Midnight-oil weeks had me hollow-eyed; I needed salt air on my cheeks and a plate that didn’t taste of deadlines. The upper pinery, that hide-out above Wan Chai’s roar, promised hotel-level calm for HK$120—so I slipped in, letting the harbour breeze and a glass of water with softly spun music reset my rhythm.Then came the parade I actually ordered: spinach bathed in 🥬long-simmered stock and 🐡fugu floss; 🥧charcoal liu-sha buns bleeding salted yolk like molten dusk; 🥪prawn toast that crackled, 🍗cartilage and sweet-potato fries that popped, 🦐salted-egg tiger prawns wearing golden armour, 🍜scallion-oil noodles slick as ink strokes, and to close, 🍮chilled tea jelly—clear thought after a storm of spice.Between bites I chatted with the owner; he told me every leaf and prawn is prepped the day before, hours shaved off sleep simply because he loves the craft. Years in five-star kitchens taught him that service is a language, so he wired projectors and charging ports into this izakaya like quiet promises—whatever you need, we’ve already thought of it. The chef’s journey from hotels to crafting every dish reminds me: like designing life, only through dedicated effort do we reap beauty. As scripture says, “There’s a time for every purpose.” This meal was my reminder to keep sowing with faith.…查看更多
