Zubin Dsouza
Life is a series of stories interspersed within each other.
Like a complicated piece of tapestry. There are some that form the weave and others that line the seam, all running across the fabric of time.
This is one of those stories.
There are millions of things that get lost in translation.
This is the story of a translation interpreted!
As a part of my methods to counteract my inept social skills, I decided to go out more often.
Since I knew that my new resolution would eventually wither and die if I did not have a plan in place, I took on a role of a restaurant critic.
I was recognised at one of the lovely restaurants that I was reviewing and the chef decided to treat me to some items that were his specialties.
Amongst the many items that were spread out on the overfilled and groaning table was a bowl of delightfully aromatic ‘Chicken Hong Kong’.
Now it wasn’t the silken appeal of the sauce or the crisp firmness of the fried chicken nuggets that were swimming within that first captivated me. Nor was it the appeal of the chunks of fiery red chillies or cashew nuts that lay soaking the richness of the sauce.
It was the chef’s narrative, I was enthralled by his tale of derring-do.
It was an amazing tale of adventure and human grit where the chef scaled massive peaks, hacked through impenetrable forests to reach a monastery that was the last bastion of the sacred scripts that held the secrets to the incredible sauce.
My interests were piqued. I wanted to be that chef!
I wanted his suave Indiana Jones-esque life and I wanted to see the sacred scripts for myself.
A hurriedly gathered together backpack and rudimentary directions fed into an un-listening ear and I was all prepped for the adventure of a lifetime.
I should have caught on early when the immigration official nearly sent me back when I answered purpose of visit with “seeking secret of Chicken Hong Kong”. In retrospect they probably just dismissed me as a crackpot and I was in the country.
To me Hong Kong truly represents one of the most amazing wonders of the modern world. It is a city of skyscrapers and a burgeoning population that inhabit them. It is a technology driven city with the most amazing conveniences but yet it has managed to keep 70 per cent of the territory that it owns under green cover. There are islands and beaches and trams and subways, flea markets and shopping malls, but to me the best experiences come from eating their food.
The city has a fairly decent size of local population but the real strength comes from the diversity it manages to attract to its shores. People from all walks of life and literally from almost every nationality in the world jostle for space and the better life.
Everywhere I went, the food delivered was stupendous and a feast for the senses.
The nostrils are assailed, the fingers are tingled, taste buds tickled, whispers wafting into the ears and the corneas dilated!
I found baos and dim sums, noodles and cheung fan but the wonderful ‘Chicken Hong Kong’ eluded me still.
I saw street stalls with skewers of everything wonderful. Squid tentacles were jostling for space alongside the incredibly dense yet light fish balls.
There were bubble wrap waffles, bubble tea and egg tarts.
There are beautiful wet markets with amazing fresh produce and night markets where the very same ingredients turns into magic.
There were bakeries with the lightest sponge cakes and the tastiest pineapple buns (which doesn’t contain pineapple but that is a different story).
I found almost everything except the ‘Chicken Hong Kong’.
Although there were peaks and monasteries galore, none of them presented the hardships to reach that my ‘sifu’ back home had mentioned. There were funicular trams that offered a joyous ride to the peak and cable cars that took you to the monastery. There were buses and cabs, boats and trains and the most wonderful walking paths you could tread on.
I finally found my way and landed at the ancient doorstep of an even more ancient monastery. I was told that this was the centre of knowledge and the answer I came so far to seek would be found within.
A wizened old abbot heard my pleas and ushered me into a large courtyard perfumed with the bloom of a million lotus flowers.
Past the dizzyingly beautiful sights I walked into a hand carved teak building that looked a decade old but had weathered centuries of storms on this rocky outcrop.
Deep into the belly of the building we travelled to consult tomes whose words and knowledge had been lost to memory.
He pulled out a dusty manuscript that he was searching for and ran his finger along the ancient calligraphy.
The answer lies here he said!
“When you come to Hong Kong enjoy the food that the city has to offer. Seek not ‘Chicken Hong Kong’ for the home in which it was born lies in faraway India!”