Belly Boys burger Hong Kong

The Big Bodyssey: The Beefiest, Most Bodacious Burgers in Hong Kong

It’s burger season everyone. And do you know exactly when that is? Literally every day and month of the year. “I’ve always told people, you know I’m a very hungry guy. I’ve been to the best burger places in Hong Kong. I recently walked into a burger joint and said to myself ‘Wow, this is a delicious burger.’” Picture this being said in a Donny T accent with lots of nonsensical hand gestures, pauses, and inflection. The timing of this post felt long overdue, fortunately (or unfortunately) driven by the internal shame and guilt after realizing that I haven’t eaten as many burgers as I feel is required as my civic gourmandizing duty in this patriotic city. 

Part of that stems from a general disdain for overpriced dried-out hockey pucks that are all too commonly served throughout the city. Part of it is due to the fact that I’m a creature of habit and walk the same sad 1 km radius loop between work and home every single day (like most of you reading this), unable to extricate myself from this fatalistic rat race. And part of it is because I know if I go too heavy into the burger life I may have to be sent to the zoo with the rhinos, hippos, and that one Malaysian guy for future MRIs due to there being no medical technology capable of withstanding my inconceivably rotund frame.

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Birria Y Birria soft beef tacos

Birria Y Birria: Casa to the Best Tacos in Hong Kong

Say “Hello” to my little friend…and my new favorite restaurant in Hong Kong – Birria Y Birria. Before I dig into why this (relatively) new Sai Ying Pun shop should be on your Hong Kong dining bucket list, there’s a chance that if you’re reading this, you don’t even know what birria is. The “WHATTTT?” comes before the “why,” or the “OKAYYYYY” if you’re Lil Jon and the Eastside Boyz. So, we should clear some things up first. Come closer and choose between the red pill and the blue pill. 

Birria refers to a Mexican meat stew or consomme made from almost every meat you can imagine (except pork) that is marinated in vinegar, garlic, dried chiles, and other colorful, herbaceous spices (oregano, bay leaves, cinnamon sticks, cardamom pods, and cloves). After bathing in that witches’ brew of caliente Mexican spices for hours, the tender meat is then flavor-fied even further and is cooked in that deep red broth. 

The result? A savory, smoky, somewhat gamey, sweet, and warm, mahogany concoction of everything right in the world. 

If that wasn’t already getting you more torqued up than 12-year-old me when I’d “accidentally stumble” into Blockbuster’s ‘adult section’ (R.I.P. Blockbuster), which was just sectioned off by a tiny curtain, then you’re about to be. In the late 2000s, Birria, unlike the ivory-billed woodpecker, evolved from its humble roots as an accompaniment to bean, rice, bread, and tortillas, expanding its gustatorial repertoire and entering into a not-so-surreptitious affair with tacos, cheese, and even ramen. 

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cold sesame noodles with beef shank at YKY Home Noodles

Noodles With My Fahza: YKY Home Noodles in Sai Kung

Friday beers noodles. It has a ring to it. This is something that has become somewhat of a regular staple (and the highlight of my week) for my father and me over the last year in Hong Kong.  However, it doesn’t always have to be noodles but most of the time it is. ‘Friday noodles’ is more of a mindset than anything. It’s a call to spend quality time with loved ones. 

On the docket for one of the most recent ‘Noodle Fridays’ was YKY Home Noodles (自家麵) out in Sai Kung, a popular no-nonsense chain, with locations scattered across Hong Kong, serving up highly customizable bowls of homemade Chinese noodles, steamed dumplings, and beef pies (xian bing).

Here’s what I love about YKY and what you can expect when you go.  

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pepperoni pizza at Brklyn Hong Kong

Time to Make the Power Moves & Get the Mozzarella: The Best Pizza Restaurants in Hong Kong

It’s time to make the power moves and get the cheddar. And buy the real nice things that make life better.” I have no doubt in my mind that Big L was rapping about pizza when he said that. He just used ‘cheddar’ instead of ‘mozzarella’ to fit the rhyme scheme. I know that’s at least 50% why I slug it out with these thankless robots devoid of any form of common sense or empathy each day – to get the cheddar mozzarella. The other 50% is, as Mr. Bizkit himself said, “for the nookie.”

While Hong Kong may not match up to cities like New York or Naples when it comes to the pizza game, it is a powerhouse in the cheese and crust colosseum of Asia. Occasionally, like Commodus in Gladiator, I’ll have to empathetically flip my thumb down in disgust at what took place before me. But more often than not, I find myself not only pleasantly surprised but coming back for more. 

From light, airy, and traditional Neapolitan pizzas to hefty, toppings-packed, foldable New York pies (and New York-Neapolitan hybrids), and crispy, saucy Detroit-style squares, here are 10 of the best pizza restaurants in Hong Kong for gastronomic ‘amore’. 

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Kushikatsu Daruma skewers

Why Kushikatsu Should Be on Your Osaka Eating Bucket List

If you couldn’t already tell by my name ‘Big Body’, there are several types of foods that took me from just a slightly plump little boy to the hulking, bipedal Sasquatch-lookalike (but more like that one from the famous blurry Sasquatch video), the main culprit being fried food. While I’ve dialed my fried food consumption back over the years, I’ve still been known to crush a KFC family bucket in a dark corner of my apartment similar to Gollum in Lord of the Rings when he savagely tears into a fish after catching it. My precious….11 herbs and spices.

So you can imagine my excitement when I learned of a popular deep-fried dish called ‘Kushikatsu’ that was said to be at the heart of Osakan identity, having first originated as an affordable, filling, and quick meal for Osaka’s blue-collar workers in the early 1900s. During my three months living in Japan, kushikatsu became somewhat of a regular occurrence and/or stop on a big night out to fuel up (in both liquid and solid form), without breaking the bank.

Forget tempura. You’re in the world of kushikatsu now.  

Below, I’ll walk you through what exactly kushikatsu is, a little history behind it and why it’s beloved in the Kansai region, the one faux pas you shouldn’t commit while eating it, and a bit about an unforgettable kushikatsu omakase experience that I booked several weeks in advance along with a must-try kushikatsu staple and chain in Osaka. 

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Eggslut cheeseburger Hong Kong

The Medium-Rare Letter: Burger Shaming at Eggslut in Causeway Bay

I may be very well late to the game with this one. But I still don’t have an iPhone, I’ve never posted an Instagram story (and am not really sure how), and like Dr. Dre (aka Dre Brickhard the Mechanic) I still rock my khakis with a cuff and a crease (“still the beats bang, still doing my thing, since I left ain’t too much changed”). 

As a mindless, YouTube food show fiend, I was no stranger to an infamous L.A. breakfast sandwich and burger restaurant that, in name, appearance, and taste, appeals to both the gastronomic and prurient interests of generations cursed by crippling social media addictions and narcissism. I mean, with a name like ‘Eggslut’, it was set to catch your attention no matter what – even for those who take qualms with the crassness of its etymology. 

That’s ‘Marketing 101’ right there. 

I didn’t take as long as I did to patronize this promiscuous chicken restaurant because of any sort of moral high ground or pseudo-intellectual protest against social media self-aggrandizing, I just simply didn’t know that there was a location in Hong Kong. So, when I found out there was a (relatively) recently opened branch in Causeway Bay, I clucked with excitement and knew I better taste it before the sky inevitably falls. 

On the second day of Chinese New Year, after a quick gym sesh, I kept my smelly running shoes on and chicken ran out to this former fishing town turned densely populated mini-city of consumeristic tribalism to see if Eggslut’s burger was just fowl or actually foul. 

Here’s what I found.

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sumibiyaki fugu in Osaka

I Narrowly Escaped Death at a Fugu Restaurant in Osaka

I kind of feel like Blake Lively in her opening monologue of that underwhelming 2012 action-thriller, Savages, when she stonerishly says, “Just because I’m telling you this story doesn’t mean I’m alive at the end of it. This could all be pre-recorded written and I could be talking writing to you from the bottom of the ocean.” You know, minus the Mexican Cartel, Salma Hayek (and Benicio del Toro), and strange (and steamy) sexual throuple with a Navy Seal and marijuana grower.  

Fugu (aka pufferfish) is one of those foods that you hear nonchalantly condescendingly tossed around in conversation, by the likes of that one couple friend who always seems to fly Cathay business to Japan, Bali, or whatever nearby Asian destination needs to be ticked off their gastronomic checklist. It’s a delicacy. It’s divisive. It’s (allegedly) deadly.  

I had to find out for myself whether a “dance with the devil” (Immortal Technique-style) was in my immediate future and decided to tempt fate. So, I threw my finest Orix Buffaloes baseball jersey and stretch-fit jeans on and headed to a fugu restaurant just 15 minutes to the west of Osaka Castle (in Osaka Japan, of course) to check it out for myself. 

Read on to find out if I survived or if I’m writing this from the bottom of the ocean with Blake and Amelia Earhart. I’ll also explain what fugu actually is and why it should be on your radar should you make a trip over to Japan. 

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beef brisket sandwich at Rossi's Pizza and Smoked Meats

Ballin’ on a Brisket in Sai Kung: Rossi’s Pizza & Smoked Meats

At first, I had written several paragraphs on how brisket was at the heart of the American identity. Frankly, it was superfluous. I took a step back, looked at my scraggly Scorcese eyebrows in the mirror, and realized that brisket is a universal language and that there was no need to complicate great food with patriotism, geopolitics, and intersectional social justice. 

In Asia, you can find BBQ. Can you find great BBQ? Not often. And when you do, there’s a high probability that whatever restaurant it is, doesn’t serve brisket. There’s a labor of love and a high margin of error when it comes to smoking it, primarily due to space and time (sung like Mos Def in ‘Travelin’ Man’) requirements. 

Having lived in Hong Kong for over six years now (and experienced the city at various stages of its political decline), there has been very little in terms of reliable, high-quality BBQ. Sure, you can get a rack of ribs and some cornbread, and it feels familiar – but how often do you walk away actually (a) full, (b) satisfied, (c) not broke, and (d) feeling it was done proper justice? Rarely.  

But then I ate at Rossi’s Pizza and Smoked Meats in Sai Kung. And to quote my dawg T-Pain on Maino’s hit song, ‘All the Above’. Rossi’s checked off…All. The. Above. I always naively assumed that the apex of Western cuisine in Hong Kong was typically situated on Hong Kong Island (or in the likes of one of the five-star hotels in Tsim Sha Tsui). But this article is written to shatter that misconception and to cartoon Batman-slap myself back into reality. 

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oysters and sashimi at Aqua

I Tested the All You Can Eat & Drink Limit at Aqua’s Free-Flow Weekend Brunch

“If the limit never approaches anything, the limit does not exist.” – Mean Girls

There isn’t any institution or activity in Hong Kong that strikes both fear and joy into the hearts of chubby, balding, expat bankers and social media marketing evangelists (who create day-in-the-life TikTok reels) quite like the free-flow brunch. And very much like Mark Mcguire and Sammy Sosa of the infamous home run battle in the summer of ‘98, there are only two real names: Aqua and Zuma. 

Considering I’ve already written about Zuma’s free-flow brunch and sung its praises, it was only time that I ponied up and made my way across the Harbor to its Darkside (Kowloon) counterpart – Aqua – to test the free-flow food and booze brunch limit and capture the love (and attention) of the dreamy Aaron Samuels from calculus. 

So, I gathered a gaggle of Frenchmen (Mes frères – aka ‘The Revolution’), threw on the one nice outfit that I own (no, not my ‘Official Bikini Inspector’ t-shirt), made sure I was in bed by 9:30 PM the previous night, and Steamboat Willie strutted (only using this reference because the copyright is in the public domain now) my way over to Tsim Sha Tsui for I day I wouldn’t forget, or remember, or forget, or remember… 

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beef wagyu sando at Uoharu in Hong Kong

A Man-Date at One of My Favorite Izakayas in Hong Kong: Uoharu

The first time I went to Uoharu was on a date where mid-way through, after watching her nod off face-first into her grilled mackerel and sake, I learned that she was on Clydesdale-sized doses of lithium. Somehow, after assurances it was just a fluke, the date continued. I spent the remainder of the night eating Scotch eggs at Stockton – while she subsequently nodded off again in the leather booth adjacent – and slugging fresh-off-the-tap cocktails from Draft Land – while she nodded off one more time on the stool next to me. 

After the dust settled, I let her know that I had a nice time but I didn’t think we were compatible, to which she sent me a relatively accurate description of myself and one that makes me chuckle to this day. “You are a big sweaty piece of man meat.” I left out the accompanying expletives. This insult is only second to when a rotund Indian man with a handlebar mustache in Bangkok barked out at me, “Where do you think you’re going Daddy Longlegs?” after I hurried past him on Sukhumvit 11. 

I digress. Uoharu’s seafood and robatayaki izakaya fare was the driving reason for my initial perseverance and self-convincing in the bathroom that “These things happen” and “I’m sure that she just had a long day.” I needed craved Uoharu redemption and returned countless times over the subsequent years, with it solidifying itself as one of my all-time favorite izakayas in Hong Kong.

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burger in Hong Kong at The diplomat

Is the Diplomat the Best Burger in Hong Kong?

There was one name that kept popping up over and over when I kept searching online for the best burger in Hong Kong – and it wasn’t from a traditional burger and fry joint like Five Guys or Burger Circus. There was something hypnotizing about it and the name burrowed deep into my brain, like that squid-like creature baby in Holly’s stomach in the movie Prometheus after she made love with the dude who was infected by the “black goo.”

I suffered many late nights trying to piece together if it could be true, like a 33-year-old chubby, balding male Carrie Matheson from Homeland with three yards of string, several packs of Post-it notes, and a whiteboard. I was Ace Ventura in the shower trying to figure out who police lieutenant Einhorn really was after sharing a passionate makeout right before the eureka moment when he realized she was disgraced Miami Dolphins place kicker ‘Ray Finkle’ post-sex change. “Finkle is Einhorn, Einhorn is Finkle.” In the deep throes of befuddlement, I muttered to myself “Burgers at speakeasies, speakeasies and burgers?”

My burger world was thrown upside down. I knew that I was going to have to test this for myself to make sure that this wasn’t some Truman Show-esque experiment orchestrated by Ed Harris to provide 24/7 entertainment to home viewers at my expense. So, post-Tuesday night workout, I grabbed my finest Pure tote bag and a raggedy old black sweatshirt that I cleaned BBQ sauce stains off of earlier in the day and headed to The Diplomat in H Code

It was time to settle this literal and metaphorical burger beef once and for all. 

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classic croque monsieur at Croque in Hong Kong

Croque Hong Kong: Ain’t No Such Things as Halfway Croques

As the boys from Queensbrisdge, Mobb Deep, so timelessly rapped, “Son, they shook, ‘Cause ain’t no such things as halfway crooks croques.” And boy, am I shook. Because I just found out that every croque monsieur I’ve ever eaten in my life has been a “halfway croque.” Granted, I’ve only been to France as an enfant terrible, naively and boorishly satiated by chicken nuggets, artificial (mutant) macaroni and cheese, and Capri suns.

But today, I became a man. No. Scratch that. Today, I became a Monsieur. Complete with a black three-piece suit, bushy mustache, and monocle like the Monopoly Man. That’s all thanks to a newcomer to the SoHo restaurant scene, Croque, a new age, vibrant, cheesy oasis of unique (and classic) takes on a French classic – the croque monsieur. 

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