November 14-16
I did some writing on Wednesday morning, so we didn’t get out till one or two in the afternoon.
We went back to the Golden Palace, the dim sum restaurant on the 26th floor of the iSquare building, for lunch.
When Joanna spoke to the manager, he recognized us. I don’t know if we looked particularly disreputable or if he wanted to do us a favor. He led us to a table in a corner by the picture windows overlooking Victoria Harbor.
From the 26th floor, that’s quite a view. It was a bit hazy, but it still gave me the picture of the day.
We split an order of crispy pork and a bowl of sauteed vegetables, mostly different types of mushrooms.
The crispy pork portion looked much bigger in the photo on the menu than it did in real life on the table. It’s made of pork belly and consists of alternating layers of meat and fat. The meat and the middle layer of fat are very tender. The top layer of fat is browned and crisp, like a cracker.
This was the best crispy pork I have eaten outside of Thailand.
The mushroom dish was savory and plentiful.
We strolled in the area and then hid out at the hotel for a rest.
We left shortly after dark for one of the attractions I had been looking forward to seeing—the Cantonese opera singers at the Temple Street night market.
They weren’t there. Instead we saw a couple accompanied by an electric keyboard singing Asian pop. No thanks.
Joanna, remembering our great experience with the opera cafe in Singapore, wanted to try one of several karaoke bars along that part of Temple Street, to see if any of them had opera.
No such luck. We opened a door to a wall of overloud bad music and a worse amateur performer.
There’s no way I was going in there.
Lunch at the Golden Palace was starting to wear off, so we took a route back home that went through Hillwood Road, the bar street behind the hotel.
That brought us to a series of fortunate events.
We decided to try Tai Woo, which claimed it has stars from Michelin. The staff is very bright and cheerful. It was a slow hour, between rushes.
Waiters and waitresses would stop and chat with us.
We had two common dishes that were uncommonly good—chicken with cashew nuts and choi sum.
Dessert options were red bean soup and another dessert soup made with pumpkin. We took the second one because it was unfamiliar to both of us. It wasn’t too sweet, and it was interesting. The color was terrific.
Not only was the food good, but one of the waitresses at Tai Woo gave us a lucky lead.
Joanna asked about the opera singers at Temple Street. They don’t perform there any more, the waitress said.
When she learned that we were interested in Cantonese opera, she led Joanna outside to a poster on the wall advertising opera performances on the first weekend in December.
She wrote the contact information on a slip of paper and gave it to Joanna.
We later stopped for beer at the Flame Bar next to the hotel entrance, but didn’t stay long. Everyone seemed to be smoking something—cigarettes or vapes, that is—and the atmosphere was getting close.
Thursday afternoon we dropped off our laundry at a wash-and-fold service down a curious alley from the hotel.
Then we made our way to Relax for a While on Kimberley Road. We tried something new, billed as minced pork and squid. It came as a meat patty on top of a pile of rice.
It was all right, but we probably won’t do that one again.
Joanna wanted to pick up some underwear and a variety of shirts so we wound up at Mira Place, an urban mall like so many in this neighborhood. This one has a large Uni-Qlo store, a Japanese chain that has become one of our go-to places for stuff like that.
We brought the purchases back to the hotel, where I did some research.
I found that we didn’t have to buy opera tickets online. I could buy them from a real person at a store less than a kilometer away.
Then there was the pasta craving to be dealt with.
We both live in New Jersey, Joanna most of her life, me all my life. So we know the world offers a variety of wonderful noodle dishes.
New Jersey is an unofficial province of Italy, and if you live there long enough, you know pasta and you need it as a regular part of your diet.
When you get a pasta jones, pad Thai, won ton, chow mein won’t serve as stand-ins. Pasta done right is in a class by itself.
And the “done right” is the tricky part. With few exceptions, I don’t trust pizza or pasta if it isn’t made somewhere between Philadelphia and Brooklyn, or in Italy itself.
Google gave me a lot of help. Turns out this end of Kowloon has dozens of Italian restaurants. Reviews for some of the closest to our hotel were generally mixed.
All except for one place, called Carpaccio. Opinions ranged from good to rave. A bit pricy but they have Italian wine.
It’s on the third floor of the iSquare building, about 20 stories below the Golden Palace.
We bought our opera tickets at a Tom Lee music store in a cul-de-sac called Cameron Lane. We’ll see “Happy Marriage Achieved” on Sunday December 2, when we are back from Taipei.
Then we crossed Nathan Road to the iSquare.
We found Carpaccio and in checking the menu made a stunning discovery: the carbonara was made with guanciale (not bacon, not pancetta, not ham) and egg (no cream added). Besides the spaghetti, the only other things added were pecorino and black pepper.
That alone qualified Carpaccio as worth a try.
We reserved a table for 6:30 and went for a walk. We stopped in a Pandora shop to look for a charm to add to Joanna’s bracelet.
We expected the white flower on the red field, the motif of Hong Kong’s flag, to be perfect for a charm. Apparently Pandora doesn’t agree.
Not only no flag, there were no charms at all representing Hong Kong. There was a Mickey Mouse charm, which had a connection of the Disney theme park on Lantau Island. The best of the lot was one of those fanciful Chinese animals that look like a cross between a lion and a pug.
Joanna passed.
This was rush hour. The streets were amazingly crowded, like those in New York, and the lights a bit brighter. Nathan Road and the side streets all light up like Times Square every night.
Whole walls of buildings tall enough to challenge Superman are used for light shows—some with advertising and others just for fun.
Visual bombardment while you pick your way through a mob can build an appetite.
It was time for dinner.
Joanna had a tasty Montepulciano d’Abruzzo. I ordered a Chianti Rochetto. That may be a nickname. When I saw the bottle later, the name on the label was Ridolfi.
The Rochetto wasn’t as sharp as most Chiantis are, and it had a fruit flavor that I couldn’t name at first, but still seemed somehow familiar. A second sip jogged my memory. It was the flavor of dried fig. Very interesting.
We shared an appetizer, melanzane Parmagiana. But this wasn’t American style eggplant Parm. It was baked, with a bit of cheese and tomato, but not covered in sauce and mozz.
It was delicious. I could have eaten it as an entree.
We both opted for the carbonara. It was like being back in Rome.
I haven’t found it made this way anywhere else. I had a variant using tuna instead of guanciale in Calabria. I’ve tried to make carbonara in Joanna’s kitchen.
Both of those options turned out all right, but were nowhere near as good as the real thing made by professionals.
Carpaccio’s carbonara was definitely made by professionals.
Friday was the second fitting for Joanna’s suit. We strolled down Nathan Road to Sam’s and waited for the suit to come out.
The tailor suggested taking in the waist by half an inch. Joanna picked buttons for the jacket.
I want a tan jacket to replace my current one, which is on borrowed time. I’ll wear that to Sam’s tomorrow, when we go to pick up Joanna’s finished suit, so they can get an idea of what I’m looking for.
On the way back toward the hotel, we stopped for lunch at a small shop on Austin Avenue for a light lunch. The menu listed only soup.
Joanna wanted something different and asked the lady about it. She said no, that was all they served, and suggested another shop at the end of a narrow alley nearby.
We shared a plate of Singapore mai fun without curry and a dish of gai lan (Chinese broccoli). The only beer was Blue Girl so I settled for that.
They didn’t warn me that it would come in a 640 ml bottle. It isn’t my favorite beer, but none of it went to waste.
It was a day for alleys. The easiest way to pick up the laundry was to take the long cut through the hotel lobby. It was around the bend to the front of the Best Western, up the elevator to the second floor, and then out the back.
The alley starts with some stairs and then comes to an apparent dead end.
But no, you’re supposed to go through the courtyard of the oyster and wine restaurant into another short alley.
That also dead ends, so you have to walk through the car park for (I think) the Bauhinia Hotel.
Then you step out to Observatory Court by the Yat Fu Dry Cleaning Company.
Shortly after six, and Jonathon met us at the hotel to take us back to the New Territories for another dinner. This time Ying, one of our hosts from the last time in the New Territories, would be joined by her mother, who is a little over 90.
The mother lives in the building that houses the restaurant, and everyone on the staff seems to know her. Jonathon told me later that the lady comes down to the restaurant at six every morning for breakfast.
Many of the same people joined us and we had a set meal with a variety of dishes—abalone on wilted lettuce, lobster on a bed of noodles, snails on a green vegetable, roast goose, suckling pig (more crispy pork), a whole steamed fish.
The food was so damned good that even the Carlsberg beer that came with it tasted delicious.
The metro line out there is the same one that runs under Nathan Road. It’s a ride of eight or nine stops back to Jordan Road station, which puts us a block away from Austin Road.
It was the end of another happy day in Asia.
Here’s hoping everybody stays happy, wherever they are.
Harry
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