Something neither surprising and premature, this goose-all-the-way dinner menu at Yung Kee can single-handedly bring peace to China. Bring all ethnic group leaders together, order this bespoke menu and show them a galore of goose dishes, and everyone will be so dumbstruck and stupefied by the glossy geese that they'll sign whatever you put in front of them. See this Nobel Committee? My bid for next year's Peace Prize, one goose at a time.
Fact is, as dimsumlicious as they're to look at, they're not edible at all.
Fact is, despite the close resemblance of what they're ostensibly shaped for, say, hargaw, siumai, chaxiubao and what not, they're nothing but candles.
Fact is, even though the maker claims that they smell exactly like what they appeared of, they're still nothing but w-a-x. And I can assure the fact that you'll get burned if you ever try to swallow it to validate that claim.
Factually, I wouldn't recommend such attempt for these are made in China, which automatically makes them stand a slim chance to pass even the flimsiest safety standard around the globe. I repeat, they're Made in China; so bedroom x gluttony fetishfun at your own peril.
Once again I'm lost about how can the English press ignore a milk tea brewing competition in Hong Kong altogether. I mean, Suu Kyi and drug test in schools?! Move over.
Then again, you can argue to buy into the verdict of this competition, which took place over the weekend in a tea fair, is no less different than to trust what a couple says in the wedding ceremony about marriage. Granted, what the judges are sipping probably won't be equal to what ends up serving the everyday clientele, but apparently who's the king of xi mut lai cha, or pantyhose milk tea, is a very burning question for the locals: it has graced the headlines for pretty much all the local newspapers on Sunday.
But to fess up, these are just trivia. What matters most is who's the champion when it comes to the finest Hong Kong-style "silk stocking" milk tea. And herein is the lowdown in brief.
The king of pantyhose milk tea is a shop all the way from Hung Shui Kiu, Yuen Long -- no need to blush if you haven't got a single clue of its whereabout. Last time I check, it is the most isolated landmass of Hong Kong. Men live there still keep pigtail while women continue the practice of foot-binding. The name of the ranch chachaanteng is Tai Fat and their milk tea costs just HKD11.
The second best is a chain called Tai Hing Roast Restaurant. Their ice-chilled milk tea would definitely tickle you to death in the scorching summer if you are a big fan of it.
Still, the bombshell must be the 2nd runner-up as it was won by an obscure tuck shop in Sham Tseng, with their homemade milk tea selling at HKD68 per cup (yes, you read me right!). I don't know about you, but the idea that someone is peddling a cup of milk tea brewed with pantyhose and rust kettle at such a whopping high price in Sham Tseng doesn't stand well with me at all (check out the literal meaning of the place in English, if you'll excuse the pun!). One thing is certain, they'd better make it damn good, and damn good to the last drop because it will be stampeded by every milk tea lovers now that the beans are spilled.
[Pictures courtesy of Sing Tao Media and Tai Hing Group]
Chrissie, AngelaBaby, JaniceMan, Annabella, A.Lin, Annie G, Anjaylia, E-Cup Baby, Manga Maggie, Rainbow and the Tasty Angels...
I must confess the idea that these are the alias of some screwed-up hip-hop singers did flash for a split second as I typed this. But this is far from it. What you read are the names of a bunch of so-called "pseudo-models".
And, what's more, just like you, I've no idea what the hell a pseudo-model is when this term first came up to me when I was reading the SCMP while waiting for my private jet for meeting on issues about global warming in Geneva. Back then, I was tempted to think that that is some models devised by mathematicians to solve the problems of the world before I realized it is tailored by the English press for models in their teens.
Although you can always argue the variance between cup size 34C & 34D IS something experts should analyze in particular for academic achievement thorough out their career.
While it's encouraging to see the English press is finally catching up with the social phenomena, it is sad to see how out of sync they are with the locals. For that's there's no way we're calling these models with that peculiar term. Across the board, we call them liang-mo "靚模" in Cantonese. Compounding the word liang (teenagers) and mo (an abruptly chopped-up word for models, locals ever-lasting battle to make every English words into one syllable).
Despite the lost in translation, the confluence of liang mo and the fast food culture is still validly here. More than ever, sophistication is taken as a burden. Hong Kong, as a place, is all about face value.
Still, why swim against the tide when it couldn't be more obvious that things have changed? To keep the music playing even when such a fad is done with, I might just throw out a few more Cantonese nomenclature with translation just in case:
If you're no more in your teens, you become a chun-mo 中模 (middle-aged model);
If your sophistication level is even higher than the first one, you become a suk-mo 熟模 (ripe model);
If you're originally from the Sichuan province China, you are a 'Chuan-Mo, 川模;
If you're a mix, you're a wan-mo 混模 (mix model);
If you're born ugly and too poor for nip and tuck -- yet still die to be a model, you're a chiu-mo 潮模 (chic model), for there's no word else for attention whore like you;
If your hands look great, you can of course be a sou-mo 手模 (hand model);
Likewise, if you've a good nose and you want to earn your keep with it, you're a bay-mo 鼻模 (nose model);
If you're gifted with a pair of spindly legs, you can be a gaek-mo, 腳模 (leg model);
If anything goes and you don't mind flashing your whole body, you're a tui-mo 脫模 (nude model);
If you're frequently booked for shows selling lingerie, you're a yu-mo 乳模 (breast model)
If you've good teeth, and not shy to flaunt it, you'e a good chee-mo 齒模 (teeth model) in the making; and finally,
Luck is you if have good voice and can sing like a lark, for you're a born yin-mo 音模 (voice model).
I'm not kidding, these translation are as faithful as I believe they could be.
Now though, I've a more pressing issue to deal with, which is, what to do with the name of this laid-back, make-do Taiwanese deep-fried chicken breast specialist, opened by a lovely Taiwanese lady? There's little hesitation when I settle for "I Love Taiwanese Chicks Fried Chickens". Because, at the end of the day, whether I call it a gal, bird, cat, fox or lady, it's all the same woman to me.
Usually I'd try as far as possible to keep morality issues away from my culinary world because a) it will more or less ostracize a great deal of choices from my plate given the fact that I'm living in the part of world where Chinese "values" prevail, and b) the bottom line of me can be incomparably low and elastic when it comes to food decision so I don't see any reason why I should bothered with it anyway in the first place.
Yet another hotel is forgoing political correctness for mass local appeal. The Marco Polo Hongkong Hotel's latest culinary push is a new shark's fin buffet. The Tsim Sha Tsui inn's Cafe Marco, throughout August and September, will serve numerous specialty dishes with the endangered animal's part.
... The hotel will cook shark fins in all manner of unusual methods, including as an appetiser in green papaya salsa, mixed with scrambled eggs and even in desserts like mango cheesecake, coconut panna cotta and chocolate tart.
I mean, do we really need this in HK? A smart gourmet choice or simply bragging right? Granted shark's fin can be taken as symbol of wealth and prestigious, but the simple fact is that unlike most other meat and fish, as a ingredients shark's fin yields no flavor at all by itself. So why touts a dinner with it as the centerpiece?
The only palpable reason for such an idea is that they think the menu will stand out among the avalanche of PR releases we get daily and hence the seats will sell faster. Hey, this is shark's fin; it's rare and costly so come and get it. Yet, at HK$378 per head, the charge is a big giveaway for anyone who knows a thing or two about dried seafood: the price is barely enough to cover either the low grade pectoral fin (牙棟翅/勾) or even worse, the dorsal fin (脊翅).
"Prosecutors have dropped their case against an Indonesian maid accused of using her menstrual blood in cooking dishes for her employer.
Indra Ningsih, 26, admitted to police mixing the blood in a pot of vegetables she was cooking, and was subsequently charged with "administering poison or other destructive or noxious substances with intent to injure."
However, prosecutors decided the charge could not be sustained, after the government laboratory and doctors said menstrual blood is not toxic, although it may carry a virus..."
Gee, this is downright outrageous, and flipping disgusting, more so if you buy in the proverb "you are what you eat". No emulsion of menstrual blood on my plate, please.
Contrary to the ravishing and love-or-death Madam Bai depicted in the famous folklore (白蛇傳) ‘Tale of the White Snake,’ I find it rather strange that the Cantonese mostly conjugates snakes to lazybones. For them, people on French leave are labeled as ser wong, or snake king (蛇王). The term ser dou (snake pit, in English) is the kind of hangouts for these good-for-nothings corporate leeches to fling themselves together.
Granted that location is crucial for every good ser dou (蛇竇), it is more about attitude, and the kinship inside that count. Here’s some basics that must be followed for an ideal ser dou to be constituted:
1) it must breathe a dungeon-like aura. Metaphorically it’s like a prison must stay prison-like to breed a sense of belonging among cellmates (meaning nothing pejorative here). More to the point, the place must be dim, somewhat manky (barely acceptable), and seemingly forsaken by all (particularly your bosses) to achieve a stress-free slumbering-ship. Some classic giveaways for the quintessential loafer la-la land: a belying entrance to shield out unwanted disturbance, proximity to a public W.C. (or a trash storage), the basement of a haunted building, et cetera.
2) staff capable of providing you with the most lethargy service in this world; given the illegitimacy of the circumstances, the last thing you want is conspicuous consumption. In short, a perfume that tweets ‘I’m a desert island, go mind your own business’ well before you creak your first step inside.
But whatever the yardstick is, Rainbow Service on the 8th floor of TakShing House must be the place for the ultimate ser wong emancipation. It is completely on a realm of its own, epitomizing the kind of seclusion only spaceships deserve.
The place is strategically ambushed among a fleet of dentists and doctors, suggesting better of a place for memorial services than one for restoration. As elusive as John Cusack’s office on floor 7½ of Being John Malkovich, there is no door knob to be found at the end of the shadowy corridor that pulls loafers of all stripes (to the black hole of vitality). What, no doorknob?! The door for the stealthy dining room is actually, now-you-see-me-now-you-don’t, hidden behind the emergency exit next to the registered address. Well, what else should we be surprised, save that we don’t need to land on some ditch in Yuen Long at the end of the meal (it’s New Jersey in the movie)?
Still, there’s an important etiquette not to be dozed off with. An honorable ser wong never greets anyone by name. A knowing nod and wink go a long way – the code of ser wong brotherhood calls for zero divulgence even upon whipping and lashing; otherwise, you’d only be a snake in the grass!
Rainbow Service
Address: Room 810, Tak Shing House, 20 Des Voeux Road, Central
Tel: N/A
Opening Hours: 0900 to 1430 hrs; weekdays only
I must confess the place I’m living now is a shack by the infamous Chungking Mansion, Tsim Sha Tsui. But this isn’t the place where I grown up. I used to live in an absolute dump past the outskirts of Varanasi, you know, a shithole close to the Ganges River. I fled this stinky town of mine and came to HK exactly 5 years, 4 months and 23 days ago when I knocked up my neighbor's daughter, who's 14, 1 months and 5 days old then.
Good luck to her!
Oh, the pronunciation. Don't worry about this for a second, my friend if you can't pronounce any of the names I've just mentioned right. Most of my Chinese shithead friends can't either. For the Mandarins they usually mimed my name into 假波 "fake ball," while it’s always been easier for the Cantonese to go with 揸波 "squeeze the ball".
Quite some farting buzzes I know. Yet to be honest, I ain't upset by all this. To tell you the truth, none of these balls can beat the smelly droppings from dogs and cows that I was forced to duck into when I was taken to the Ganges River as a kid. That I know for sure. Besides, they just don't know what I’ve amounted to after the big big financial meltdown.
I’m the AIG, actually.
Hold on my friend, by AIG I mean "Anti-Immorality Guru,” not the sinking insurance business. You see, my daytime job as a tea boy cowering at the chachaanteng is just a cover for my real ID.
As the Chosen One. I knew the answers.
My expertise, as a AIG from the ghetto, is all about enlightenment on the cheap, as you'll see very soon.
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