SING FOR YOUR SUPPER

CHRISTINA KO sits in on dinner at the W hotel chain’s first Chinese restaurant, Sing Yin

THE W HONG KONG has it rough sometimes. Its mandate to remain perennially hip is a tall order in a city that places itself at the forefront of cool on a daily basis, so I suppose it’s no surprise that after only two years in operation, the hotel decided to shut down the underperforming Aussie fine-dining spot Fire, whose crimson-washed, LED-lit interiors read so 2008. Rising from its ashes – if you’ll pardon the pun – is Sing Yin, a much more sensibly conceived contemporary Chinese restaurant that fits the hotel’s branding requirements as well as the palates of its customers.

For a major hotel restaurant, Sing Yin – which means star banquet – opened with relatively little fanfare, especially considering it’s the first-ever Chinese-dining outlet to join the W family. Prestige Hong Kong’s dinner guests express surprise on their arrival that the operation has been running since the end of November. As self-proclaimed foodies, they’re usually the first to catch wind of such concerns, especially since all of them – Kevin and Reina Chau, James and Su Chen, and Kevin and Sabrina Lam, not to mention our Associate Publisher Gordon Lam and his fiancée Tais Fortes – dabble in restaurant businesses themselves.

The lack of noise is less a reflection of poor PR than awkward scheduling: between the Christmas season and the early Chinese New Year, there’s been little time for anyone to scour magazines for new restaurants, so Sing Yin is only beginning to reap the fruits of word-of-mouth. It’s apt timing for the dinner, as the Chaus have just returned from Taipei, where they stayed at the newly opened W – Reina raves about the service (offered by young, good-looking male staff, she winks) despite lamenting the lack of drawer space, a real concern for a fashionista such as herself.

Our guests begin by sampling Sing Yin’s unique Asian-influenced cocktails, which include the Asian Delight, a lychee Martini made with aged Chinese wine; Dragon Wine, a flower concoction served with mild Chinese wine and herbal syrup; and Backyard, a smoothie blended with Chinese botanicals, combined with guava and yam. As far as the drinks go, Sing Yin has done its job in pushing the envelope prudently, with thoughtful juxtapositions rather than the ostentatious and haphazard mixology that seems to plague many bars.

“I don’t normally drink sweet stuff, but this is good…I’m getting sweeter, I guess,” Su laughs, as she finishes her first Asian Delight and is promptly presented with another.

The private room in which we are seated is one of two; this is the larger one that seats 12. Fabric scrolls hang from the ceiling and flow to the floor, a group of them across one wall forming a photo-panorama of an area in Tai O Fishing Village. Along the adjacent wall is a glowing facade printed with greenery that extends like a runner across the ceiling.

If this is the New Territories, then the main dining room represents Hong Kong and Kowloon proper. Two facing walls depict opposing sides of the harbour, with Central on one end and (fittingly, given the W’s location) West Kowloon on the other. Across a jarring Bliss-blue carpet are cartoony outlines that depict maps of Hong Kong and Kowloon, a motif that’s echoed in a matte layer over the mirrored ceiling. In between the main and private rooms is a neutral zone filled with booths and other tables sectioned off behind a maze of screens.

The Steve Leung-designed venue is a definite hit, and indeed a highlight of the interior designer’s portfolio – arguably even better conceived than the man’s own duet of restaurants, which opened only a month after Sing Yin. The details and motifs evince Leung’s signature impudence better than any other project he’s undertaken so far, and perfectly align with the W’s own manifesto.

The cuisine, too, hopes to achieve the same heights. Chef Bryan Lee, who previously ran the banquet team for the hotel, notes that Sing Yin presents a new challenge in Cantonese dining, with less attention to tradition and more to revolution. So while certain fine Chinese staples remain – the famous Buddha jumps over the wall, for instance – others are subject to a reimagining. Marinated chicken with bean crystal noodles in peanut sauce (better known as bang bang chicken) finds a companion in a stack of melon that cuts the thickness of the peanut sauce with refreshing crunch and fluid. But is this a take that Hongkongers will relish? Our guests do find the interpretation interesting, although they confess that their hearts still lie with the traditional version served at an old Shanghainese restaurant in which Su has a stake.

The deep-fried crab claw stuffed with shrimp paste, however, finds a fan in Sabrina. A crispy cocoon of dragon’s beard curves around a perfectly textured crab claw with a bouncy consistency; it’s so ensconced in its stringy cushion that the protruding claw is barely visible. “I really like how they reinterpret the traditional long so [dragon’s beard] and give it a modern theme,” she notes.

Gastronomic chatter aside, it’s a bit awkward for an outsider to sit in on this dinner, a fact that Su solidifies by whispering to me, “This must be so weird for you. We’re like a family, and we’re a bit incestuous.” She busies herself by explaining the intricacies of who is whose child’s godmother or godfather, but I’ve lost track before she even finishes. Her point is clear, that these couples – “the usual suspects,” as Kevin Chau puts it – are constant companions, on the town or out of town as frequent travel buddies. Su continues to explain, “the two Kevins are the loudest, so we always have to put them on opposite sides of the table. Kevin Chau and James are the same size, so people think they’re brothers. And we all love to eat. We’re on the ‘seafood’ diet – we see food and we need to eat it.”

Dinner-table chatter swerves between restaurant recommendations (they have plenty for me, none of which they allow me to repeat here for fear of ruining their cachet), travel tales, and the gentle ribbing that’s common among friends (plus one reporter).

It goes something like this: “You know the Michelin guide?” Kevin Lam asks. “James has his own guide, and that’s the real one.”

“That’s because I’m the same size as the Michelin man,” James retorts. He and his wife Su are obsessed with food and travel, a fact that’s in clear evidence when they share tidbits from a group trip to Soneva Kiri, a surprise holiday organised by the Chens in honour of the Lams’ 10th and the Chaus’ 25th wedding anniversaries. Key points that they share about the Thai resort: there are 60 flavours of ice cream in the lobby, and the breakfast buffet features at least nine types of muffin and 25 types of jam. “You can tell what gets our attention,” James deadpans.

It only takes one type of chicken to catch his fancy tonight: a wood-fired crispy bird that’s imbued with the taste of dried lychees. Its complex medley of flavours registers on James’ face immediately as his eyes indicate that something awesome is happening in his mouth. It’s the first time for the evening that silence is observed as the rest of the table follows suit, enjoying the harmony of smoke and fruit.

The last dish is a pan-fried lamb cutlet with crispy garlic, cooked in what the locals call typhoon-shelter style. When the chef subsequently makes an appearance to speak with the guests and elicit comments, Kevin Lam is the first to speak up – true to form, loudly – complimenting him on the bravery of including such a vivacious and unexpected dish at the end of the banquet. The spice and crunch of garlic and chilli is more famously applied to crab, but finds a happy and inspired home alongside this meatier companion.

A dessert platter includes a trio of sweets, among them a unique double-boiled pumpkin with coconut meat and chunbei (fritillary bulb) that has Reina lifting the mini cup to scrape the bottom. “This is nice,” she says, as her husband replies, “I knew you’d like it.” It’s been more than 30 years since he first set eyes on his bride, he says, by way of explanation – he knows what she likes.

By now it’s evident that Sing Yin has lived up to general expectations, but whether it has fulfilled that oh-so-W brief is another story. “Isn’t the W for young people?” queries James.

“Aren’t we young?” laughs Kevin Lam. On a more serious note, he adds, “We like holes-in-the-wall with good food. Of course, a hole-in-the-wall with good décor like this is even better.”

To term Sing Yin a hole-in-the-wall is of course taking egregious liberties, but it’s not an entirely incorrect sentiment. In the same way that Hong Kong chachantengs moulded a new type of cuisine by mixing together elements of quickie dishes from both east and west, Sing Yin carves its own space by marrying traditional Cantonese cuisine with hip and quintessentially Hong Kong techniques – that flurry of spicy crushed garlic and mass of fried long so spring instantly to mind. Whether the restaurant will be successful in creating its own movement is a different matter, and probably fairly unlikely, but continuing down this road, it’s doing something even better – pioneering a style of cooking that’s not only unique to the W, but will be instrumental in leading the hotel chain’s future Chinese restaurants in a clear and positive direction.