Golden oysters, a centuries-old Chinese New Year treat in Hong Kong, secrets to the best ones, and how climate change makes their future uncertain

Golden oysters are usually made with larger bivalves and are only semi-dried, which contributes to their lighter flavour and soft texture.

Edwin Tang is the Chinese executive chef at Cuisine Cuisine. Photo: Jonathan Wong

“The drier weather and the sunshine [in winter] are the perfect conditions to half-dry these oysters,” says Edwin Tang Ho-wang, Chinese executive chef of Cuisine Cuisine, a restaurant in Tsim Sha Tsui in Hong Kong.

“Purveyors have been using handed-down knowledge to make these oysters for centuries. The level of salinity, humidity, temperature and the length of time it takes to dry them help keep bacteria at safe levels. They are perfectly safe to eat.”

Golden oysters at Chan Cheung Kee oyster farm in Lau Fau Shan. Photo: Jonathan Wong
While dried oysters are also popular around Lunar New Year because their name (ho see in Cantonese) sounds similar to “auspicious tidings” or “good business”, Tang has recently switched them out in favour of the golden version, known as gum ho.

“Larger oysters look more prosperous and the flavours are milder and more acceptable to younger generations,” he says. “Dried oysters have a more dominating flavour, making them better for soups and stews.”

Charles Cheung Tung-ching, chef-owner of private kitchen Catty and Tael, sources his golden oysters from Lau Fau Shan, in the New Territories, which is well known for producing the bivalve.
Charles Cheung Tung-ching is the owner and chef of private kitchen Catty and Tael.

“The minerals in the water make for the best product and the people here have been producing dried and golden oysters for centuries,” he says.

Cheung explains how to gauge the best golden oysters. “The skin should be slightly leathery and dry, with a fragrant smell of ocean brininess. It should have a big bulging belly that is soft like a pillow when you give it a light squeeze.”

Edwin Chan Shiu-tung and his mother, Chan To-ngan, sort oysters in Lau Fau Shan. Photo: Jonathan Wong

“I started working at the farm when I was eight. You start out by shucking oysters as a child and then, when you’re older, you work in the water,” she says, recalling diving into frigid waters to harvest the oysters in the winter, when they are at their plumpest.

“It was so busy, everybody had to help. Even as a child shucking oysters, if we got cut we didn’t have time to get a bandage,” says Chan. “If it was a deep cut, we’d just squash a smaller oyster, use it as a plaster and keep working.

“I was still diving when I was eight months pregnant with my eldest child.”

Our harvest times are getting later, the time for us to dry the oysters has become shorter

Chan To-ngan, oyster farmer at Lau Fau Shan
Across Shenzhen Bay, the Shenzhen skyline is visible from Chan Cheung Kee’s Lau Fau Shan farm. Chan tells how she is descended from an expansive tribe of oyster farmers in Shenzhen’s Shajing village, who used to work both sides of the bay. Shajing is now a stop on Line 11 of the Shenzhen Metro.

“All the high-rise buildings that you see across the water, that whole shoreline belonged to my great-grandfather,” says Chan as she points across the water.

A view of the Chan Cheung Kee oyster farm in Lau Fau Shan. Photo: Jonathan Wong

To a farmer such as Chan, the difference between dried and golden oysters is the time it takes to treat them before they can be sold.

“Dried oysters are sun-dried for five to seven days, but it only takes two to three days for golden oysters. If we get a northerly wind, golden oysters take only two days, but if we get moist air from the south it might take another half day,” she explains.

While the drying process is shorter, the larger oysters take about six years to grow before they can be harvested, while the smaller bivalves used for dried oysters are usually two to three years old.

The 74-year-old oyster farmer Chan To-ngan is affectionately known as Cheung So. Photo: Jonathan Wong

Golden oysters may have become a trendy alternative to ho see in recent years, but Shajing villagers have been consuming them for centuries.

“When I was young, we would eat golden oysters but made from smaller ones,” says Chan. “We’d pan-fry and season them with our own oyster sauce, while with the larger ones, we’d pan-fry them and dip them in sugar.”

However, this niche dish, which has become popular only in the past decade, is under threat from climate change.

Chan explains that in the past they would sow male oyster seeds in the fourth month of the lunar calendar and female seeds in the sixth month.

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“Traditionally, we would start checking the size of the stock by the first day of the eighth month and by shuangjiang [“descent of frost”, or the midpoint of the ninth month of the lunar calendar] they would be ready to harvest because by that time the water would be cold and that’s when they’re plump,” she says.

But global warming has affected the harvest time of oysters, which are sensitive to changes in currents and winds.

“Last year was the latest we’ve ever harvested – in the 10th month of the lunar calendar, and we didn’t start sun-drying them until the ninth day,” says Chan. “The weather is just not cold enough. We usually get orders for dried oysters by the Chung Yeung Festival [in October], but now we can’t fill them because the stock just isn’t ready.”

Golden oysters drying at Chan Cheung Kee. Photo: Jonathan Wong

They lost an entire stock of oysters because of changes in the climate and the reshaping of the shoreline caused by development across the bay.

“The water was too salty and we had too many easterly winds. If we get more than 20 days of easterly winds, the oysters start to die,” Chan explains. “We need the westerly winds to bring in the river waters and balance the salinity.”

On the consumer side, Tang at Cuisine Cuisine has noticed the price of oysters steadily increase.
Tang has noticed the price of oysters steadily increase. Photo: Jonathan Wong

“It’s really a function of supply and demand,” he says. “The more rare it is the more expensive this food item will become, and if it gets too expensive we’ll have to serve something else.”

For Chan, it feels like it’s only a matter of time before the sun sets on her family’s farm.

“Our harvest times are getting later, the time for us to dry the oysters has become shorter,” she says. “It’s not that people don’t want the product, it’s that I simply don’t have the stock to fill the orders.

“I’m 74 and I don’t know if my children will continue this business, it’s just getting tougher.”

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