7/7/07: Stanley Market, British Pubs, Trendoid Dining

7/7/07 – Saturday: Stanley Market, British Pubs, Trendoid Dining

The day dawned atypically: late. We seem to be adapting to the ridiculous time difference, awakening a little after the sun begins to shade the steel towers and the flashing liquid billboards that paper downtown Hong Kong. In any case, we had an expedition planned: we were going to go around the island and visit Stanley Market, Repulse Bay, and my mother’s old high school somewhere in the equation. We think he might have died.

We stopped off in Stanely, which reminded me of a small Italian town on the water with bizarre Chinese inflections – already crowded with people at 9 in the morning, the heat and humidity just beginning their universal assault. We dodged for the warren of shops and stalls placed under protective and shady awnings, and let the buying begin.

I purchased: mod white sunglasses that make me look like a stylish bug, a red embroidered handbag, a very orange shirt, and some aviator glasses, all for next to nothing in the States and elevated highway robbery costs in mainland China. We tromped around the market a while longer, leafing through tacky Suzie Wong crap and cheaply produced figurines of happy bunnies, babies, and gleefully fucking Chinese people. We even attempted a little stroll around the water, but the humidity wilted us down into the ground. We gave up: hail a damn air conditioned cab.

We managed to communicate to the driver that we wanted to go by mom’s old school : Hong Kong International School. Positioned back on the hill, I was immediately envious – the modernist white highrise with porthole windows and glamorous views looked like an excellent place to attend classes. We drove around slowly, looking in the windows, and Mom proclaimed with contentment that
“It hasn’t really changed."

And then we went back to the hotel. Where things were air conditioned.

We ventured out into Wanchai again to hit the Bull and Bear, which in its original location was one of Mom’s old haunts – I have often considered the bar’s brown plastic swizzle stick she keeps in a jar at our house from her party days. The place was clean and new, run by a fellow named Nigel who seemed to exist primarily to perpetuate the English sterotype: a ruddy skinny blonde with bad teeth and a friendly, awkward manner. Good god.

In any case, my ceaser salad with grilled chicken was good enough, although I was surprised by the pasty and anchovy-licious dressing. My mother had a plougman’s lunch of big chunks of cheese and bread, and my father had fish and chips and a beer. It was all very satisfying, watching the Wanchai people go by and the Filipino nannies wander around on their day off, cellphones adhered permanently to their ears.

We had reservations for an evening dinner at the super-hip Hutong on Kowloon side, so we jumped onto the Star Ferry again. The trip featured another one of those ridiculous South Pacific sun-downs, and we threaded our way through the shopping crowds, techni-colored panda statues and Prada billboards to the 1 Peking Building, where we ascended a giant gilded escalator and elevator to the restaurant.

The elevator doors opened to reveal a very dark and very well-designed space, intended to evoke old China without the dirt and poverty. Women dressed in gypsy chic dresses and pin-heels picked at food, as Chinese executives ordered expensive bottles of champagne and talked at each other. And oh, the view – the sun went down and we could see all of Hong Kong, the fireworks playing off each other in celebration of Peaceful Handover, dancing off the darkened walls.

But the food?

The menu was big, faux-handwritten, and obviously hedging to Chinese authenticity, featuring all sorts of nasty bits and eccentric animal parts. My dad loves eggplant, so we began with the stuffed fried eggplant with shrimp. This was tasty in that super deep fried way, but a little bit too heavy – state fair food with a hell of a markup.

Next we ordered one of my Very Favorite Foods, deep fried soft shell crab. This was brought to the table with considerable flair in a wicker basket filled to the top with crispy roast chilies. The bespectacled waiter instructed us to dig around in there to find the actual crab – huh? We proceeded to do this, but the lightly fried crab was so pepper infused that my mother couldn’t even eat it. I managed fine since I am possessed of Super Asbestos Mouth, but the flavor was off putting and overwhelmed the crab, something that should be infused with a briny, delicate lightness. But it sure did look cool.

The braised pork ribs in capsicum sauce emerged next – meaty, slow cooked, and tasty, though the taste equivalent to a luxe variant on those sticky ribs you get from Chinese take out joints in the states. Tasty all right, but I was expecting more flash.

We tried a very interesting dish, a pot of fried rice with shrimp and fennel. The unusual addition of the fennel elevated what could have been a boring jar of carbs into an interesting, almost Creole dish. Yummy.

The last main was the best: a slab of rich, fatty grilled eel with an unusual lime infused sauce. This took unagi to a wonderful new level, and we fought over the pieces – although total inhalation was stopped by the discovery that unagi is pretty damn bony. No matter. This was delicious.

Dessert was somewhat bizarre – a scoop of tasty and rich coconut ice cream served on a ginormous plate with tapioca, fried coconut flakes, and slimy but inoffensive funghi. It was adventurous all right, but it actually worked pretty well, though I can’t say I’m clamoring for Baskin Robbins to add “edible funghi” to its topping list any time soon.

The last salient detail about Hutong was the bathroom, which blew away mother and I. We stood in the doorway marveling at the rustic interior, the hand-drawn water pump, the multitude of tiny flickering candles. “It’s like peeing in a Kazakh camel camp,” I marveled as I washed up by candlelight. “We’re so redoing our bathroom like this,” my mother said. Excellent.

The ride back on the ferry was beautiful and quiet, and I nearly fell asleep on the boat, sea salt coalescing on my face. I fell into bed.