities always make fantastic panoramic vistas, especially at sunset and all that jazz. But to get a full view of everything, you had to pay to get on top of this structure…

If not, you only got views in segments.

Can anyone say ripoff? Views should always, always, be free because nothing else ever is. 😦

Dinner made up for it though. As usual. We had velvety, rich Asian style goose and foie gras in its own juices…

The best shark’s fin I can profess to have had, in clusters in a golden-brown broth..

The inevitable whole steamed soon hock. Make a note to yourself, steamed in soy is the best way to eat fish, hands down.

I'm getting hungry looking at this. Are you?

And bitter gourd steamed with stock in a claypot with pork mince.

This was the best meal we had, on a trip where there were virtually no bad meals. Wicked!

We decided to spend our last day doing what we do best, eating. We decided on Yong Kee, supposedly the best place in the city for roast goose. Now, my parents had been there about ten years ago and were disappointed, but we bowed to the accolades and peer pressure and went. It was duly crowded, with a combination of locals, gweilos and mainland tourists jostling to get in. We were all assigned numbers and told to occupy every available square inch of space on a staircase landing, in anticipation of our food. Thankfully for us, the wait lasted only (!) half an hour. We were ushered to our seats and soon found out that my parent’s former dissatisfaction with the fare was rather unfounded. Maybe they were just having a bad day?

To start with, century egg. I’d always been brought up to think of century egg purely as a textural component, rather than a dish with any particular culinary merit of its own. Obviously, the people working here would have been aghast, had they been aware of my barbarism. They’d elevated it to an art form, with the tea-coloured “white” beautifully translucent and richly brown and the yolk disintegrating to semi-liquid bliss at its core. In other words, wow.

This was what we came here for. It’s so much better than roast duck, gamier and more intense. Add just a hint of the spicy salt it came with, and it suddenly took on a crisp, tangy edge, the very definition of umami.

My dad wanted some larger pigeons than we had the last time, so we ordered some. It turns out that the guy knew what he was talking about. These were bigger, but they didn’t have the same concentrated flavour is the last batch and were just alright. However, they made for very artistic, macabre photo opportunities, which were graciously set up by our obliging waiter.

As we are on most vacations, we were sad to leave. It was for all the usual reasons; we’d spent too short a time there, we’d miss the food and shopping, and we were just getting used to the place. However, the last reason played a larger role here; it took less than a day for us to feel at home. It may have been the excellent food, which put the Cantonese fare at home to shame but still seemed undoubtedly familiar. The snatches of Cantonese everywhere around us were at least half-intelligible and made the intimidating, metropolitan space around us more friendly. It felt like we were visiting our immense extended family, so large in size, attitude, ambition and an innate sense of style that it needed its own brazen, autonomous capital.


May 2018
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