Night of the Ox

At sunrise, the message lights on our hotel room phones were blinking. The message awaiting advised that two pieces of luggage had been delivered to the hotel during the night. The ever important Duffels O’ Gear had caught up with us, and we could breathe easy.

The day featured a visit to the Hong Kong Museum of Art where, among other things, we took in the Xubaizhai Gallery of Chinese Painting and Calligraphy. A collection of works from the fifteenth through seventeenth centuries that pretty much blew our minds. 

The other two high points of the day were meals.

Lunch was at a dumpling shop, Din Tai Fung. We got soup-filled dumplings. You puncture them, letting the soup leak out, and then eat them. The straight pork are the signature, but we didn't fully realize what we were ordering, and got the pork and black truffle. Given that they had the truffle thing going for them, they did not require extra seasoning, and so we had no need to use the specially prepared soy + vinegar + ginger concoction that we had made. We were a little disappointed that we didn't get to use our specially mixed stuff, but the dumplings were exquisitely tasty. We also got some pork and scallion wontons in some kind of sauce of their own, as well as some Chinese broccoli.

Can't think of a catchy caption.  Stuff was damn good, though.

Din Tai Fung is a chain restaurant, though perhaps not quite in the American sense. If I recall anywhere close to correctly, they have something like twelve locations worldwide. They also have a Michelin star. I wondered exactly how a dumpling joint could score a Michelin star. I believe that the answer is, aside from the fact that the food was superlative, the service. The staff was ever present, efficient, friendly and helpful, taking time to make sure that the American tourists understood how to mix the sauces, for instance. I noticed that we were not offered forks, and the lack of condescension pleased me. Nevertheless, the very first time one of us dropped a piece of food while using our chopsticks, forks instantly appeared next to both of our plates – without a word and without a fuss. Well played, Din Tai Fung.

That evening, we had reservations Dong Lai Shun, an upscale restaurant known for its mutton hotpot and Ox Tail in Black Vinegar.  Those were the things we planned to order.  To accompany dinner, we selected a 2005 Pauillac Bordeaux from the wine list.  I wasn't familiar with it and so was not quite certain precisely what we would be getting.  It turned out to be rocky and somewhat tannic; it made a fine compliment to the savory spiciness of our dinner selections.

We opened with the oxtail, which arrived in a ceramic pot, bathed, along with carrots and some kind of tuber, in a thick sauce with a fulsome mouthfeel. With ‘vinegar’ in the name I did not know what to expect, but the sauce was not vinegary or sour, nor overly sweet. It seemed complex, but I couldn't put my finger on any particular flavour. All I knew is that I wanted a lot of it slathered on every bite I took. The tail pieces consisted of sprocket-like cross sections of bone, with the meat in between the ‘teeth’. A gentle tug with the chopsticks and nuggets of rich meat came free, ready to delight the palate. All in all, it was simply spectacular.

Ox will make you sigh with joy at being an omnivore. Even its tail.

The hot pot followed the ox tail.  A pan is presented, divided into two sections, containing two soups the diners select from a list. For one soup, we chose “spicy clear broth”, something of a misnomer or so it seemed to me, as it had large quantities of spicy things – which lent their spice to the broth – floating in it.  For our second soup, we selected “traditional chicken soup”.  The pot is set in the middle of the table, and then by some strange sorcery (as well as a unit concealed within the table) the soup is made to boil.  Various foods are then cooked in the boiling soup, lowered into it by means of small, long-handled wire baskets.

We selected the signature mutton, as well as some shrimp meatballs and some Chinese lettuce.  

Explosive spiciness followed up with a dip in seasoned peanut sauce,
or laid-back chickeny goodness?  Yin and Yang, baby.

When cooked up in the soup, the foods took on the character of whatever broth they had been cooked in, and then could also be augmented with a variety of available sauces. All in all, quite good, and a fun thing to do, though it rather struck me as Participatory Food Theatre (a phrase that totally made sense after half a bottle of Bordeaux…)  It was good and it was fun, but a lot of the enjoyment was getting to play chef.  Julia pointed out, however, that the hot pot lent itself to a group dynamic.  There was a shared experience of more than just consumption.  People could cook for each other.  The whole experience could be observed, discussed, bonded over, and the like.  I think she’s got a good point. 

But still…  Ox.