Maz, Jane, Josh, and I ventured out to dinner this evening, and decided to visit one of our favorite haunts, up the hill. "Up the hill" is all anyone ever calls it. It's highly unlikely the place actually has a permit to serve food, and it's basically someone's kitchen that they open up to sell food. The sanitary conditions could never pass an inspection, but it's passable enough to continue to bring us there to eat. It's outdoors under a tin covering, and the economy sized bug zapper will provide much entertainment for the evening.
You have to weave through a parking lot to get to the base of the stairs leading up the hill as bullfrogs sing from a nearby ditch. It's quite a hike up, and the steps are of varying sizes. You can smell the nearby trash heaps and burned out cars lying about.
At the top of the stairs, we are greeted by a big brown dog sleeping next to big plastic, water filled tanks of fish. An older man, sporting a hat fashioned from the day's newspaper, tosses chicken and sauce
into a pan sitting atop a roaring fire from the stove. The other three people there nod in our direction, then continue talking on the phone, taking orders, or shuffle around trying to find styrofoam boxes for take away orders.
We seat ourselves in mismatched chairs at a folding table. In the center there is a cup filled with plastic chopsticks emblazoned with the words "Riverside Plaza," clearly 'borrowed' from a nearby, nicer restaurant. You are handed a menu, which is merely a suggestion as you can pretty much order any combination of Chinese food you want, and they'll make it. The poorly translated English provides a few good laughs ... "fired rice" instead of fried rice, "satay beer" instead of satay beef, and my favorite, "vegegetanbles" for vegetables.
This evening I choose a favorite gweilo dish, sweet and sour chicken ('gweilo' is the term for white people, literally meaning 'ghost person'). We help ourselves to the little fridge and pick out sodas and grab some straws from the cup on the counter. Soon, Josh's dish arrives, which certainly doesn't mean the rest of us should be getting our food soon. They make each dish one by one (I've actually been there with a large group before, and if you are the first to get your food, you will easily finish before the last person gets their food). Then Jane is served, and eventually Maz and I get our dinners as well.
We enjoy the various dishes, glad the rain has let up long enough for us to enjoy our outdoor dining choice. Just as we are finishing, the power inexplicably goes out, and we are in total darkness. Soon our eyes adjust, and we continue our conversation, barely breaking stride. We laugh, and say, "This is Hong Kong." The 'staff''' (if I can call them that with a straight face) use their cell phones to inspect the outlets and find the breaker. You see, they have several rice cookers plugged into the same power strip, and on Saturday night it's cranking a lot of energy to keep the rice coming. We use our own cell phones to see our money, and pay our meals. For a huge heap of food I can in no way finish, along with a soda, I pay $25 HK, which is roughly $3.25 US. We say "thank you, buh-bye!" in our most Chinglish accents, and start our decent down the hill, tummies full and happy.
There are many hole-in-the-wall places like up the hill in Hong Kong. It's a step above street food, and always tasty and never fails at providing a unique atmosphere. You certainly wouldn't get away with it in the US, but here, it's how some families make a living. It's the Hong Kong experience.
You have to weave through a parking lot to get to the base of the stairs leading up the hill as bullfrogs sing from a nearby ditch. It's quite a hike up, and the steps are of varying sizes. You can smell the nearby trash heaps and burned out cars lying about.
At the top of the stairs, we are greeted by a big brown dog sleeping next to big plastic, water filled tanks of fish. An older man, sporting a hat fashioned from the day's newspaper, tosses chicken and sauce
into a pan sitting atop a roaring fire from the stove. The other three people there nod in our direction, then continue talking on the phone, taking orders, or shuffle around trying to find styrofoam boxes for take away orders.We seat ourselves in mismatched chairs at a folding table. In the center there is a cup filled with plastic chopsticks emblazoned with the words "Riverside Plaza," clearly 'borrowed' from a nearby, nicer restaurant. You are handed a menu, which is merely a suggestion as you can pretty much order any combination of Chinese food you want, and they'll make it. The poorly translated English provides a few good laughs ... "fired rice" instead of fried rice, "satay beer" instead of satay beef, and my favorite, "vegegetanbles" for vegetables.
This evening I choose a favorite gweilo dish, sweet and sour chicken ('gweilo' is the term for white people, literally meaning 'ghost person'). We help ourselves to the little fridge and pick out sodas and grab some straws from the cup on the counter. Soon, Josh's dish arrives, which certainly doesn't mean the rest of us should be getting our food soon. They make each dish one by one (I've actually been there with a large group before, and if you are the first to get your food, you will easily finish before the last person gets their food). Then Jane is served, and eventually Maz and I get our dinners as well.
We enjoy the various dishes, glad the rain has let up long enough for us to enjoy our outdoor dining choice. Just as we are finishing, the power inexplicably goes out, and we are in total darkness. Soon our eyes adjust, and we continue our conversation, barely breaking stride. We laugh, and say, "This is Hong Kong." The 'staff''' (if I can call them that with a straight face) use their cell phones to inspect the outlets and find the breaker. You see, they have several rice cookers plugged into the same power strip, and on Saturday night it's cranking a lot of energy to keep the rice coming. We use our own cell phones to see our money, and pay our meals. For a huge heap of food I can in no way finish, along with a soda, I pay $25 HK, which is roughly $3.25 US. We say "thank you, buh-bye!" in our most Chinglish accents, and start our decent down the hill, tummies full and happy.
There are many hole-in-the-wall places like up the hill in Hong Kong. It's a step above street food, and always tasty and never fails at providing a unique atmosphere. You certainly wouldn't get away with it in the US, but here, it's how some families make a living. It's the Hong Kong experience.
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2 comments:
don't tell anyone, but you are living a life of incredible fullness and beauty. we are jealous of your adventure and your courage.
we remember you.
I love reading your stories. Did you ever dream this would be God's choice for you? I missed reading your stories for a couple days. Then, I make it back and you have experienced so much more. I agree with "the burkholders" incredible fullness and beauty.
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