During the 2010s, I worked as the dining editor of a luxury lifestyle publication that held an annual best restaurants awards night, and my colleagues and I had a non-negotiable post-event ritual.
After every awards ceremony – often held in one of Hong Kong’s fanciest new restaurants or shiniest hotel ballrooms – and once all the chefs, restaurateurs and industry suits had drained their champagne glasses and left, we had one thing left to do: get ourselves to the nearest Tsui Wah, the beloved cha chaan teng chain.
In the first year of the awards, we crowned 20 of Hong Kong and Macau’s best restaurants – a mix that consisted, admittedly, largely of fine dining stalwarts and Michelin-starred establishments.
A heavy golden medal etched with a fork, knife and chopsticks had been forged for each of the awardees and crowned every trophy. We also had a few test medals made, one of which was bequeathed to me.
That night, about a dozen of us lumbered up the steps of the Tsui Wah on Wellington Street in Hong Kong’s Central district – feet sore from pinched stilettos – and squeezed ourselves into a row of tables haphazardly pushed together.
