morning tea

Two days before Chinese New Year in 2020, Paula and I went to our local restaurant, Sun Ming Yuen, for yam char (‘drink tea’). We’d been regulars there for many years, originally when it was located in Fanling Centre, next to Fanling station. We were gutted when it appeared to close down a few years ago, but disappointment turned to delight when it reopened in Green Code Plaza, a shopping mall that forms part of a new private housing estate on the eastern edge of Fanling, a mere 15-minute walk from the village where we live.

At that time, we were in the habit of going for yam char two or three times a week. We used to go early—before 8 o’clock—which meant that we could simply walk in and pick an empty table (once all the ninety-plus tables are occupied, we would have had to wait for the door staff to allocate us empty seats on an already occupied table). However, on this particular occasion, even though we were early, the restaurant was already crowded. I wasn’t surprised by this though. The additional diners were probably from China and were visiting family members in Hong Kong for the new year.

So I didn’t think anything of it at the time. However, a couple of days later, I came down with an especially nasty cough and was out of action for the next two weeks. I’d heard about a mysterious illness that had recently emerged in China, but it hadn’t yet made the headlines, and I’ve often wondered whether I was hit by covid-19. Whatever is the truth of this situation, we stopped going for yam char for more than two years, but we’re back again now.

One thing in particular that I like about Sun Ming Yuen is that we don’t need to order tea. The staff know what kind of tea we drink and bring it without asking. They also know that we like chili sauce with our dim sum, so they bring that too. On this subject, I’m sometimes reminded of my experiences eating in Chinese restaurants in town. I lost count of how many times a waiter brought us a pot of tea without first asking what kind of tea we wanted. When I asked what kind of tea was in the pot, the invariable reply was heung pin (jasmine tea), presumably because they think that this is what gweilos drink. I happen to detest jasmine tea—Paula and I both drink sau mei.

Meanwhile, I’d been meaning to photograph the dim sum here for ages, and I finally got around to doing so a couple of days ago. We tend to order the same dishes every time, and the first to arrive at our table is always the cheung fan:

These are steamed rice-flour pancakes with a savoury filling, in this case char siu (a special kind of roast pork). They provide a stern test of one’s skill with chopsticks. I’ve always taken a certain amount of pride in being able to use these implements better than most Chinese. Whenever someone on a nearby table orders cheung fan, I watch to see how they will cut up the pancakes into bite-size pieces. Common methods include using one chopstick in each hand; holding the chopsticks in one hand and using the other hand to squeeze the chopsticks together; and using one’s spoon. I’ve even seen people pick up a pancake by one end and take a bite off the other end. I’ve never seen anyone cut up the pancakes with just the chopsticks in one hand, which is what I do:

A few years ago, when we still went to the restaurant in the afternoon, we were allocated space on a 12-seater table along with three other couples. We knew what we wanted and thus placed our order before the others, and when the cheung fan arrived, I set about cutting it up as usual. I didn’t realize at the time, but Paula told me afterwards: the other couples were sat there in open-mouthed amazement as they watched me dismember the pancakes.

Our remaining order usually arrives all at once, but for some reason we just got two dishes to start with on this occasion:

On the left is a basket of shrimp/veg dumplings (I don’t know the Chinese name), while on the right is a basket of char siu bao, steamed rice-flour buns with a filling of char siu in hoi sin (plum) sauce.

We’d polished off these two baskets before the last two arrived:

On the left is a basket of siu mai (minced pork with a prawn on top, while on the right are three fish balls. This photo also shows the small dish of chili sauce, for which we are not charged extra!

One thing that I regret about the restaurant’s move from Fanling Centre to Green Code Plaza is the ‘combination basket’:

In addition to the two siu mai and two shrimp/veg dumplings, there were two har gow (prawn dumplings), one char siu bao and one siu lung bao (which contains minced pork and hot broth and isn’t on the menu nowadays in the early morning).

Whenever I went cycling by myself, I could go to the restaurant afterwards and order this basket, but it has been discontinued since the move.

Finally, a word about the title of this post. A while ago, I was talking about our eating habits in Hong Kong with friends back in the UK and used the phrase ‘morning tea’. I was accused of being pretentious, even though I did so because nobody would know what I meant if I said that we went for yam char, which is what I would always say to Paula:

“Do you fancy going for yam char tomorrow morning?”