Rubin Verebes is the managing editor of Foodie and is very opinionated. Transforming his hobby of eating and drinking into a career, he shares his account of Hong Kong’s F&B scene and the worldwide state of dining in Rubin’s Take, his dedicated opinion column.
In mid-January, I hopped on the Tsuen Wan Line and scuttled onto a speedy green minibus to visit the Kam Tin Jiao Festival, hosted in all its glory at the foothills of the mammoth mountain range of Lam Tsuen Country Park.
Hosted every 10 years, the Kam Tin Jiao Festival began in 1685 bringing Tang clansmen together in Hong Kong’s North to express gratitude to ancient deities and cleanse the area to protect from future pandemics.
Whilst 2015’s affair came and went with minimal virality, the week-long December event and thankful January encore earned the festival global recognition, even such that Guinness World Records awarded the festival’s temporary five-storey bamboo pavilion the largest bamboo structure altar (temporary) in the world.
Essentially, one of the festival’s main objectives is to engage visitors in Hong Kong’s intangible cultural heritage, be that puppet shows, bamboo scaffolding, dragon dancing, or Cantonese opera. But beyond the fascinating bamboo structures and genuine Hong Kong history, what had gripped me was the steaming hot food being served in the centre of the festival.
This temporary food market was brimming in the 15 degree New Territories cold. Queues of hungry festival-goers were jostling for stinky tofu, xiao long bao, curry fish balls, siu mai, imitation shark fin soup, egg waffles, baked cheese crab, and pig intestines. Many had their mouths agape staring at the festival decorations and the steaming hot food.
There was a stall serving Macanese pork mince sandwiches, a temporary cocktail bar, a shop selling kebabs from a popular Chungking Mansions-based Indian restaurant, and a few Japanese-speciality street food stalls.
Stuffed with stinky tofu, curry balls, and cane juice, I felt reminiscent of my year living in Taipei from 2020 and crawling through the city’s night markets. A visit to them was not a special occasion for myself and Taibeiren, it was an excuse to eat a lot, both in quantity and variety.
I could easily manage a night market trip for less than NTD250 (about HKD60) and snack on scallion pancakes, stinky tofu, salt and pepper chicken bites, watermelon juice, and freshly-cut green mango in one session. My eyes did the eating, yet my wallet didn’t shudder in fear of overspending.
In a city quarter the size of Hong Kong, Taipei boasts 18 night markets open daily, whilst we have only a paltry one: Temple Street Night Market.
Attracting more than 1.5 million tourists and Hong Kongers in the first five months of its revamped launch at the end of 2023, the Temple Street Night Market revealed itself to be a cleaner, more international, yet somewhat sanitised version of itself, in line with the dining standards of today. The market passageway was widened too, allowing for more diners to pass through and eat more comfortably.
The revamp was launched as part of Hong Kong’s Night Vibes Hong Kong campaign, hosting fairs and night markets across the city to re-engage diners who quickly fell for the allure of Shenzhen or post-pandemic revenge travel. Yet, the night markets lacked a natural touch.
In bringing night markets to Hong Kong, there ought to be less bureaucracy and more freedom to host night markets here and make this city a place for snacking street-side whatever the occasion or weather.
The beauty of the Kam Tin Jiao Festival night (and day) market was that it felt chaotic. The queues were snaking around the tents, which let for the waft of fresh cooking fan throughout the open air. The main attraction of Taipei’s night markets is that they are chaotic and bustling.
Temple Street Night Market has that energy, but I think more is needed to ensure Hong Kong remains a riveting destination for tourists to come and snack or slurp up.
We may not be able to accommodate a reinvention of the Sheung Wan Gala Point, the roaring 1970s night market that attracted thousands every night to the Sheung Wan harbourside gathering under dim lights to feast, but there is potential to power a night market revolution here.
The fancy courtyards of PMQ and Tai Kwun could make way for a crowding of Cantonese food stalls when not hosting fairs or art installations. A portion of the Ladies Market in Mong Kok could be split off to invite local restaurants to serve hot food. Even more, the government could host night markets in public parks promoting a local delicacy from 18 districts of Hong Kong.
Just as the government has had success in reinventing Hong Kong’s sole daily night market, it only has to look at Jordan to see what tourists and Hong Kongers are hungry for.
This is not a space issue, Hong Kong is known for its nimbleness in utilising the little public space we have to serve the people. There are many restaurants and bars that will relish the opportunity to open up temporary stalls to market their brand and sell their food. It is no wonder Clockenflap and AIA Carnival’s outdoor food stalls see heavy patronage annually.
Hong Kong isn’t Seoul, Bangkok, or definitely not Taipei when it comes to night market prowess, but it is not far off a challenge to bring more of these vibes to the street and become a true night market powerhouse.
The views expressed in this column are those of the authors and do not represent or reflect the views of Foodie.
