The waitress lifts the bamboo steamer lid, and as the curling puff of steam dissipates, we take in the curious sight in front of us – two pristine, snow-white buns with plump segments, encasing a deep burnished filling of preserved Chinese sausage. Morbidly put, it looks as though the fat Michelin mascot’s arms had been lopped off and served to us for lunch; but what we’ve been presented with is one of the most traditional and elusive dim sum classics from the Cantonese canon.

“Dim sum has lost its way,” laments Joseph Tse, the head chef of Above & Beyond, the restaurant where we have come to sample some nostalgic yum cha specialties. “The traditional items have become rare.” He purposely chose to showcase the Chinese sausage bun (not to be confused with the bread-and-frankfurter version found in local bakeries) as an example of dim sum items that have fallen out of fashion in recent decades. Using the same dough as featured in the ubiquitous barbecued pork bun, Tse wraps it around a length of preserved Chinese sausage (laap cheung) and liver sausage (yun cheung). The effect is enticing – the soft pillowy bun contrasts with the firmer sausage, which releases its aromatic oils and rose wine flavour with each bite; the liver sausage adds a creamy texture. It’s an intense mouthful.

We remarked that it had been a long time since we’d even eaten such a roll, to which Tse clucked and said ruefully, “You rarely have it because few people make it anymore.” He’s mostly right – there are few other places where this 60’s style treat can be found, though Lin Heung in Central – that old stalwart of classic dim sum dining – is a reliable venue for all things old-school. To find it in a sleek restaurant like Above & Beyond is something more akin to finding a stick of curry fishballs in Lung King Heen.  

We started thinking about all the other dim sum delicacies enjoyed by our parents’ generation and beyond – the amusingly named “fay lum” (“film”), a jet black sesame rice roll, or siu mai topped with quails’ eggs (pictured above) or slices of pig’s liver.  You won’t find such classics here – the eggs are out because Tse tries to keep his dishes low in cholesterol, and the liver because he believes offal doesn’t quite fit in with the hotel restaurant’s demographic. “Pork liver siu mai is becoming so rare you can only find it in certain restaurants,” says Tse. “But you seldom find it in hotels.” Lovers of these esoteric treats can still seek them out in restaurants like Fu Sing, Ling Heung and Wang Jia Sha, and at the award-winning Tim Ho Wan, owned by chef Mak Gwai-Pui.  

Chef-owner Mak is one of the few people in the city determined to keep the old dim sum traditions going, a desire stemming from his fear that the craft of past generations are dying. As one of the most vocal chefs out there on the topic of vanishing traditions, Mak decided to keep some of the most nostalgic dim sum dishes as a staple in his Tim Ho Wan branches – among them a classic ma lai go (steamed sponge cake) done the old-fashioned way, and pork liver siu mai.


Pork liver siu mai at Fu Sing, Wan Chai

“I’ve said it a lot of times, but I’m worried that the tradition of dim sum making will die out,” he says. “Will it disappear? I really think it may.” At Tim Ho Wan, shortcuts are the death of tradition. The aforementioned steamed sponge cake is deceptively simple but complex behind the scenes; Mak also stresses that he prefers to steam them, as the original incarnation requires, as one large cake. The process of proving the cake dough, as a result, is longer, but Mak is adamant that the flavour and texture is ultimately better done the old-school way. “Some places like making theirs look pretty, steaming them in tiny little pots, but I find that they end up with a tough texture. We let the cake rise for much longer than usual as well, so it’s more fragrant.”

It isn’t to say that chefs like Tse and Mak are stuck in the past, though both tend to favour staying as close to the line as possible when it comes to Cantonese cooking. “Generally speaking, what’s trendy is always changing,” says Tse. “Hong Kong is a Chinese city that has absorbed international flavours. There are many chefs who use international produce in traditional recipes to create something new.

“I don’t tend to touch the classics, like har gau, siu mai, cheung fun. In other aspects I might add black truffle to a dumpling to give people a new experience, but that’s it,” says Tse. True to his word, one of the final traditional dishes we taste is a classic beef siu mai, wrapped in caul fat. “This kind of dim sum was popular in the 30s and 40s,” explains Tse. “It was very common on what was called the ‘weekday dim sum special’ menus of the time.” The finely chopped beef is augmented with water chestnuts and a refreshing medley of coriander, lemon leaf and dried mandarin peels; the caul fat has melded during the steaming process with the beef, creating a succulent parcel with a pleasant bouncy texture.

“I can honestly say there is not one place I can eat a decent siu mai,” shrugs Tse. . “Before, a good pork and prawn siu mai was about 30 per cent fat to 70 per cent lean meat, with good quality mushrooms and prawns. You can taste the real flavour of the pork and the prawn, melding with the aroma of the mushrooms.

“There are layers to the flavour and texture. But now, it all blends into one. I’ll tell you one thing – they all lack complexity. This is modern dim sum.” Like Mak, he fears that even the ubiquitous siu mai will soon fall prey to the shortcuts that have come to define our contemporary era. Will there soon be a day when this particular dim sum becomes relegated to the past?

“Nowadays, the tradition has been lost. Everything is made using machines,” explains Tse. He describes recent jaunts to Guangzhou, where he says he can still find masters crafting traditional dim sum. “There’s a stronger dedication to the craft there,” he says. “Each dim sum chef has his own specialty, and traditions are preserved. It’s not the case in Hong Kong.

“But at least we do have some centres [in Kowloon] where older chefs can teach students. There’s still a community for exchanging skills. There’s still hope.” 

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