November 30th, 2006

It was way past our bedtime when we turned in for the night after our evening at the Happy Valley race track, so it was way past our usual wake up time when we finally made it out of bed this morning. 9:30 a.m. By the time we were washed and dressed, it was too late for the continental breakfast (and, in Fondy’s case, her whipped butter pancakes). So, instead, we hit the mall for my second suit fitting and lunch at either Sichuan Restaurant or Peking Restaurant. It’s either or because, although the name outside the restaurant was Sichuan Restaurant, the name on the bill was Peking Restaurant. We naturally ordered out of two similar but not identical menu’s – one for Sichuan Restaurant, the other for Peking Restaurant. We mixed and matched and had a nice camphor-smoked duck, some very good pork dumplings (though, to be fair, I’ve had just as good at Vancouver’s Long’s Noodle House), and a fabulous sweet and sour fish that was lightly batter dusted and nicely seasoned with garlic and green onions. Excellent all-around.

We headed back to the hotel and, on our way, passed the bakery on the basement level where we spotted some pistachio French macaroons. Fondy found them too sweet so I gladly ate hers as well.

We spent the afternoon in Kowloon shopping or, more to the point, Fondy shopped while was on hand to offer moral support. Hong Kong is truly a high-end shopper’s dream come true with more designer shops and specialty boutiques than anywhere in the world. I counted eight different Cartier stores in the three and half blocks we covered. Fondy pointed out that between the 10-20% discounts some places offered and the fact that there is no tax on items purchased, the deals can’t be beat. I agreed. 10-20% AND no taxes! It’s like we’re MAKING money on the purchases. We’d be foolish NOT to buy.

In the Harbour City Mall, we took a break by a big bay window that looked out onto Hong Kong harbour. As we stood, looking out at the beautiful view, Fondy grew pensive and told me that when she died, she wanted to be cremated and have her ashes scattered at sea. Although I’d never really given it serious thought, in those few seconds, looking out at the harbour, I came to a decision myself. I told Fondy that if and when I died, I too wanted to be cremated and have my ashes scattered – but in cookie batter. And then I wanted the baked cookies to be distributed as Christmas gifts to my unwitting friends and family so that, in some small way, a part of me would be with them forever. Or, at the very least, twelve to thirty-six hours.

6:30 p.m. finally rolled around and we headed up to the 28^th floor of Peking One for dinner at Hutong, a fabulous restaurant with an equally fabulous view. The dish of the night was the first to arrive: deboned lamb ribs served with a green onion sauce, minced garlic, and shallot accompaniment. It was so good that I bet even my buddy Carl, who hates lamb, would have loved it. Tender, crispy-skinned, and very tasty. Fondy pronounced it the best lamb dish she’s ever enjoyed. We also had what I believe was the spiciest dish we’ve ever been served in a restaurant (not counting the time we went to Blue Water where Master Chef Hiro, evidently annoyed at my constantly dissing the wimpiness of his spicy dynamite rolls, laced my order with Blair’s After Death sauce. One piece and I’d felt as if someone had butted out in the back of my throat): The soft-shell crab arrived in a pot swimming with red chilis. They were fiery but delicious. Fondy, unfortunately, couldn’t get past her first bite and instead redirected her attention to her fried rice with egg whites and green scallions which she enjoyed immensely. Somewhere between these terrific dishes, we also had an order of forgettable veggie dumplings and a so-so wok-fried baby eel with shallots. We ended the evening with dessert: a light osmanthus flower-almond soup with black sesame dumplings for Fondy, and a heavy taro cake with two scoops of ice cream (coconut and hazelnut) for me. Surprisingly, I preferred her dessert as I expected subtle flavoring from the soup but not the ice cream.

One fifteen minute hair-raising cab ride and we were back in the hotel. Tomorrow is our last full day in Hong Kong so we’ll be making the most of it with not one but two tours: a trip to the New Territories and something called “The Splendid Night of Delights” which I have a feeling sounds more fun than it actually will be. But, just in case, I’m wearing my new underwear

Let's call it November 29th

I managed to wake up a little earlier today and squeeze in a work-out before heading down for a power breakfast: grilled fish (for low-fat protein), smoked salmon (for omega 3 oils), oatmeal and muesli (for fibre), papaya (for vitamin c), Eggs Benny on a baked tomato (for lutein and lycopene), and dim sum and ham (for flavoring). Incidentally, one of the things I’m about to take away from this trip is the secret to great oatmeal: cream and plenty of sugar. A little reading, a little organizing, and then it was downstairs for our respective massages.

I had Fondy book me the Swedish massage, assuming I could count on a nice, relaxing, light-touch session. I imagined I’d be so relaxed, I might even fall asleep. How embarrassing would that be? As it turns out, I had nothing to fear. I was awake for the full 90 minutes of poking, prodding, gouging, twisting, and pulling. “You’re tense,”noted my 4’10” masseuse with the fingers of stone. I pointed out that the tenseness she was feeling may have been a result of my body’s reaction to the deep-tissue treatment. She informed me that while she could opt for a lighter touch, she would, in essence, be cheating me and my muscles of the workout I had paid for. Then, she zeroed in on my legs, demonstrating an exquisitely excruciating calf grip that I’ll no doubt use on Carl Binder the next time he gets out of line in the writer’s room. Then, onto my back, digging her fingers into my presumably tight shoulders and informing me I had “too much fire” in my body and needed more rest. She moved onto my arms, swinging them up around and back, their limited range of motion eliciting laughter from her. “Not so flexible,”she marveled, pulling and twisting. She finished with my head, kneading the base of my skull, the area around my face, executing a “lymphatic drainage”, and then punctuating the session with a triple bare knuckle rap atop my forehead. “There, how do you feel?”she asked. “Sore?” “Only where you punched me in the face,”I told her, not exactly kidding. She informed me that I might be sore tonight and tomorrow morning. “But don’t worry,”she said. “The worst you’ll experience is pain.” The worst? I’m not exactly sure what she meant by that, if it was supposed to be reassuring, but I suppose I can draw solace from the fact that it’s unlikely I will die as a result of the beating I took.

We showered up, then headed down to one of the hotel restaurants for dim sum. The dim sum list turned out to be less than inspiring, so we opted to go a la carte: a very good deep-fried squab (in Hong Kong, they dispense with the niceties and just call it pigeon), a nicely-marbled oxtail brisket, and a delicious, perfectly-cooked steamed pink groupa (sic) with soy and green onions. Sadly, there were no egg tarts on the menu, but the water did suggest the house milk tarts, three tiny but tasty treats. I wasn’t able to take picture of the groupa before the waiter got to it, but I did get a snap of the little fella after it had been deboned.

After lunch, we hopped into a taxi and had the driver drop us off at Mitsukoshi, the Hong Kong branch of my favorite Japanese department store. Sadly, it closed down three months ago, so we had to settle for Sogo. Not quite the same thing, am I right? We wandered, browsed, and eventually stopped off for a little snack at a casual Japanese eatery called Azubasabo where I enjoyed (no really) a pumpkin-chicken soup, and a vanilla soft ice cream sundae on sweet potato cake with green tea sauce. Taaaaasty!

Eventually, we made our way to the Excelsior Hotel where we boarded a bus for the Happy Valley Race Track (and I enjoyed a special Macau-style egg tart, sweeter and carmelized). Once there, we were ushered up to the visitor’s box where we enjoyed a surprisingly good buffet. The highlights included braised ox-tail, smoked salmon, and various desserts including the dish pictured – which was some sort of pound cake I christened with three shots of crème anglaise (the last picture). After dinner, I immediately set to work on my picks for the various races, quickly working out a system in which horses were allotted points for various things such as strong jockeys, trainers, recent histories on similar tracks, overall winning percentage, performance in their last five races, positioning. It was a complicated process and very time consuming, but ultimately very rewarding in that it kept me too busy to make conversation with the other people in our tour group. My selections, on the other hand, were abysmal. Apparently, you CAN lose them all.

Late night. We just got back in and I can already feel my back stiffening up. What I need is a good massage.

November 27th - Let's call it the 28th.

Reflecting back on our tour to Lantau Island, it was, for the most part, unremarkable. That said, it did have its highs and lows.

High points:

Some of the people we met on the tour: the softspoken Edgar, CFO of Price Waterhouse Cooper in Columbia, retired social worker Manju, and her wisecracking husband Dilip.

Our tour guide on bus #2, Sillia (sic?) who took great pains to detail the care that went into the construction of the suspension bridge linking Kowloon to Lantau, summing up with: “This bridge good for one hundred and twenty years. After one hundred and twenty years – not our problem.”

Low points:

Our trip to the Tai O fishing village where our group (and others) was matter-of-factly ushered through the impoverished community, houses on stilt constructed of cast-off wood and metal, where we casually surveyed the inhabitants like zoo animals. “There’s a kitchen,”said our guide in passing, pointing to a tiny room the size of closet holding a simmering pot on a fire. Thankfully, we stopped short of rifling through any underwear drawers.

The Aussie tourist seated beside me on the bus ride back to the hotel who insisted on yammering on about Frank McCourt, Angela’s Ashes, Tis which was the sequel, Teacher Man which wasn’t as good, Roal Dahl who was very good, the joys of traveling, being hit on by drunken Irishman in Dublin, the prevalence of drugs in Dublin, Disneyland Hong Kong, the outrageousness of the very idea of a Disneyland in France, her love for rollercoasters, the view out her hotel room window, and several other topics I’ve failed to remember. When it became clear that avoiding eye contact with her wasn’t about to slow her down, I looked over to Fondy for help. She sat, head back, eyes shut, beside me - pretending to sleep.

We slept in this morning, waking up a little after 8:00 a.m., and headed downstairs for another crack at the buffet. Fearing I’d been overdoing it of late, I decided to scale back a bit and settled on a Spartan breakfast of: a two-egg omelet, some smoked salmon, sablefish, zucchini (I think), and a couple of baked tomatoes (which I did eat this time around). I even skipped dessert.

We headed over to Pacific Place Mall where I ordered a couple of suits and shirts from the good people at Pacific Custom Tailors. As I was fitted for my suit, my Indian sales rep quizzed me as to my preferences while the Chinese tailor made the necessary adjustments and my wife looked on. “It’s too tight,”I’d say. “It’s too tight,”Fondy would translate for the tailor in Cantonese. “He wants it tighter,”the sales rep would inform the tailor. The tailor would tell him that, no, I wanted it looser. This would cause the sales rep to curtly correct the tailor which would lead the tailor to raise his voice which would cause the sales rep to raise his voice in turn, drowning out Fondy who would be trying to clarify the matter. “I don’t like pleats,”I’d say. “He doesn’t want pleats,”Fondy would tell the tailor. “He wants pleats,”the sales rep would inform the tailor. And so on.

We stopped for lunch in one of the mall restaurants: Basil. Again, I opted for a light meal that consisted of: an excellent barbecue chili chicken salad, phenomenal cracked peppercorn crab with garlic, basil, onions and pepper, and a wonderfully tender pork neck dish. A great, great meal. Interestingly enough, to this point we’ve been underwhelmed by the high-end restaurants we’ve visited and thoroughly wowed by some of the more casual eateries we’ve checked out.

We spent the rest of the afternoon shopping, managing to work our way through three of Hong Kong’s top designer malls. The customer service here is polished; I’d argue painfully professional. We walked into a tiny shoe store, for instance, and were immediately surrounded by five sales associates, all dressed in black, silent and stone-faced, eyes straight ahead, hands clasped behind their backs, keeping a respectable distance. As we moved through the store, they would reposition themselves in a seemingly choreographed sequence of moves - crossing, circling, shifting – yet always in step with us, moving in concert, our own personal force field.

A little after 6:30 p.m., we headed downstairs to the Café Too for dinner. Their breakfast buffet was pretty impressive so, out of curiosity, we had to check out their dinner menu. Also a buffet it was…fairly thorough: fresh oysters, crab, prawn, sushi, sashimi, duck, roast pork, crispy pork, sablefish, lamb chops, beef tenderloin, various stir fries, noodle dishes, rice dishes, pork cheek (twice in one day!), and a host of desserts including gelatos, pastries, cakes, puddings, and, oh yeah, fresh fruit. Again, I showed incredible restraint, settling on a modest plate of salmon sushi, salmon sashimi, smoked fish, lamb chop, pork cheek sablefish, roast pork, duck, crispy pork, and a little crepe thing filled with something I didn’t recognize served with what may have been satay sauce. Dessert was equally simple: crème caramel, chocolate cake, and chestnut cream and cake in a shot glass. I swear, if I was able to show such restraint every day, I’d be down to my fighting weight in no time.

Looks like another early night tonight as we prepare for a pretty full day tomorrow: massages and an evening at the racetrack. I read somewhere that Hong Kong’s biggest payout was in 1997 when a number of HK $1.3 (20 cents Cdn) bets paid off to the tune of HK $260 000 ($40 000 Cdn) – 200 000 times the original bet! I’m picking up the Racing Post tomorrow morning and starting my research. I figure that even if the payout is only half that, 100 000 times my original bet, I’ll still be in a position to make modest profit.

November 26th - actually, it's the 27th here.

Faced with the prospect of a grueling all-day tour (and a vegetarian lunch), I decided to fortify myself with a well-balanced breakfast of Eggs Benny, four kinds of dim sum, some smoked fish, grilled salmon, and two pieces of papaya (again, purely for decorative purposes). And it’s a good thing I did because it was a full six hours later by the time we sat down to lunch! Between meals, we switched off three buses to finally get to Lantau (literally “broken head”) Island where the last bus transported us up a steep and winding single-lane mountain road. As we motored along, occasionally pulling over to allow the oncoming vehicles to pass, my mind wandered to the tourist tragedy snippets that occasionally found their way into the international section of my local newspaper. No more than a paragraph in length, these little blurbs tended to involve a narrow winding mountain roads (check!), a tour bus that witnesses would later report was traveling at an excessive speed (check!), bad weather in the form of rain or, worse, fog (check and check!), and the words “plunge”, “mangled”, and “bottom of a ravine”.

Thankfully, we reached the Po Lin Monastery safe and sound and there, we were treated to a stroll through an assortment of souvenir shops and a fog-obscured view of the famed Giant Bronze Buddha. Then, it was down to the restaurant for a complimentary lunch prepared by the local monks.

As it turned out, the vegetarian lunch was surprisingly good (then again, by this point I was downright ravenous). I feasted on tofu, broccoli, taro, beancurd skin, and a dish that contained something that tasted suspiciously like meat. With lunch out of the way, it was back on the bus for a trip to the nearby cable car station. Now I like heights about as much as the next guy who happens to be terrified of heights, but I thought I was doing a pretty good job of hiding my general apprehension as we made the steep descent – until, that is, we broke through the wall of fog and I was treated to a spectacularly terrifying view of long drop down. I don’t know how I reacted exactly, but apparently the look on my face was enough to trigger prolonged laughter from the elderly Indian couple seated directly across from us.

By the time we made it back to the hotel, we were both exhausted. We rested up, changed, and then headed down to one of the hotel restaurants for another underwhelming dinner. We started with Monk Jumps Over the Wall, a hearty soup that included double-boiled abalone, sharkfin, conpoy, sea cucumber, silky chicken, and mushrooms. We followed with a passable “stuffed crab in its shell”, terrific squab two ways, a good “sweet and sour groupa”, an odd “bamboo fungus stuffed with diced vegetables”, and an even odder “baked rice with hairy crab roe and mixed meat”. We skipped dessert and headed back to the room where I would later work on my blog and, while Fondy was off getting a massage, desperately turn the place upside-down looking for the lone French macaroon she claimed she hadn’t eaten (and, in fact, had thrown out that morning).

Tomorrow's forecast calls for overcast skies with a chance of precipitation and crispy eel.

November 25th-ish

We got in a little after 8:30 p.m. and were in bed by 10:00 p.m. I assumed I would sleep until 7:00 a.m., giving me a good 9 hours to get over the jetlag and have me well-rested enough for our first full day in Hong Kong. Everything was going according to plan – until about 4:30 a.m. when Fondy started tossing and turning, then turned on the light so she could read, then turned on the t.v. so she could have something to listen to while she read. I buried my head between two pillows in a desperate attempt to stick to the plan but, when 6:00 a.m. finally rolled around, I gave up, turned on my laptop, and got to work on my blog. I was halfway through figuring out how to post pictures when Fondy turned off the t.v. and asked me to keep it down as she was going to try to get a couple of hours of sleep before breakfast.

Posted my latest blog entry, worked out, showered and dressed, then headed downstairs for the complimentary breakfast buffet that was included as part of our package. To be honest, the term “continental breakfast” has always evoked bad memories of the cold omelets, blackened toast, and individually packaged peanut butters I’d have to endure whenever my family stayed at a Holiday Inn. And so, I wasn’t expecting much this morning – and was totally blown away by a buffet that would put some of Las Vegas’s best to shame. Pictured above (Photo #1) was my breakfast, comprised of: Eggs Benny, bacon, turkey sausage, ham, perfectly cooked sablefish, some of the best dim sum I’ve ever had, and two pieces of tomato strictly for decorative purposes. And, of course, what breakfast would be complete without dessert: blueberry cheesecake, an almond crueler, and a steamed egg-yolk bun.

We worked off breakfast with a walk through Hong Kong Park and an afternoon of shopping at Pacific Place Mall where I purchased two pairs of sunglasses, vowing not to lose these like I lost the last pair I vowed not to lose that I got to replace the last pair I lost. We checked out a local museum/gallery and it was only after we had climbed the stairs, passed the smiling security guard, and entered the empty display room that we realized we had wandered into an exhibition showcasing the history of Chinese stamps and seals. I glanced back at the doorway, foolishly believing we might be able to beat a hasty retreat, only to discovered our escape blocked by the hopeful-looking curator whose smile, I believed, belied a soul borne of desperate loneliness. Or he may have just been hanging around to make sure we didn’t swipe anything. In the end, it was equal parts guilt and pity that kept us there for the next half hour, leisurely perusing the hundred or so stamps and seals, and their accompanying stories. By the time 12:30 rolled around, I still wasn’t hungry but reasoned that skipping lunch would be tantamount to a lost opportunity so we checked out Ye Shanghai, located in the mall. We started with sharkfin soup in brown sauce, then followed with some steamed mini pork bellies, steamed pork dumplings we enjoyed with the house homemade X.O. sauce, and finished with a couple of steamed red date paste buns. A fantastic meal.

On the way back to the hotel, we passed a little dessert boutique and picked up some French macaroons (chocolate and green tea, and caramel). As I later sat in my hotel room, eating the macaroons, a great sadness came over me. I’d liken it to going to Jersey as a kid to visit your aunt Fanny, having such a good time that, in the back of your mind you’re already dreading the prospect of having to leave her for another year - except that instead of Jersey you’re in Hong Kong and instead of aunt Fanny it’s French macaroons you’ll be bidding a tearful goodbye.

The concierge informed us that, despite the fact it was going to be an incredibly busy evening, Petrus, the hotel’s premier restaurant, was able to squeeze us in. In the end, they were able to accommodate us only because we happened to be guests of the Shangri-la. Lucky us. We arrived for our 6:30 p.m. sitting to a completely empty restaurant. As I looked over the menu, I couldn’t help but notice the absence of the hairy crab promised on the poster in the lobby: “Hairy crab festival at Petrus until November 30th”. When I inquired, the waiter informed me the festival was over. And when I pressed him, referring to the poster, he first blamed a change in the kitchen staff, then pretended not to understand what I was saying. So, I settled for a very good lobster bisque with too few uni-stuffed ravioli, a very good white truffle risotto, and an excellent turbot that I only got to taste because Fondy didn’t like her duck dish and I offered to switch with her. The duck was good. But not as good as my turbot.

We’re back in the room now and it’s almost 9:00 p.m. I plan to read for an hour and be asleep by 10:30 p.m. With an all-day tour to Lantau Island booked for tomorrow, I’m hoping to catch up on some lost sleep.

Well, that's the plan anyway.

November 24, 2006

For some reason, the women in my family share a propensity for speaking their minds with a refreshing obliviousness to consequence. There was my then 110 year old grandmother who, when asked to make a toast at my cousin’s wedding, offered the following off-the-cuff gem: “Of all the guys she could have married, she has goes and picks one who already has a kid.” Or my high-spirited aunt who boisterously welcomed my sister back from her holiday in Greece, breaking the hitherto somber silence of the funeral in progress. And then there’s my mother who, on hearing I was traveling to Asia for a couple of weeks, eschewed the clichéd “Have a good time!” or “Travel safely!” in favor of the more utilitarian: “Is your will up to date?”

Normally, the comment wouldn’t have bothered me so much (and, by normally, I mean the 360 odd days of the year when I’m not traveling by plane), but the fact that I’m not a particularly comfortable flyer to begin with made this afternoon’s flight out of Vancouver just a touch more stressful. Of course it didn’t help that we were delayed over an hour by what the Air Canada rep termed “a minor maintenance problem” (“That pesky lugnut keeps rattling loose!”). But we eventually took off a little after 1:30 p.m. and, once safely in the air, I was finally able to sit back, relax, and enjoy 14 ½ hours of Air Canada first-class service which included: two tepid prawn dishes, the customary Keanu Reeves/Richard Gere romantic snoozer, and a mysterious intermittent sprinkling of ice pellets generated by the air vent directly over my seat.

Three naps, two novels, and half the second season of Boston Legal later, and we were in Hong Kong - 8:30 p.m. local time, 4:30 a.m. Vancouver time. Let the real eating begin!

November 21, 2006

Here I sit, watching the battery recharge on my new HD camera (less than an hour to go!), making final preparations for my trip to Hong Kong and Tokyo. For the purposes of keeping a travel diary of sorts - and keeping you all entertained, natch - I'm attempting my second foray into the wonderful world of blogging. Unlike the last blog which focused on the show and its various behind-the-scenes happenings, this one will adopt a more scattershot approach, covering a variety of topics in a half-ass manner, ensuring that anyone checking it out in search of any one thing will come away feeling wholly dissatisfied or, at the very least, somewhat disappointed.

That said, for the next couple of weeks, I'll mostly be writing about my trip to Asia and the fantastic meals I'll be enjoying along the way. Some people travel to experience the world and its various cultures. Others travel to learn more about themselves and discover their true priorities in life. I travel to eat - really, really, really well. And, to that end, I can't think of two better places than Tokyo and Hong Kong, a couple of the cities that make up part of my holy trinity of dining destinations (Las Vegas being the third). Among the establishments topping my "To Visit" list are Ginza Miyachiku Restaurant (which, if you believe my friend Ena, offers a terrific "steak/fat-soaked toast cracker dessert! Crazy good!"), Jiyugoaka Sweets Forest (a dessert theme park in which Japan's top chefs show off their signature creations), and Liu Yuan (for its famed crispy eel of course).

And if I can figure out how to do it (provided I can theoretically do it at all), I'll include some pics to accompany the undoubtedly dry text to follow.

Joe