On a foodie trail in Hong Kong

I can hear a faint whining sound. I think it is my left ventricle, begging for mercy. But I don’t care and take another bite of the crispy cholesterol-saturated fatty duck. If my doctor were here he’d tell me to step away from the table immediately, lest my heart spontaneously combust. Fortunately, he isn’t and what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

So I ask the waiter to carve some more duck off for me. Smokey and delicately spiced, the flavour lingers without overpowering. It’s perfect, as I’d expect because I’m dining at the Summer Palace; an opulent two-Michelin star restaurant at the Island Shangri-La hotel in Hong Kong. I’m also having an epiphany.

You see, if I’d thought of Hong Kong before this trip it was to write it off as a boring financial centre and somewhere to buy counterfeit designer clothes. How little I knew!

My sumptuous meal at the Summer Palace was the highlight of a food and shopping safari that kicked off in far humbler circumstances.

“You must go to One Dim Sum Chinese Restaurant,” a banking friend advised, hearing I was visiting Hong Kong. The prosaic name didn’t exactly conjure up visions of fine dining, so I was doubtful. Nonetheless, I made it my first refuelling stop after arriving in Hong Kong.

My friend had warned me to get there early. “There’s always a line outside,” he said.

The little eatery is tucked away a few streets from Hong Kong’s Prince Edward Metro Station, but the long line outside was a giveaway. At least 30 people were waiting to get in, all locals it seemed.

I struck up a conversation about Hong Kong’s food scene with a middle-aged woman and her daughter. “A traditional greeting in Hong Kong is ‘Have you eaten already?’ That should tell you how important food is to us,” she smiled.

After a 20-minute wait we were ushered into the restaurant and seated together.

Space is at such a premium in bustling Hong Kong that this isn’t unusual. “Try the steamed shrimp dumplings,” the daughter said. “They’re the best in Hong Kong.”

They were light and fluffy and full of salty freshness. They should have been. My fellow diners told me that the little restaurant had been awarded a Michelin star two years running: pretty incredible for a place where the menu doubles as your place mat! But as I learned in Hong Kong, appearances can be deceptive.

From One Dim Sum I headed to the Central district and the Tai Cheong Bakery. The concierge at the Shangri-La had earlier recommended it to me. “You can’t come to Hong Kong and miss the egg tarts,” he said. It seemed a lot of fuss about a pastry crust with an egg custard, but the bakery was only a quick trip away on Hong Kong’s efficient and spotless underground system.

Again, there was that familiar line outside. As I got closer I understood why. The aroma of the baking tarts was intoxicating: syrupy sweet and laced with a rich creaminess.

I saw people walk past, stop, sniff the air and turn back to join the line.As I got to the counter a brawny baker carried over a tray of tarts fresh from the oven, still steaming. I bought two, OK three. For the purposes of research, you understand. They came to under Dh10.

I wasn’t expecting much, but as I bit into the buttery crust it crumbled with a biscuit-like crunch and the intensely eggy and creamy custard flowed. It was enough to make a French pastry chef weep with despair that he’d never reach such heights and I briefly wondered if a diet made up entirely of egg tarts would be enough to sustain life. The concierge was right. The food scene in Hong Kong is constantly churning as restaurants come and go. You can be assured that those who survive and prosper do so because they are doing something right.

Maureen, a Hong Kong noodle bar, is one such establishment. The owners’ genius was to take noodles and give them a modern Heston Blumenthal twist with lashings of molecular sauce, such as sesame foam.

Tightly packed, with seating for about 16 people, it’s in the Wan Chai district, a busy commercial area undergoing urban renewal.

The surroundings, as is often the case in Hong Kong, weren’t exactly salubrious. But Hong Kong is a safe city and it’s worth traipsing along a few dingy streets to get to some of the hole-in-the-wall places. I had the beef short ribs, braised for 48 hours. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten beef so meltingly tender, especially for just Dh50.

Alternatively, this is one destination where adventurous palates won’t be disappointed by hotel dining. Generally, Hong Kong hotels eschew standard international fare and many have superb eateries.

Happily for me, my hotel, the Island Shangri-La, was dubbed by Condé Nast Traveller as one of the best hotels in the world for dining.

Shopping runs a close second to eating out as the great love of Hong Kong Chinese. Luxury malls can be found everywhere and are jam-packed, full of well-dressed shoppers with serious intent.

But before browsing the malls, I scouted for retailers I wouldn’t find anywhere else. At Ovo, back in Wan Chai, I definitely succeeded.

Ovo is the go-to place for trend-setting furniture, homeware and accessories, and reflects a marriage of Western sensibilities and Eastern aesthetics. While the fat brass spotlights and coral reef candle holders weren’t to my taste, I was in a minority. Style surfers elbowed me aside to get at them. And I overheard a conversation that I suspect could only have occurred in Hong Kong: “Have you got any of the springbok antelope cushions?” one desperate shopper asked a sales assistant.

“No,” she replied. “But we do have fox-fur ones coming in.”

I’m best described as stylistically challenged and realised I was way out of my depth here.

But Ovo’s handmade furniture was more to my taste. They take traditional designs in Manchurian Ash, bamboo and oak and give them a contemporary twist.

Continuing my style education, I popped into the Timbee Lo shop at Causeway Bay, a destination luxury shopping district. Lo, a cartoonist turned fashionista, is one of Hong Kong’s hippest young fashion and jewellery designers. His retro space rocket earrings, complete with tiny astronaut, made me smile. I couldn’t believe anyone would actually wear them. A snip at Dh234.

An uncle who’d travelled regularly through Hong Kong in the Sixties had often spoken of how quick and easy it was to get a suit made here. I wondered if that was still possible.

Poking around Kowloon, on the other side of the harbour from Hong Kong Island, I spotted bespoke tailors on every other street. Some looked decidedly shady.

Sam’s Tailors, close to the legendary Peninsula Hotel, comes highly recommended if the clientele is anything to go by. Past customers include George W Bush, Bill Clinton, Margaret Thatcher, Prince Charles, Kevin Spacey and Richard Gere. They must all be serious bargain hunters, because you can get a hand-tailored suit at Sam’s for about Dh1,800. And if you’re in a hurry they can have it ready in 24 hours.

For shoes to match, Kow Hoo Shoe Company back across the water in Central is a good bet. Prices for handmade footwear starts at Dh650 and if standard calf skin isn’t your thing, you can choose ostrich, eel, snake, lizard or crocodile.

Once your feet are measured, a wooden shoe is manufactured and it’s stored for seven years. This means any time you need a new pair of shoes you can call them up and they’ll make them based on your last.

I’d hoped to get to Teresa Coleman Fine Arts in Central, but ran out of time. The gallery is internationally renowned and one of the few places where you can buy antique Dragon robes from the Chinese Imperial Court, assuming you have north of Dh36,000 lying around.

If Jean Paul Gaultier is more to your liking than Imperial dragons, head for the Pacific Place mall at Admiralty, close to the Marriott, Conrad and Island Shangri-La hotels. You’ll also find Burberry, Armani, Chanel, Daks, Roberto Cavalli and Louis Vuitton here. I was starting to get luxury-mall fatigue, so I headed for the Temple Street Night market in Kowloon. The market is the hub of Hong Kong’s counterfeit economy. It’s noisy, packed and the hawkers have all been schooled in high-pressure salesmanship. But it’s great fun. I spotted all the brands I’d seen in the luxury malls, well, sort of! Wilting under pressure, I bought a bargain-priced Ralph Lauren polo shirt and a Rolex Oyster. I probably should have tried the shirt on first. The label said medium, but clearly they meant a medium-sized three-year-old. And the Rolex? The hands fell off by the end of the evening.

Really, there was nothing I could do but console myself with another couple of egg tarts.