On the last couple of work trips to the city, the man had never gotten a chance to try the street stalls, those that are slightly more hygienic than the true blue dai pai dong (大排檔). How can he come to Hong Kong and not try the essence of a city? It isn't all about its private kitchens and its not-that-fantastic Michelin-starred western restaurants.
So this trip, I anyhow anyhow dragged him into one at an odd time. It was an in-between meal. Wahahahahah. He had beef brisket rice and the hot milk tea. He loved it. It was kinda amusing and sweet at the same time to watch him tuck into a simple dish with such fervor. But no, it didn't inspire me to learn to cook for him.
The man doesn't really speak Mandarin or understand Chinese, (in spite of a 12-year education at our finest schools in the language), so he makes me his interpreter. This weekend, he's damn happy lor. Since it's much easier to speak in Cantonese to get things done, he made me sort out logistics all the way. He simply pointed to some dot on the map and I would have to get us there and make the food appear by magic. Hmmmpph.