As a child, the mere thought of stepping into a Hong Kong-style cha chaan teng (茶餐廳) filled me with an inexplicable sense of dread. With their peculiar blend of chaos and grease, these establishments hardly evoked an image of culinary refinement. Waiters, moving with a swiftness that could put Olympic sprinters to shame, would take your order in a flash before disappearing into the melee of patrons and simmering woks. If the place was heaving, as it invariably was, they would not hesitate to hurl a few choice words into the air, a verbal seasoning to the already frenetic atmosphere. And the water? I often spent more time contemplating whether their fingers had taken a dip than I did actually drinking it. Not that it was for drinking, of course—this was the ritualistic rinse for one’s utensils before tucking in.
Yet, in an amusing twist of fate, the very establishments I once scorned have become the embodiment of nostalgia. The distinct tang of lemon tea, the velvety comfort of Hong Kong-style milk tea, the childhood indulgence of a well-chilled Horlicks, the hearty embrace of baked pork chop rice, and the golden crunch of deep-fried French toast—these are now the artefacts of a cherished museum in my mind. What once felt like a cacophonous assault on the senses now plays like a nostalgic symphony, its every note steeped in memory.
Somewhere in the clamour, the hurried waiters have morphed from intimidating figures into unsung heroes of the cityscape, their relentless pace a testament to Hong Kong’s indomitable spirit. What I once mistook for brusqueness I now recognise as efficiency honed by necessity. The breakneck service, the unceremonious thud of dishes onto tables, the shouted orders from the kitchen—all of it is part of the theatre, an experience as much as a meal.
Now, every visit is not merely a pursuit of taste but a pilgrimage of sorts, a journey back to a place that, since 2019, feels increasingly distant in more ways than one. It is not just the miles that separate me from Hong Kong, but a widening gulf shaped by seismic shifts, leaving both city and diaspora adrift in a new and uncertain reality. And yet, in this evolving narrative, the humble cha chaan teng stands as a defiant relic of continuity, an anchor in turbulent waters where memories are preserved with every sip and bite. It is a reminder that, despite everything, there remains a corner of the world where the past lingers on, deliciously unchanged.
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