A Throwback to Romantic Colonialism
You can’t design a new city to make people fall in love with it. Love belongs to the old, to the cities that worked relentlessly – established cities that were formed well over a hundred years ago and have organically changed year by year, decade by decade, challenging the new yet tempted by its promise. Hong Kong is a fascinating city with all the good layers required to weave a story through the ages and right up to modern times.
Amid an oasis of visual pleasure, in the form of exotic trees and fragrant flowers, Hong Kong’s urban noise has become a symphony of sounds and the city’s soundtrack. After a day of trekking the steep hills on the mainland, stopping along the way to taste everything from mini mangoes to sweets and tea beverages, my travel companion and I were exhausted.
We decided to take the ferry across Victoria Harbour to Kowloon Peninsula, a densely populated area. While the mainland is a good mix of old and new architecture, Kowloon transports you back to the turn of the century. As we walked by the famed Peninsula Hotel, we came across what used to be the old Marine Police Headquarters, converted into a boutique hotel called Hullett House. As you approach a very expansive plaza, you feel like you are stepping off the busy streets and back into colonial times. Designed to embrace you in the same way St. Peter’s invites you into Vatican City, a formal colonial facade leads to the hotel. The setting is imbued with charm: There are beautiful water views in every direction, and palm trees and hanging flowers are surrounded by a repetition of natural-hued shutters.
This is the Hong Kong that I had imagined all my life and stored in my mental cinema. The need to believe that such charm and history are alive triggered a playback sequence that was simply delicious. As we approached the ground floor, which extends the entire length of Hullett House, The Parlour unfolded before our eyes. The restaurant features a romantic early-colonial balcony that is furnished with white-linen-covered tables, Qing Dynasty chairs and old wooden ceiling fans. Along the length of this balcony are waiters, dressed in black with white aprons, standing guard and waiting to take your order.
Inside are three separate rooms, each elegantly decorated with murals depicting early-colonial Hong Kong with its many ships in the harbour and old architecture. The brasserie-style menu is a contemporary collection of some of the tastiest French and English dishes with an Asian spin. Given that it was midday, and we were still planning on discovering the nooks and crannies of the peninsula, we decided to have a light lunch.
I was thrilled to see that the menu had a great list of salads, none more famous than the Salade Niçoise. Of all the things to order on a menu in Hong Kong, a Salade Niçoise would intuitively not be at the top of my list, but on this day I thanked the salad gods for leading me to this dish.
I have tried every version of this salad: in France, the United States, the Middle East (my mother’s in Beirut) and England. Each had its strengths and weaknesses, whether it was the dressing, the lettuce, unexpected new vegetables or, worst of all, real bluefin tuna. There are certain pleasures that are meant to be simple and basic, and the Salade Niçoise is one of them. On this particular day, my companion looked at me with disdain as I inquired about this salad with intensity and a sense of meaningful purpose.
The salad was carried out onto the balcony with formality and pomp befitting the Qing Emperor himself. The Salade Niçoise was truly a sight to behold! On a bed of arugula were two half-baguettes rubbed with a tomato-garlic bruschetta. On the one was oil-packed tuna from a jar, and on the other were baby tomatoes with sliced quail eggs, French beans and grilled sardines. The dressing was a lightly whipped and aerated lemon-mustard vinaigrette with lemon juice that unified all the ingredients into one holistic experience. They had broken all the rules, but, somehow, it was one of the best I have ever tasted.
The entire experience of this leisurely lunch at The Parlour, immersed in the colonial past of Hong Kong, a bygone era, matched my romantic vision of Hong Kong flawlessly, in every respect.
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Rony Zibara
Editor-In-Chief and the gourmand-gourmet behind Poetry of Food; a food memoir which has been in preparation since he was a child. His earliest memories are in the kitchen with his mother cooking French and Lebanese dishes, and with his South American grandmother making Spanish dishes as the cook prepared a repertoire of salsas and sauces. Having grown up in Beirut and lived between Paris, Toronto and now New York, Rony’s food and travel experiences have always been part of his personal cuisine. An avid storyteller, he believes it’s not about the size of the catch, but about the day. It’s the experience, the setting, the people, and most importantly, the ingredients that turn the meal and the flavors into a memory. While not a professionally trained chef, Rony is a cook by all counts; his life revolves around the culinary joys of food, searching out new ingredients, new recipes, and new cultures. And while he loves the restaurant scene, he is not an obsessed follower. Rony’s food passions lie in the poetry of the everyday meal and not in the pursuit of the absolute ‘best’ or perfect meal. His extensive career in innovating and branding new products and experiences has been a great support and backdrop for his passions in food culture and is evident in the overall design and presentation of this food memoir.