The weekend in Hong Kong

… last week.

Yes, I am already back in Singapore as I write this.

S & S took me out to experience the heart and soul of Hong Kong yum cha – basically, a morning of shoving, elbowing, yelling, grumbling to get your cup of tea and dim sum.

Yes, people, this is the world where the customer is slave and staff, king. And judging from the crowd at the place, we are gluttons for punishment.

The place: Lin Heung, Central, HK.

Here are the eight lucky steps to a successful meal at a traditional yum cha place.

First you are ordered to find your own seat.

Second, as you eagle eye a place, the ladies pushing trolleys of dim sum show you who has right of way by crashing into you, rolling over your toes, jamming a stainless steel corner of their cart into your ribs, all at once. So look out.

Third, be prepared to grab your chair and defend air rights above that chair, because someone will either take it away from you, or, if they cannot have it, launch a takeover with another chair and shove yours somewhere else. There will be no remorse. Only feign ignorance. Or you will be made to feel guilty that although you were there first, you are depriving someone else of their space for yum cha.

Fourth, if you do not instantly plant your buttocks on said chair and immediately state the number in your party, the tea uncle, whom you avoid because he is always armed with a pot of scalding hot water and does not care whether any falls from the spout or flies in the air as he navigates the restaurant, will scold you. Or worse. He ignores you and someone in your party will not get tea. Or even worse, he taunts you with several trips to your table to fill or refill tea for others, pass you on his way to others. No amount of waving, uh’s, or Mm Koi’s will get you your tea. And when you are well and truly parched, he will finally serve you tea on his terms, at his pleasure.

Fifth, after you have secured your position, you have to leave it, because the ladies with the trolleys of food will invariably not hear you calling for them. Indeed, you have to get up from your seat, go to her, fish out your bamboo basket of steamed yummies and return to your table only to find, someone has overtaken your chair and your tea has been disposed off by the tea uncle because your hapless non-Cantonese speaking friend was unable to defend the fort.

Sixth, as you gobble down your food, be prepared to jab at incoming patrons who will attempt to shove you under your table to make themselves space at the next table. When others at your table leave to pay the bill, be prepared to hold chopsticks in one hand while picking up a siew mai, har kow or pao – the specific item isn’t important, hold chair with another and krok-krok* over to the newly opened up space, because you yourself managed to force three people into a space once occupied by two in the first place.

*krok-krok: the sound made as you hop to a new position in your Chinese stool without removing butt from chair surface.

Seven, as you are choking on something mysterious in your siew mai, the long arm of the tea man will place the pot of scalding water very close to your face. In an instant, you are supposed to feel the heat of the water and make space for him, by contorting your body in such a way that will invariably block the path of the dim sum trolley aunties who, now that you do not need any food from them, are right next to you and yelling in your face if you want anything, to add water to your cup of tea. If you miss that split second window of opportunity to make space, you will get an earful sure to make you blush simply because you do not understand the Cantonese he was spouting.

Eight, if your visitor friend wants to take photos, send him/her off to take photos while the host, finishes up. That way, as the last shot is fired, the bill can be paid and all can escape at the same time.