Category Archives: Culture

Manhattan Chinatown in the morning: when everything comes alive, and you tiao can be discovered made fresh

Posted on by
Reply

I dropped Kaia off at school this morning since I had a 5pm work call that I couldn’t get out of, so Chris picked her up today. Since it’s technically winter break in New York City this week, kids who are opted in (and paying for) after-school hours can still attend school this week, just that the hours are slightly shorter. Drop-off this week is at 9am (instead of 8:30), and pickup can be no later than 5pm (it’s usually 6pm, but I usually try to pick up between 5-5:10).

Chris has said he prefers doing morning drop off and has gotten into a routine of it. When I have suggested in the past that he could make use of that morning drop off time by buying some groceries and baked goods, he’s brushed it off, insisting he doesn’t have time and has a pseudo morning work schedule he has to adhere to. To be fair, he doesn’t really care to explore different shops in Chinatown the way I do, so it’s better that I do these things during the occasional times I do morning drop off. Like any decent sized Chinatown, the real life and energy starts early in the morning, when all the produce and meats are getting delivered, when all the bakeries are churning out all their buns and breads and sweets fresh. The really good bakeries open as early as 8am; the shops tend to open around 9. This is the best time to come down here and buy all the freshly made staples for cooking Chinese food at home, such as freshly churned out and steaming hot rice noodles, fresh pressed tofu in endless forms, seitan, and soy milk. By the time I come between 4:30-5pm for school pickup, most of the best stuff has already sold out completely, or they’ve been sitting there, waiting to be purchased all day.

This morning, we arrived in Chinatown a bit early, so I decided to take Kaia into one of my favorite fresh food shops to pick up some things for cooking in the next week. This brought us to Kong Kee Food Corp, which is just a block over from her school. I discovered this spot maybe 10-ish years ago: they make fresh tofu and seitan in endless forms, as well as fresh rice noodles, herbal tea, and soy milk. They distribute to a lot of local supermarkets and restaurants. If you come early in the morning, they have stir fried noodles and rice noodle soup for breakfast that you can carry out. When we arrived, there were already some older ladies who were coming in to purchase breakfast noodles to go. A worker in the back was sitting at a table hand cutting noodles in bulk. Kaia curiously wandered around, looking at all the items in the glass cases and peering up at the female workers. She started giggling when one of them gave her attention; the woman behind the counter was so besotted by her that she took a package of fruit snacks and dangled them out as a gift for her. “So cute!” the woman kept exclaiming.

When I come in to Kong Kee, the items I get the most often are the pressed and five-spiced pressed tofu. I have also previously purchased and enjoyed their fresh rice noodles, which are cut thinly almost like pho noodles, thicker like ho fun/he fun (chow fun noodles), and also in huge sheets for large rice noodle rolls. I’ve also gotten their seitan and enjoyed it. This time, I purchased some seitan (kao fu), five spice pressed tofu as repeat buys. For new items to try, I finally got two sticks of you tiao (the Chinese donut crullers I wanted for jook at home), as morning is the best time to buy these sticks. I also chose a large container of their soy milk. They added some sugar at my request.

Well, according to the Shanghai saying, I already purchased two of the four warriors for Shanghainese breakfast – “四大金刚” Sìdà Jīngāng. The classic Shanghainese brekkie, heavy on the carbs of course, would be these four items: you tiao / Chinese donut stick, ci fan (pressed rice roll), shao bing (Shanghainese flat flaky sesame pancake), and fresh hot soy milk. I can’t wait to have my you tiao later! It’s the first time I’ve ever purchased these sticks whole anywhere in New York City!

When I look at whole long you tiao sticks in Chinese bakeries and food shops, I am reminded of the time shortly after my grandma passed when my mom made a big pot of jook. It was always a treat when we’d have jook at home and also have you tiao to dip into it. The textural contrast between the crisp chewiness of the you tiao against the soft creaminess of the jook was always so comforting and satisfying. My grandma would occasionally buy a bag of these freshly fried sticks from a local bakery, and when we’d have jook at the table, it would be a happy surprise when she’d lay out a plate of the you tiao, already neatly cut into bite sized pieces for us to dunk into our jook bowls. But it was always my grandma who bought them; we never knew what they were even called in Chinese then, and we didn’t know which bakeries to buy them from.

So one day, my mom was determined to resolve this issue. She said we would go out together searching and would find those donut sticks! My mom and I wandered around Clement Street (like San Francisco Richmond District’s mini Chinatown) and went bakery to bakery, peering in to see if anyone sold them. We used our broken Toisan to ask around, but we kept getting negative responses; none of these places made this donut stick. Finally, we got to a bakery off of 6th avenue that had them way in the back, in a big metal bin, all standing upright and tall, waiting to be purchased. We pointed passed the cashier guy and motioned towards the you tiao, and they got excited to have helped us solve our mystery of what it was that we were looking for. In Mandarin, you tiao are literally called “oil sticks/strips,” while in Cantonese, they are known as “oil fried ghosts” or yàuhjagwái. Since then, I’ve never forgotten the name of them. And since then, I’ve also learned that these delicious fried Chinese donut sticks are eaten not just with jook/congee, but also wrapped in fresh rice noodle rolls (a dim sum delight), tucked into Shanghainese shao bing pancakes, and simply ducked into hot soy milk and eaten.

Memories with food are usually the happiest memories from my childhood, but I don’t think that’s unique to me based on all the childhood stories I’ve heard over the years.

Lunar New Year’s lunch party – lots of food, and lots of people at our place today

Posted on by
Reply

Chris used to have this arbitrary “six person maximum” policy when we would host friends over for meals in the past. I decided to do away with this and basically invited all my friends I could think of to our Lunar New Year party today. I invited 14 people to our place today; two were out of town, one had a baby shower, and one had to work, so in the end, we had 10 guests plus the three of us. This is the most number of people we’ve ever had in our place at a single time.

“It’s going to be a zoo!” Chris grumbled the night before.

This was what I made and served:

Starters:

Luo bo gao – Pan-fried Chinese turnip cake slices

Goi cuon – Garlic shrimp summer rolls with Vietnamese herbs, dipped in nuoc cham

Nem nuong cuon – Nha Trang-style pork paste sausage summer rolls with Vietnamese herbs, dipped in peanut-hoisin sauce

Mains:

Burmese tea leaf salad

Thit kho – Vietnamese braised pork ribs and eggs in coconut water, with a side of pickled carrot and daikon

Chinese whole steamed black sea bass with fermented black beans and garlic

Nuo mi fan – Chinese sticky rice

Yi mian – Longevity noodles with carrot, bell peppers, chives, and king oyster/shiitake mushrooms

Stir-fried garlicky gai lan

Desserts:

Hei zhi ma tang yuan – Glutinous rice balls filled with sweet black sesame served in a brown sugar-ginger soup

Black sesame-swirled ube nian gao / Chinese New Year sticky rice cake

Chinese almond cookies

Other than the cha siu in the sticky rice, I made everything myself, from scratch. It was an endeavor, but I loved every minute of it!

It was boisterous, chaotic, loud, and lots of fun with lots of food, people, and laughter. Kaia had her little friend over to play and run around with. Everyone had plenty of savory and sweet food. I was shocked repeatedly when I found out how much people enjoyed dishes like my black sesame tang yuan; even people like my friend’s husband, who usually scoffs at Asian sweets for being “not too sweet” (“Desserts are supposed to be ‘too sweet’; it’s DESSERT!” he exclaimed). I had people who either don’t eat dessert or don’t eat Asian desserts ask for seconds and even thirds. In the end, I had to boil a second batch of tang yuan! I thought I’d have a ton of frozen tang yuan left over, but I actually only have about six or seven left.

I love preparing food for my people. I spent the last week cooking and preparing food for this. I devised my menu about a month ago with my list of ingredients and action plan. And I loved hearing the comments people made, which included:

“This shit is terrible (referring to my black sesame tang yuan), but if you have more of this shit, can I have some more, please?”

“I don’t normally like desserts, but these (black sesame tang yuan) are incredible. Can I have some more? (Then, when asked how many more): “How many more do you have ready?”

“This sticky rice is so good. It’s like being at dim sum, but even better because yours is packed with all the good stuff!”

“These almond cookies are so addictive! Could you share the recipe?”

“The sea bass was so good! It tasted like the steamed fish I had with black beans in Flushing when I went!”

“I just couldn’t stop eating! I can’t even decide what I liked best!”

“If I ate any more, I definitely would have regretted it. It was like being at a restaurant!”

It was a smart move to get disposable paper plates; it made cleanup so much easier. At the end of the night, the dishwasher was mostly filled with utensils, small serving bowls, and glasses. Now, I’m wondering when the next time will be when I can host another meal at home…

Modern version of Chinese New Year (sticky rice) cake – 年糕

Posted on by
Reply

For Chinese New Year since I started living on my own, I would make traditional brown sugar based nian gao or 年糕. It’s an extremely plain cake, with only three main ingredients: glutinous rice flour, brown sugar, and water. You mix it into a thick dough, shape it into a round cake pan, and steam it for an hour. The cake it topped with some white sesame seeds and red dates for presentation. Then, you cut the cake Chinese style into rectangular slices, dip in egg, and then pan fry it. The egg and pan frying make this dish tasty. Everything else always feel like eating carbs and sugar for the sake of it. In the beginning, I made it for nostalgia. But I gradually realized that I didn’t really care for this dish at all and needed to change it up so that it was appropriate to my tastes today.

I had leftover black sesame paste from my black sesame glutinous rice balls I made earlier this week (which are currently in the freezer waiting for my party tomorrow). I also knew I wanted to use ube since I had just less than a pound of frozen grated ube waiting to be used in my freezer. I kept thinking about black sesame swirled into ube for a new version of nian gao, and I figured this would be a good time to try and make it happen. A purple cake with a black swirl sounded very aesthetically pleasing in my head, and a bit unique even. So I thawed the ube out, mixed it into a batter of glutinous rice flour, eggs, white sugar, coconut milk, oil, and a little vanilla extract. This is probably the first time I was truly winging a recipe and hoped for the best. I swirled some black sesame paste on the top with the tip of a chopstick and then put it into a loaf pan in the oven for about 45 minutes. And out came this black oozy purple cake that ended up being quite addictive. The texture was soft and squishy. The black sesame was messy, but it really did complement the cake. Even though it wasn’t the prettiest thing once sliced, I think it’s still good to serve for tomorrow.

Next time, I am considering keeping the ube cake base the same, but perhaps mixing the black sesame with cream cheese so that it becomes a version of black sesame cheescake ube New Year’s cake! That will be real fusion right there!

Lo bak go / luo bo gao / 萝卜糕 Chinese turnip cake transition from taro cake 芋頭糕

Posted on by
Reply

For many years once I started living on my own, and as an ode to my paternal grandma, I would make a whole yu tou gao 芋頭糕 or Chinese savory taro cake around Lunar New Year. Since I was very young, I always loved taro. I also have fond memories of my grandma making it around Chinese New Year every year. She would fill her savory taro cake with generous amounts of Chinese sausage, shiitake mushrooms, dried shrimp and scallops, then steam them and top them with scallions and cilantro. Unfortunately, having lived with just one roommate, and then one partner and now husband, we could never get through the cake in time before it would start drying out and feeling very dense. Taro is a very starchy root vegetable, and as such, once you cook it, it doesn’t really retain too much water. And after it’s cooked and you let it sit there, every day that goes by means more moisture loss, resulting in a dryer and denser cake. My grandma also made luo bo gao 萝卜糕 or Chinese turnip cake, but not as often as taro, likely because she preferred the taro one herself. One year, I told Chris that I was going to make the turnip cake. This is a bit misleading because no turnips are in the cake; the base of the cake is radish, usually daikon, which is high in water content. He didn’t seem too enthused by it… until after the cake was steamed and he had some pan-fried slices. He declared that it was much lighter than the taro one, predictably. And given the radish has more water in it, it also didn’t dry out after day 4 or 5 the way the taro cake did. So from that point forward, I started making the turnip cake more often or alongside the taro cake. And so it stuck.

I spent some time this morning grating and cooking the daikon, folding it into my rice flour batter with all the generous fillings. It steamed on the stove for an hour. And as usual, it was a beauty, one that I will be sharing with 13 other hungry people on Sunday when we host our Lunar New Year lunch.

Using the Chinese butcher at my usual Asian supermarket

Posted on by
Reply

I’m not sure why in previous years I never really considered using the butchers at Hong Kong Supermarket. I had previously purchased meat from Asian markets in Elmhurst Chinatown and Flushing, but I’ve probably only done it in Manhattan Chinatown once or twice ever. Every year around Lunar New Year the last number of years, I’ve gotten into experimenting more with Vietnamese Tet Lunar New Year dishes, as I never grew up with them and only had Chinese dishes for the New Year. One dish that I’ve really loved and that Chris, Kaia, and every friend I’ve introduced this to has loved has been thit kho, or Vietnamese braised pork ribs with eggs. It’s delicious for a number of reasons: it’s rich and comforting because of the pork. It’s traditionally made with pork belly, but because our family loves meat on the bone, and ribs are frankly leaner than belly (when we have pork belly, we prefer it crispy), in the last several years, I’ve made it with pork ribs. It has this really deep sweet-savoriness from the pairing of fish sauce with 1) caramelized sugar syrup and 2) coconut water and its pulp. And once you throw in the copious amounts of browned garlic and onions, plus some whole hard boiled eggs for braising, it’s like comfort in a bowl.

The last couple years when I’ve made this dish, I either used large pork ribs from Butcher Box or Whole Foods. The issue with Butcher Box is that they send you a full rack, but there’s no way to customize how you want the ribs cut. Clearly, I don’t have the tools for cutting through a rib bone at home, so that’s out. At Whole Foods, you can ask them to cut a rack of ribs through the bone once maximum, and then, you’re on your own. You want the ribs all separated? Well, you can do that yourself at home! Ideally, I want the pork ribs to be cut bite sized the way they are in Chinese or Vietnamese restaurants; that means they need to be cut through the bone several times. That’s a lot of labor and equipment on the butcher’s part, and most places won’t do this for you. So when I went to the meat counter at Hong Kong Supermarket, my regular spot in Manhattan Chinatown, they already had what they call “jin sha gu” (literally, in Chinese, this means “gold sand bone”), racks of ribs that were only about 2 inches thick. This was perfect. I asked the butcher if he could cut between the bones so that the pieces were 1-2 inches, and he immediately agreed, measured out the four pounds I requested, and went to work. No fuss, no objections. He already had a rack that was close to what I wanted, and then he further customized it so that it would be ready for me to literally just throw into my pot for cooking. When you go to an Asian butcher, there’s an understanding of what you want and why; there’s no reason to explain what you are trying to do.

I’m definitely going back to buy more meat in the future now. I’m just regretting it took me this long to “discover” them as an option even though I frequent this market at least 1-2 times per week.

Cooking traditions in families

Posted on by
Reply

My paternal grandma was an amazing cook. Like many women of her generation, she cooked simply by feel, taste, and approximation. She never measured out anything, unless you counted pouring things into rice bowls as “measuring.” She made endless Cantonese delicacies like a professional chef, yet I don’t think anyone in my family truly appreciated that about her until she was gone. I was only nine when she passed away, but I have so many fond memories of dishes she would make, from her labor intensive zongzi (dong, or Chinese tamales), savory Toisan style tang yuan (a chicken/shrimp/radish based thick soup studded with chewy plain mochi-like balls, napa cabbage, dried shrimp, and Chinese sausage; to her simple steamed chicken and mushrooms flavored with salted fish.

While I love my mom and my mother-in-law, I will be honest and say that if the two of them had one thing in common, it’s that neither really ever enjoyed cooking; they kind of got forced into it because of the men they chose to marry. My dad does not really think cooking is something a man should do every day; Chris’s dad can barely boil water on his own. So both mothers cooked out of necessity and were never truly passionate about it. Now that my mother-in-law has both her kids grown and out of the house, she does do more experimental cooking and some pretty good baking. And my mom, to her credit, makes a handful of dishes extremely well that I love, from her loaded jook, several variations of pork bone and vegetable soup, Vietnamese fried egg rolls, to her very rarely made Vietnamese braised pork belly and whole shrimp dish. But regardless of these things, I do not really look at either of them and think they have a signature dish or style that I’d necessarily want to replicate.

I was thinking about a basic Vietnamese condiment, nuoc cham, the popular dipping sauce today. And annoyingly enough, even though I’ve made it endless times, it’s never been a consistent result. I think it’s ultimately because my limes are inconsistent in how sweet/sour/bitter they are, and I don’t always remember to taste the “limeade” base before adding the fish sauce. So I texted two of my Vietnamese friends for their mom’s recipe. Of course, their mom had no recipe and went by feel. But she did confirm tasting the “limeade” concoction before adding in the fish sauce, garlic, and chilies first. If the lime is too bitter, it needs to be evened out with a touch of unseasoned rice vinegar — this is a key step, the tasting to see if the limeade is balanced; would you actually want to drink this as a beverage? That’s an easy addition, especially since I always have that on hand. My friends are trying to gradually document all of their mom’s recipes so that they can replicate it on their own. While that would be a labor of love, I think that’s one of the best ways to honor those who come before us — to continue the food traditions that they lovingly shared with us, so that our children after us can hopefully continue to enjoy and make these dishes. After all, food is culture, and culture is food.

Missing freshly pressed soy milk while back home

Posted on by
Reply

This last week back in New York has been a bit of a blur. It’s been a mix of adjusting with Kaia’s jet lag and being back in school, getting back into the swing of daily morning workouts and getting Kaia ready for school, into the usual humdrum that is full-time remote work, and all the usual day-to-day things when you are back to “real life.” Instead of sumptuous and complimentary Chinese breakfast buffets, I’ve been forgoing breakfast as I usually do and having only tea until lunch time. I’ve been having little fleeting daydreams of enjoying freshly pressed, hot soy milk each morning to start my day. Sometimes, it’s just the little things you miss while traveling that stay with you, and this, for me, is one of them.

I had to pick Kaia up from school a bit early today because we had scheduled her for back to back dentist and doctor’s appointments this afternoon. But I asked Chris if there was anything he wanted from Chinatown that I could pick up. He responded and said that given all the great food we’d had in the last week in Hong Kong and China, plus the amazing Asian food we had while in Australia the previous three weeks, he really did not feel like… anything.

And the funny thing was… neither did I. Guangdong and Hong Kong are as close to my paternal roots as I can get, which means that they are really the the main types of food I grew up eating. Yet even I came up with blankness when I thought about what I wanted to get from Chinatown, as well. So, in the end, I actually didn’t get anything.

For our weekly Friday takeout, we ended up having Mexican/Peruvian tonight from a food truck nearby we liked. And yes, it really hit the spot.

Double Crispy, aka Pu Ta Wang Bing Wu, and its popularity explosion

Posted on by
Reply

I’ve been going to Double Crispy Bakery, also known in Chinese as Dan Ta Wang Bing Wu on Grand Street in Manhattan Chinatown, since at least 2018 or 2019. Since 2020, I started going there more and buying things, partly because I love their baked goods, but also because I got really worried during the pandemic that my favorite old-school Chinese businesses in Chinatown wouldn’t survive COVID-19 and the anti-Asian hatred that was stoked back then. Now that Kaia’s school is literally two doors down from Double Crispy, I go there almost every week. Sometimes, it’s to purchase breakfast items for the whole family; other times, it’s to get a treat for Kaia. Kaia’s favorite bao is pork floss bao, for which Double Crispy does an excellent version. I also love their egg custard pineapple bao, their cha siu bao, and several others. Their frozen cai rou bao and ji bao (pork/cabbage and chicken bao) are also delicious and great value. Although I do not buy their Chinese or Portuguese-style egg tarts that often, they do great versions of both (and I suppose they should given their Chinese name). For specialty items, they do a delicious variety of mooncakes throughout the year and amp up the variety and size of moon cakes around Mid-Autumn Moon Festival. I especially like their durian mooncakes. And you can never go wrong with lotus seed paste.

I was pleasantly surprised to see that Double Crispy got featured in the New York Times Cooking section and was in a video they produced that went viral. The video highlights not only the bakery’s intense production of moon cakes, but also the family’s unity, perseverance, and drive to ensure the bakery is successful and that they are producing the very best products for their loyal customers. When I saw it last September, I nearly had tears in my eyes, seeing how much the owner’s sons helped out with their dad’s business and the very clear love they all had for each other and the bakery itself. And since that video came out, the virality was palpable: each day at school pickup when I’d pass by Double Crispy, entire shelves would be wiped clean of their buns, pastries, and breads. It was as though someone had come in and ordered every single darn item on the shelf. I was happy for them and how successful they were; I chuckled to myself when I’d see tourists gathering from outside, confirming this was the same place that was featured in the NYT video, then laugh even more when I saw they weren’t just buying one or two items, but dozens upon dozens of their baked goods.

I walked into the shop today to pick up a loaf of bread and was happy to see that one of the owner’s sons was manning the cash register. I greeted him and congratulated him on the NYT feature and said that I was proud to be a loyal customer for years and years before that video came out last autumn. We made some small talk about the business and how they could barely keep up with demand, and he thanked me for my repeat patronage. And as he bagged up my bread, he neatly wrapped two egg tarts for me and added it in. “This is just a little thanks for your loyalty and support all these years,” the owner’s son said with a big grin. “We wouldn’t be here without customers like you.”

That was so sweet and totally not needed at all; free egg tarts or not, I’d still support them anyway. And if I didn’t, Kaia would just repeatedly run in there and demand every bao on the shelf to eat! One of her favorite things to do on warmer days is to run through their open doors (only open during warmer months, obviously) and point at all the different baos she wants to eat!

Hidden hotel floors in Hong Kong

Posted on by
Reply

I feel like in the last two years, I’ve really grown an affinity to the term “if you know, you know,” aka #iykyk. The 2025 articles I keep seeing are listing “#iykyk” as an overused term that is “fini” for the new year, but I don’t care: it most definitely still will resonate. The reason for this is that… unless you are aware of certain things or certain events, you cannot fully appreciate something that you see or is shared. Why not? Because… you just didn’t know!

Here’s a case in point: at the hotel we stayed at during both legs of our stay in Hong Kong, the Renaissance Harbour View Hotel Hong Kong, which is part of the Marriott group of hotels, appears as though there are only 41 floors in the building. Floors 40 and 41 are the Club Lounge, where those guests who have a certain level of status get access (like us), or those who have purchased a hotel stay including club lounge will have access. Chris added a request for the second leg of our stay to be upgraded to a suite if one was available, and he was granted his request: we got a suite… that was on the hidden top floor 42.

I didn’t realize this until we came to the hotel on Saturday evening. Chris rarely shares these things in advance, as he loves to surprise. He pressed on the button for the club lounge floor to end the evening. I had originally thought he wanted to stop by to grab a beverage before heading to our room. But what ended up being the case is that floor 42 is not accessible by the regular elevator bank; you have to take the main elevator to floor 41, then either take a second elevator up just one level to 42, or walk up a short flight of stairs to 42. Once we got to our room, we were in what could have been an extremely spacious New York City apartment: 1.5 bathrooms (one of which could easily be the size of a bedroom, with a standalone soaking bathtub, his-and-her sinks, and a roomy rainfall shower), a massive living room with a dedicated work space, a large king-sized bedroom, and floor-to-ceiling windows that gave a full, unobstructed view of Hong Kong Harbour. The living room was so large that it had two doorways you could choose from to enter the bedroom. Kaia loved this so much and constantly ran in and out and around in circles, giggling and singing nonstop, relishing every inch of this newfound space she could enjoy for just a single night.

If this wasn’t enough, on our small dining table, the hotel management left us a tray of tasty delights: two beautifully packaged chocolate bars — one flavored with Taiwanese oolong and one with Sichuanese pepper; a small jug of Hong Kong style iced milk tea, a platter of fresh fruit, two crispy almond cookies, and two fresh, flaky coconut tarts. If this wasn’t the ultimate “welcome back to Hong Kong” experience by a hotel, I wasn’t sure what was.

“You live a really good life — far more luxurious and better than any of your cousins,” my mom once said to me back in 2019 when she learned of all our points-paid hotel nights, hotel room and flight upgrades, and all the little gifts that hotels have given Chris and me along the way for our loyalty. I suppose what she said is true. But a big part of the reason I have all of this is Chris: he always knows how to play the game, the system, when and how to ask. I’d honestly be lost navigating all of this if it weren’t for him. So really, he is the one who actually knows; I’m just coming to tag along and enjoy it all, and so is Pookster.

Last bites in Guangzhou and back to Hong Kong for juicy buns, bouncy beef balls, more English/Cantonese on menus and signs, and a crab dish that unexpectedly broke the bank

Posted on by
Reply

Guangzhou came and went so quickly that it felt like we blinked and suddenly, it was already time to leave. We woke up earlier than usual this morning for our last breakfast and meal before taking the train to go back to Hong Kong for one night tonight. I got to indulge in my last breakfast buffet of dim sum delights like nuo mi ji (sticky rice with chicken and mushrooms, wrapped in fragrant lotus leaves), nai huang bao (hot egg custard buns), and decorated congee. I also had my last fresh sweet soy milk in Guangdong while dipping a you tiao (fried cruller) stick into it. Hot, fresh, sweet soy milk and a you tiao stick are extremely nostalgic for me, as they always remind me of my early morning walks alone around East China Normal University in Shanghai that summer of 2006, grabbing an early breakfast off street vendor carts and taking in all the chaos and fun of a new country. At that time of my life, I had never left the U.S.; that experience was my very first experience of China, as well as the world outside the U.S. Growing up, I enjoyed sweet soy milk as a stand-alone drink when my mom would buy it fresh from a local market. But we never dipped you tiao stick into them. Instead, when my mom or grandma would buy freshly fried you tiao sticks from a Chinese bakery, they would snip them into bite sized pieces. We’d then toss them into jook/congee for extra indulgence and extra texture/crunch. This seemed to be the Cantonese way of enjoying you tiao sticks. Well, I embrace every which way of eating you tiao sticks as well as drinking freshly pressed soybean milk, so I definitely do not discriminate.

When we originally left Hong Kong on Wednesday to arrive in Guangzhou, the biggest differences I felt immediately were:

  1. Less signs and/or no descriptions in English or even pinyin at times
  2. Squat toilets were the majority; seated toilets were the minority (if any) in a given restroom); most public restrooms here, unless at a nicer establishment, did not even have soap or toilet paper
  3. Cashless payments via WeChat or Alipay in Guangzhou only; virtually no cash, whereas in Hong Kong, endless businesses are cash-only
  4. More Mandarin Chinese spoken in Guangzhou predictably, but still a good amount of Cantonese spoken
  5. No Uber in Guangzhou; we used DiDi

So goodbye to squat toilets for us heading back to Hong Kong, and hello to more English and spoken Cantonese!

After we checked into our hotel, we went out and about again on the MTR, this time to Tsim Sha Shui (or Jian Sha Ju in Mandarin) on the Kowloon side of Hong Kong. We stopped at Cheung Hing Lee, a popular spot for Shanghainese sheng jian bao (fried, thicker skinned soup dumplings) at the recommendation of my friend who lived in Hong Kong for about nine months. The baos were exactly as advertised: thin skinned, super crispy bottoms, lots of clear, clean flavored broth that literally squirted out of the bao with each bite, and tender, fatty, tasty pork inside. And afterwards, we slithered our way into the Haiphong Road Temporary Food Market just a few minutes walk away, where we ate at Tak Fat (De Fa) Beef Ball stall, in what is now a semi dai pai dong.

Dai pai dong is an open-air food stall, and a term that was created in Hong Kong. In Cantonese, the name refers to “big license stall,” and they were historically tucked into alleys, next to buildings and on streets. What makes them fun, delicious, and nostalgic for many Hong Kongers is not only their cheap prices, but the “wok hei” flavor in many of the dishes offered, which were quick to come out and be devoured. In the late 20th century, the Hong Kong government started restricting the operations of dai pai dong to remove them from public streets; there were concerns around hygiene and sanitation. Given all this, many relocated into indoor cooked food markets that the government built, or they shut down altogether. The experience of eating in one, even a “semi” dai pai dong like Haiphong Road Temporary Food Market, feels fun, lively, chaotic, boisterous, and reminds many people of the old-school Hong Kong days when this was pretty much how everyday people ate and mingled with each other. It didn’t matter if you earned pennies or were a millionaire; you were eating at a dai pai dong. Back during our 2015-2016 trip, we ate at one dai pai dong, I believe either in Central or Sheung Wan. But I think this experience was even more fun and chaotic. I loved the hustle and bustle of the place, the quick turnover of the tables, the super fast ordering and serving of food. I even like the way the payment was set up, all centralized at one spot across all stalls. When we got into the eating area, Chris got us a table quickly, but it wasn’t assigned to the food stall I wanted to eat at. When I realized what had happened, I asked one of the servers if we could still eat at that table and order. She said it was fine. But apparently, the server I asked was for Tak Fat, not for the one we did NOT want to eat at. So while she was perfectly fine with it since her business would benefit from our seating arrangement, the place we did not want to eat at was not okay with it. So we ended up having to move tables. It was still very quick, and we were seated at a new table immediately. The hustle was real!

We had two Hong Kong style iced milk teas, one order of beef ball and beef brisket noodle soup, and an order that I was not 100 percent certain what I got, but ended up being exactly what the Chinese said, word for word: Fried chicken egg noodle soup. When this finally arrived a while after our noodle soup and teas came, it was two perfectly fried to order chicken wings and one fried egg on a plate, and a bowl of chicken broth with instant noodles in it. It was kind of hilarious, as I wasn’t totally expecting that, but it was truly a literal translation of the Chinese. It was a typical cha chaan teng meal, and one that Chris found very peculiar. We all enjoyed the chicken wings. The beef balls were very flavorful, super springy and bouncy. The beef brisket was also delicious — melt in your mouth tender and well seasoned. I can still smell the five-spiced / star anise aroma as I am writing this. Kaia really enjoyed the beef broth, and she tried to steal the bowl from me as I was enjoying the beef brisket and beef balls!

Our last meal of the day was at a seafood restaurant closer to our hotel, which I will definitely remember, but not necessarily for culinary or taste reasons. It felt very local and was in an area that had virtually no tourists. Plus, you had to go up a discreet elevator to get to the restaurant. Chris asked me what I wanted to eat as a last dinner before we left, and I told him we hadn’t had any crab, so I’d like to eat Cantonese style crab. Well, I didn’t realize that yet again, even after my first experience with our overpriced steamed whole fish at Shenggengwan Restaurant in Guangzhou, that “market price” can be a very dangerous label on a platter of seafood at any restaurant. I ordered the fried crab with ginger scallion. The sauce was delicious, as was the crab (which I pretty much ate all by myself since Chris thinks crab is just okay; he also hates all the work of getting the crab meat out of the shells and the mess… definitely his dad’s child). It was sweet, juicy, and perfectly cooked. I made a total mess, but in the end, it was enjoyable. Unfortunately, that single crab set us back $160 USD, which I found out when I went to pay the bill. That’s probably the most expensive crab I’d eaten in my entire life! My parents or grandparents NEVER would have paid that much for ginger scallion crab! At least I was on vacation, so I can justify it as a “vacation” expense.

Next time I order “market price,” I am most definitely asking for the price before committing. Ouch. Tasty, but still… ouch.