It's 10.30am in a dreary day. Raining, not pouring but showering lightly. We dress well; the seasoned production team got their rainproof GoreTex, me my umbrella and Tony, as usual, got his black leather jacket on.
And in walks Mr. Choi, a bit wet in his t-shirt and grey shorts starred with flour. I ask did he take any umbrella with him on his way. "No need. I gonna get wet anyway," says.
There's no air conditioner in this little dusty room. The room is so small that one of the three cameramen arrive needs to stay out.
Once the film starts rolling, Mr. Choi shows us his immaculate bamboo pasta sleight of hand in front of the cameras non-stop. For 2 hours straight -- I explain to Tony that machine can yield the same kind of noodles in 10 minutes -- the clock atop screams eternality...
But the clock is lying. Mr. Choi at below moves lightning fast, unexpectably for someone in his early 60's but reasonably expectable from someone who's been doing this daily for the last 45 years. Occasionally, he has to slow down for the cameras. The usually very chirpy shooting team is in mute mode for 2 hours. Tony too is unusually quiet for 2 hours. It is, except for a few questions, very silent in the room. The entire 2 hours.
Then when all is done, all of us shake hands with the master and express our gratitude to him, about how privileged it is for us to film this process. We don't know what else to say at that moment. And out we leave.
Minutes later, emotions explode on the way hotel.
It is as epical, lyrical and graceful as any kind of artisanal food making can be.
Alternatively, you can enjoy this photo set in the old-fashioned Flickr Slideshow way.
Michelin Hong Kong on the cheap rating: ***
