Oftentimes eating out can be a little uninspiring, depressing even. This problem is particularly acute in somewhere like Hong Kong, where for a lot of people, including me, eating out becomes a matter of necessity and all too often a rather monotonous routine. Recently eating out has felt utterly depressing. I realise this is a first world problem, but, as a fellow bon viveur rightly pointed out, we live in the first world, so it’s still a problem.
It’s not so much that the food you eat out is always bad. It’s just that it’s often too something. Too fatty. Too salty. Too rich. Too over the top.
Nowhere does unnecessary excess like Hong Kong. Sometimes excess is fun and joyous, but often it is awkward and jarring, particularly when set against Hong Kong’s appalling and very visible levels of social inequality. Burger joints routinely dare you to go full eighteenth century French aristocrat and “ADD FOIE GRAS”. Iberico ham is draped over dishes like cheap confetti. Weekend brunch buffets are an invitation to gorge yourself on the more premium members of the cast of the little mermaid. Imported sea urchin and oysters are touted round on restaurant “specials” boards like Christ’s second coming. Truffle is everywhere. And I mean fucking everywhere. On french fries, drizzled over pasta, in scrambled eggs. It’s probably in bottled water if you’re willing to pay for it.
Too many fatty, salty, over the top experiences had left me feeling a bit like Henry VIII, but without any of the interesting stories about his former wives. Bloated. Tired. Spotty. Slightly irritable. It is easy to see why Henners decided to behead a few former girlfriends – he’d probably eaten enough foie gras stuffed pheasant that he just needed to take his frustration out on someone and the chef didn’t happen to be around.
Rather than beheading former lovers, I decided to eat a meal, which is pretty much what I do in a time of crisis, but in the context of the current crisis was probably not the best solution; “Class A drugs getting you down? Try Class A drugs!”.
I was yearning for something simple, homely, not too anything. Which, by the process of elimination and a desire not to stray more than a comfortable walking distance from home, brought me to Samsen, a trendy Thai noodle bar in the better end of Wanchai. Run by an alumnus of one of my favourite hipster Thai eateries, Chachawan, I was aware it was going to be a mood lightening experience. In fact, for full disclosure, I have been many times before, so this isn't a particular revelation to me or any of the dozens of people who have been with me before. But I'm just getting round to writing this now, so just imagine I am walking in there for the first time as I write, please. Thanks.
In fact, walking in there is a slight understatement, as generally there is a huge line, so be prepared to stand around for a bit. But you get the gist.
The menu is music to my over-saturated body, a few robust salads, some wok-fried noodles (including the obligatory pad thai), vegetables and a few deserts. But what I was really there for were the famous "boat noodles". These are big, steaming cauldrons of porky (or beefy) broth with noodles, a few green bits and a whole lot of yum thrown in. Admittedly, the beef one is labelled as "wagyu", but hey, it's Hong Kong, so even soul warming comfort food for those searching simple pleasure comes with a dash of excess. Anyhow, it hit the spot, without hitting my wallet too hard (HK$120/head for a bowl of noodles), which warms the soul just as much as the broth.
In a city of excess, this is a lovely little oasis of restraint – full on flavours how they are supposed to be without any of the truffle drizzled guff. I'm sure they'll cash in and start draping sea urchin on everything soon enough (and who would blame them), so best get in while you can.