This article is part of FT Globetrotter’s guide to Hong Kong
Ask Michelle Garnaut, the pioneering Australian chef and restaurateur, how much the Hong Kong dining scene has evolved, particularly from the point of view of female chefs, since she opened M at the Fringe — the first independent fine-dining restaurant outside a hotel in the city — in 1989. You can expect by way of response a very wry, very worldly, very expressive snort. “Back then, cooking wasn’t even seen as a proper job,” she says. “Virtually no women were involved. I had one talented young female chef — a local — who quit to become a manager at KFC because her parents thought that any managerial role was more respectable than being a chef.”
It took more than 20 years for such attitudes to change, Garnaut reckons. In that time a generational shift occurred, given impetus by the rise of social media. Successful chefs — mostly men but a growing number of women as well — became ever more visible. Then, in 2013, Vicky Lau was awarded her first Michelin star at Tate Dining Room. A second star followed in 2021. It would be difficult to overstate the importance of Lau’s example to aspiring female chefs not only in Hong Kong but across Asia. Cast your eye over the Hong Kong restaurant scene today and many of its most exciting and talented chefs are women. Meet three of the best.
May Chow
“Sexy. Fun. Deeply Chinese but also international. With a sense of humour.” May Chow is describing, between bites of a braised pork belly bao, the vibe of Little Bao, her instant-classic bao-based restaurant, which opened in 2013 and has been going gangbusters, in a couple of iterations and locations, ever since.
There are two ways to make it as a chef in Hong Kong, Chow says: “You can either be best in class or first to market.” She was a bit of both, combining skill and novelty by elevating and elaborating the humble bao — a steamed bun served with a meat or fish filling — in a manner never seen before. She nudged the bao into burger territory, the burger into bao territory, showcasing the joys of each in the process — a remarkable achievement of Sino-American diplomacy. The bao itself remained familiar — pillowy and yielding yet structured and bouncy, the bao of every Hongkonger’s childhood. The fillings . . . well, sometimes, as with the braised pork belly, they were familiar too; sometimes not so much, as with the chestnut tiramisu ice cream.
The Canadian-born Chow is outspoken in her support of diversity and LBGTQ+ rights. “The great thing about being a chef who is also an entrepreneur is that you can create your own culture,” she says. “Women thrive in the right culture. And there’s more than one way to be successful. Sure, you can be competitive, strong, decisive. But you don’t have to be awful.” This philosophy — the tao of Little Bao, as it were — resonates far beyond the restaurant scene. “The important thing is to recognise that we all have a choice,” she continues. “We can choose better. I hope through my own example I can help pass that message on.” Little Bao, 1–3 Shin Hing Street, Central; Little Bao Diner, 9 Kingston Street, Causeway Bay, Hong Kong. Website; Directions
ArChan Chan
To anglophone ears, the name Ho Lee Fook sounds like a colloquial exclamation of astonishment. Roughly translated, it means “good fortune for your mouth”. Where the restaurant of that name is concerned, both the literal and figurative associations are spot on. Everything about this beloved Elgin Street institution, which celebrates its 10th birthday this year (a ripe old age for a restaurant in Hong Kong), is contrived to amuse and delight, from the joyous decor (the famous wall of waving golden lucky cats) and the singalong soundtrack (nostalgic chart hits) to the sublimely executed menu (“serious Cantonese food in a playful setting”, as executive chef ArChan Chan puts it).
Though she wears her seriousness lightly, make no mistake — here is a chef of exceptional ability and ambition, committed to honouring dishes she grew up on yet bold enough to tinker with them in ways that even diehard purists are compelled, however reluctantly, to admit just . . . works. Consider her take on stir-fry king, one of those all-time Hong Kong classics with which liberties are not, as a rule, taken. Chan blithely replaces the traditional squid with abalone and jettisons the conventional cashews in favour of peanut sprouts. The one introduces a new layer of luscious, richly textured opulence, the other an element of momentary, eyebrow-raising surprise that’s swiftly followed by a “Why didn’t anyone think of that before?” sense of inevitability. The result is nothing less than a peaceful revolution between two chopsticks. Ho lee fook indeed.
Chan’s arrival at Ho Lee Fook in 2021 was a homecoming after more than a decade in Australia and Singapore. The cosmopolitanism of her experience is reflected in the make-up of her brigade at Ho Lee Fook. English is the lingua franca. The design of the restaurant is such that they and their flaming woks are the first things you see when you arrive — the waving cats come next — and the collective good vibes are as thick in the air as the wok smoke. This impression of camaraderie surely starts at the top. Chan speaks of her four principles of respect, care, fairness and honesty: “It’s an intense job. A little bit of empathy makes everything a lot easier.” A touch of genius doesn’t hurt either. Ho Lee Fook, 3-5 Elgin Street, Central. Website; Directions
Theign Phan
“We like to categorise things. That’s human nature. But many of us are too quick to categorise Sichuan cuisine. There’s more to it than spiciness,” says Theign Phan, executive chef at the Grand Majestic Sichuan, a gleaming, jewel-toned, Gucci-wallpapered temple to one of China’s most beloved regional cuisines.
Though proud to be among the growing number of female chefs working at the highest level in Hong Kong, she is as wary of gender-based generalisations about the profession as she is of lazy stereotypes of Sichuan cuisine. “When I grew up, I was taught to believe that you can do whatever you want, as long as you do it well,” she says. “It’s up to us to change the narrative.”
As a Malaysian raised in Singapore, Phan sees herself, as the head of a Sichuan kitchen in a Hong Kong restaurant, not so much as an outsider but as a translator. There’s something of the explorer about her too — an explorer thrilled by the things she’s discovered and eager to divulge her findings with others. “Because there’s so much to share,” she says. “Did you know there are no fewer than 24 distinct flavours in Sichuan cuisine?” The sauce for bang bang chicken, for example, that infinitely moreish Sichuan staple of poached chicken and julienned cucumber, belongs, marvellously, to the “strange flavour” category, which encompasses spicy, numbing, savoury, sweet, garlicky, sour and sesame flavours.
Phan admits that there’s a skill to ordering well in a Sichuan restaurant but insists that it’s not difficult to pick up. It’s all about managing contrasts of flavour and texture. You might, therefore, start with a cold appetiser such as smacked cucumber (garlicky, viscous, crunchy, watery), followed first by kung pao prawns with cashew nuts (an unlikely yet undeniably harmonious marriage of lychee flavour with hints of Sichuan peppercorn and chillies), and then by mapo tofu with beef (the slippery and jelly-like texture of the tofu offset by zingy-yet-earthy chilli-bean paste). Steamed rice is, of course, a constant throughout — the essential thread in the tapestry. And for pudding, perhaps the silver-ear fungus with chrysanthemum resin and rock-sugar soup (sweet, floral, faintly herbaceous and in every respect as intriguing as its name might lead you to expect).
Complex? Certainly. Difficult? Not at all. Phan and the entire Grand Majestic team are on hand to advise. She sees it as their shared responsibility to make acquiring a taste for Sichuan cuisine easy and enjoyable — as well as potentially enlightening. “No pressure, all pleasure.” Grand Majestic Sichuan, Alexandra House, Shop 301, Third Floor, 18 Chater Road, Central. Website; Directions
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