Well, I got my Lei Yue Mun fix
Going from Guangzhou to Tokyo, I spent about 14 hours in Hong Kong, and in a shocking bit of good timing, those 14 hours happened to overlap with the two days a pair of food geek friends from our group in Phoenix were there on their honeymoon. Trying to cram some good food and atmosphere into a few hours? The perfect opportunity to return to LYM!
Lei Yue Mun is a little fishing village on the harbor, a long, narrow alley lined with fish vendors and restaurants running along a typhoon shelter, where the seafood probably isn't the best you can get in town, but it's pretty damn good, and man, what a cool experience. It used to be more of an actual fishing village, where the vendors would congregate at the water's edge in the morning to buy fresh seafood right off the fishermen's boats. It's a little more touristy now -- more domestic Chinese tourism than international tourism -- but it still has a lot of the old charm, and the hook, of course, is that you shop for your own seafood before eating it.
I was probably 14 or 15 the first time I went to LYM. It was back when my father was first working with factories in Hong Kong (before they were all moved over the border into the mainland), and I'd occasionally tag along on a business trip. I have these incredibly fond memories of walking the narrow aisles as the fellows we worked with would pick out fish and shrimp, haggle over prices, pay the vendors a little cash before they'd go running off to the restaurant with our catch. It was the first place I had shrimp stir fried so hot you could eat the whole thing -- shell, head, tail and all -- the first place I had clams with black bean sauce, probably the first time I had shrimp that hadn't been frozen, getting that incredible natural sweetness that disappears when they get cold. We went a lot in those early days, but as we started working with other people and spent less and less time in Hong Kong, we stopped. It's one thing to point at a menu. It's another to try to shop and haggle when you don't speak the language (a fear, it would turn out, that was wholly unfounded). But until this trip, I hadn't been to LYM in at least 15 years, and I really wanted to give it a shot.
It's a bit of an uphill and then downhill hike from the Yau Tong MTR station. I remember it being a fun ferry ride from Sai Wan Ho on Hong Kong island (LYM is on the Kowloon side), but I was a little concerned with timing given the last-minuteness with which this outing came together. At any rate, as you approach, there's a long tunnel of brightly-colored streamers that I probably should have gotten a photo of (it's gorgeous), and then as you get out to the water it starts to look like this -- market stalls interspersed with restaurants covered with bright, colorful signage, trying to draw you in.
As you move down the pier, the path quickly narrows. It's rarely more than four feet wide, and runs the length of the typhoon shelter, snaking back and forth, for about a quarter of a mile.
I should have gotten some better photos of the tanks. There are lobsters, shrimp, crabs, fish, mantis shrimp (weird-lookin' fellas), clams, abalone... all kinds of stuff. Stall after stall of tanks filled with live seafood.
We eventually settled on one and got to fishing. I really wanted to cover a lot of the basics, make it a feast of traditional Cantonese seafood. And you have to have a good fish for that. This guy will make another appearance shortly.
When you pick out your seafood, they fish it out of the tank, drop it into a bag, and then weigh it on these traditional scales, using simple counterweights to set the price. I haggled a little. She knocked off 10%. I considered that a victory given that I don't speak a word of Cantonese.
The restaurants in LYM will happily supply you with the seafood -- most of them own a stall next door -- but where's the fun in that, right? It's a whole lot more fun to walk in the door hauling bags of still-live seafood and watching them drop it into buckets to take back to the kitchen. The restaurants don't charge by dish. Rather, they charge a flat fee per person at the table to cover the preparation of your food. And depending on the restaurant (we went to Happy Seafood), that includes some freebies as well.
Man, I've really come to love century eggs. They have this wonderful, creamy consistency and a deep flavor that's far mellower than their appearance would suggest. I've had them with pickled ginger before, but I'm not sure I've had them with sugar. And it works surprisingly well.
I did the ordering. Our waiter really, really wanted to steer us in a certain direction. Thankfully, that was mostly the direction I wanted to go. And after displaying a little bit of knowledge, it seemed like he was willing to give me a little more latitude.
Oh, yeah. That's the stuff. Our massive pile of shrimp, simply steamed and served with a chili-soy sauce for dipping. I think we had two pounds, and I think I could have eaten them all myself. The trick here is to skip over the bigger ones in favor of the little guys. They're sweeter. And they're
so sweet. There's nothing in the world like that natural, fresh, sweet shrimp flavor. Rip off the head, remove the shell, dip and bit the meat, squeeze and bite out the bit in the tail, then slurp whatever you can get out of the head. So perfect.
This requires a little explanation. I agonized over this one a bit. I almost did a really straightforward lobster with ginger, but the lobster with cheese sauce is one of those dish enigmas from many, many years ago. Maybe a decade ago, while having lunch at a really nice restaurant in Shenzhen, our hosts ordered a lobster dish that looked really, really odd to us when it came out. It was in a sauce that didn't look Chinese at all. It was pale, but really, really thick and clingy. And when we asked, they said "cheese sauce." Which sounded completely crazy. But oh wow, did it work. One of the most memorable dishes we've had during our travels in China. So in reading about LYM, I noticed that lobster in cheese sauce seemed to be catching on as a modern favorite. So that's what we were hoping this would be. And this wasn't quite it. Closer to a pre-processed cheese sauce with Chinese touches, further from the Chinese sauce made gloopy with a bit of cheese that we remembered. Which isn't to say that it wasn't tasty, but for me this was the low point of the night. Should've stuck with the basics.
This. This, to me, is the most iconic Cantonese dish. A simple steamed fish with oil, slivered spring onions, shaoxing and a splash of soy -- maybe a touch of ginger or the faintest hint of sesame oil. But just light and fresh and tender, all there to bring out the fish.
This preparation is also popular with the giant razor clams you find all through the market, but I love to do scallops this way. They're there, tender and sweet and buried under the pile of vermicelli rice noodles, garlic, and spring onion. The only thing that made me sad was that the stall we bought from removed the coral. Bummer.
I love this dish. The crab is first fried, then stir-fried with lots of garlic and chiles. And the trick is to get that coating crisp and hot and spicy while keeping the meat inside tender and fresh, without it drying out. And unsurprisingly, this was right on the money. As I was telling everybody at the table, you can't be shy with this stuff. When you get a quarter of the body, perched on the end of a leg like a lollipop, you take a big bite, cartilage and all, suck out the good stuff and spit out the chitin. It's a tough mental leap for Westerners, but it gets the job done.
These guys are almost like dessert, which works since we got them last. Again, the trick here is to avoid the big, tough clams in favor of the little, sweet ones. It's like doing shots. One little clam after the next. Slurp. Slurp. Slurp. Sweet black bean sauce, a little nugget of clam in every slurp... so good.
On the way out, I paused to get a good look at the typhoon shelter with the city in the background. This epitomizes Hong Kong. This city is one of those places that kind of magically straddles old and new. There's a little more of the new and a little less of the old every time I go, but the old is still there, floating in the harbor in the light of the highrise apartments. And I suppose Lei Yue Mun isn't quite what it was when I first went nearly 20 years ago. But the spirit's still there. And the food's still awesome.
Dominic Armato
Dining Critic
The Arizona Republic and
azcentral.com