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. 

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. 

Does An Choi in Sheung Wan Pass the Authentic Vietnamese Taste Test?

Tucked away on Mercer Street, a succinct unassuming feeder thoroughfare to Bonham Strand and a stone’s throw away from the Murderer’s Row of Hong Kong lunch specials (Jervois Street), An Choi is “the answer” to Hong Kong’s desperate plea for high-quality, authentic Vietnamese fare that not only ensures you don’t go home hungry but are transported back to a cragged, bustling, back alley Saigonese noodle, banh mi, and spring roll haunt in the process.

Like George Washington, I cannot tell a lie. I was skeptical at first. Having spent over one year living in Ho Chi Minh City, I was accustomed to authentic Vietnamese cuisine at an affordable price, served with several sides of chaos, character, and chili (pepper), and I was convinced it was impossible to replicate in this beleaguered, prohibitively expensive, and gastronomically stagnant city (in my humble, uneducated opinion).

I’m happy I was proved wrong. 

Slice-Testing the Roman Pizza Hype at Hong Kong’s Alice Pizza

Located in the heart of Wan Chai (but the part less rife with sin and hedonism) and pronounced ‘Ah-lee-cheh’ (not ‘Al’is’), Alice Pizza is the answer to Hong Kong’s (surprising) Roman-style ‘in teglia’ pizza void. Somehow finding myself with more Italian friends than I ever realized I’d acquire in this lifetime, and sitting next to a certified Roman in my office, the buzz surrounding Alice Pizza is something I’ve hungrily watched them signal to one another via a variety of exuberant hand gestures for the last several months. 

I knew it was time I tried it so I could hit them with a double finger purse and “Mamma mia!’ to prove my relevance – as my daily ‘Buongiorno’s’ were slowly losing their linguistic luster. So I took to the viae and strata (“took to the streets”) to taste-test Alice for myself and see if this pan-baked, rectangular, thin-slice pizza pie hype was justified. I veni’ed, I vidi’ed, and I pizzi’ed, all in the name of finding my Calpurnia of the pizza world. 

Here’s what I found.

Florence Trippa: Home of the Best Sandwich You’ve Never Heard of – The Lampredotto

Nestled a stone’s throw away from the iconic Mid-Levels escalators, somewhere between the Caine Road Japan Home Centre and the beginning of Old Bailey Street, you’ll find a salt and pepper-haired, mustachioed Italian man in his early 50s donning an (almost) luminescent white T, wielding a pizza peel with the might of the intrepid Vulcan (Hephaestus for those Hellenists out there), and flashing a warm, radiant smile that will melt your heart like creamy, well-rounded provolone over focaccia. His name is Claudio and his shop is ‘Florence Trippa’. 

At first glance, it’s easy to miss. Caught in the throes of banal headache, a hurried crowd of pedestrians, and a winding, imposing line of the Chinese restaurant adjacent, two red Florentine flag insignias sandwich black lettering in a nondescript fashion. “Pizza,” “Pasta,” “Panini, “Trippa.” You shake it out of your head. I mean, there are hundreds of pizza shops in the city. You know good Italian food, right? What’s so special about this new spot? Little did you know, you just made the biggest mistake of your month and you haven’t even throttled your first Joe Bananas’ Jägerbomb at 2 AM on Saturday.

On any given night (except Sundays), you’ll find him bobbing and weaving amongst a profusion of pots and pans in a small kitchen, fielding a barrage of takeaway calls and Deliveroo orders with an unflappable grace, carefully ladling slow-cooked vegetable broth over fluffy, freshly toasted buns and sliding thin crust pizzas out of the oven with the precision of a surgeon – a Florentine, gastronomical surgeon. He offers up earnest anecdotes on longevity, happiness, and health, greeting regulars by name and welcoming newcomers as if they were regulars, putting into digestible prose an answer to a question he’s sure to field at least dozens of times per day (for now), “What the heck is a lampredotto?”

And that’s where our story begins. But first, a little housekeeping.

Pierogies, Rabbit Stew, & Stroganoff at Hong Kong’s First Ukrainian Restaurant

Pushing 23 years in the Hong Kong food and beverage scene, Ivan the Kozak was (and still is) a much-needed answer to an established (and burgeoning at the same time?) food scene that has always oddly lacked Eastern European fare. Serving up Ukrainian classics like potato and mushroom pierogies, borscht (Ukrainian borscht to emphasize – typically made with pork rather than beef), and even veal casseroles, Ivan the Kozak has remained steadfast in providing Ukrainian warmth and comfort in pleated dough form – which unsurprisingly, is why it is one of my favorite restaurants in all of Hong Kong.

Oh, and there’s vodka. Lots and lots of vodka. Tried and tested by yours truly. That always helps. Except for the three bottles of vodka I drank with my best friend, an elderly Ukrainian woman, and a Russian busboy on my 29th birthday in Vienna, which led to me projectile vomiting all over the Hofburg Palace (I’ve mentioned this in other posts on the site).