I Ain’t Talkin’ Bout No Empire, I’m Talkin’ Bout a (Paradise) Dynasty

I’ve said it once countless times and’ll say it again, Fridays in Hong Kong are sacred for this Big Body. In such a cold world, real cold world, it’s incumbent on oneself to do what you know makes you happy while minimizing the things that ultimately cause you internal vexation and strife. 

Staring down the face of an unrecognizable man while pensively (yet thoroughly) brushing your teeth come Monday morning isn’t a great feeling, especially knowing you spent the previous several days deep in the throes of indulgent, ephemeral experiences, vices, and relationships. 

At the ripe old age of 34, I’m getting better at choosing real happiness instead of the illusion of real happiness. For me, it starts with “Friday hangs” with my Farjar, aka my Fahza, aka (aka) my father. “Fahza Fridays.” 

Recently, we switched things up from our usual stomping grounds of Tseung Kwan O (TKO) and ventured out to the now elephant graveyard of one of the most iconic and technically demanding airports in the world – Kai Tak Airport. As of 2024, Kai Tak is (essentially) a dusty sandlot of former glory undergoing ambitious governmental redevelopment efforts, taking a similar shape to many previous cultural centers and their not-so-pernicious shedding of Hong Kong’s heritage.

That’s right. It has its own 1.9 million square foot mixed-use commercial development now. Which is really just a fancy word for a ‘mall’. 

Gustatorily Clubbin’ at The China Club With My Fahza

If you’ve followed the blog for any amount of time then you already know that every other week, my father (aka my ‘fahza’ – an Austin Powers reference) and I meet up for lunch, engage in heated discussions about String theory and quantum physics (mainly my lack of understanding about each), and stroll around whatever area we just so happen to be in. 

These afternoons have become sacrosanct and are one of my favorite parts about living in Hong Kong. 

So, in honor of both of our birthdays, his hairline still holding up better than mine, we decided to get ‘Iggy Azalea fancy’ by throwing on our best blazers and heading to The China Club for what I consider to be some of the best Cantonese and Chinese cuisine in the city. 

Here’s a little bit about why The China Club’s retro-chic, old Shanghai and Colonial British-style hybrid restaurant should be on your radar and how to navigate snagging a table at this ‘members-only’ club. 

I Don’t Know Why More People Aren’t Flocking to This TKO Restaurant

Tsueng Kwan O isn’t exactly known as a gastronomic epicenter of Hong Kong. Until about 10 years ago, I’m 99% sure that it was just a flour mill, Elements shopping mall, several apartment buildings, and a couple of turf fields where chubby expat bankers would gather for Sunday league football to relive their glory days of… Sunday league football back home.

And construction. Always construction. 

However, over the last several years, this former Kuomintang loyalist village knew it needed to begin feeding the hefty boys of ‘Brighton past and not so future’. So it started birthing a gaggle of restaurants (upon restaurants) along the Tseung Kwan O South Waterfront Promenade. Eateries, who, in my humble opinion, put a good chunk in Central, and areas of other great gustatory pomp and circumstance, to shame. 

So, I’m here to put this little pocket of food and beverage excellence on your radar, starting with the restaurant that I consider to be, David Goggins-style, carrying the boats – Hygge.

Who’s gonna carry the boats? Hygge will (and does).

Run, Don’t Walk to Get Yourself Fini’s New Haven-Style Pizza

If you’ve read more than a single post on this blog then you may think that I get jazzed about certain foods or things way too easily. On the contrary, I’m usually quite reserved in my gastronomic celebrations (which look somewhat similar to NFL end zone dances) and am known to be a predictable creature of habit with my everyday munchings. So, it requires more than just well-packaged, Instagrammable hype to turn this Big Body from skeptic to believer. 

It’s not about the panache. It’s about the pa-nosh. I’ll see myself out. 

The thing is with Fini’s Italian American in Hong Kong, there was minimal skepticism to begin with. I’ve been an ardent and vociferous supporter of its SoHo branch for many years and can often be found pensively staring down the bottom of an Asahi draft and bowl of their homemade mac n’ cheese post-Peak hike (walk?). 

So, like Don Ready, an American hero (in the company of legends like Henry David Thoreau and David Lee Roth) who stood up for our right to smoke a cigarette while 30,000 feet up in the air, I already knew Fini’s had “the goods.” But I didn’t know just how much better it could get. Enter Hong Kong food and beverage industry titan Vinny Lauria (and fellow New Hampshirite) and a pizza that, outside of New England, is relatively unknown (albeit it is still nationally lauded by pizza critics) – the New Haven-style pizza. 

Here’s why you need to get on down to Fini’s Italian American to pick up one of these coal-fired, thin-crust saucers of perfection before another Hong Kong pizza joint attempts to hijack this apizza (pronounced “ah-beets”) glory and puts you off from ever trying it.