Carts in the Heart

A news article about Hong Kong's disappearing dim sum carts is more than three years late, but it left me reminiscing of the first time I experienced this wonderful tradition, during my first date with Mabel way back in June of 1990.

For her it was the perfect way to introduce me to an important element of Chinese culture; how I responded would in part determine our compatibility.

I remember the day vividly, beginning with our arrival in the cramped parking lot of Furama Restaurant near Edmonton's small Chinatown district. The first thing I noticed was that the place was packed; the restaurant was on the second floor and people were queued down the staircase to ground level.

Even outside the restaurant the noise was a tangible, living thing. Hostesses used miniature megaphones to call out names followed by the number of people in each party; all business was conducted in Cantonese. I didn't see another Caucasian face until we entered the restaurant, and even then Westerners were few and far between. It was though we had been transported in an instant straight to Hong Kong.

The entire staff was Chinese, with one exception: a white waiter who spoke perfect Cantonese; even Mabel was impressed. Part of the fun was selecting our food, which was being pushed about on carts by women who called out the names of the dishes in high-pitched, sing-song voices. Whenever I spotted something interesting, I asked Mabel what it was so that we could decide whether to order it (though I didn't need to enquire when I saw the bamboo baskets filled with chicken feet roll past).

Mabel explained to me that the cart system was how dim sum was served in Hong Kong; she was proud to share this experience with me, and by the time we'd stuffed ourselves full and drank several pots of tea, I felt that I'd had a real taste of the city I'd one day call home. The day was truly magical and has stayed with me ever since.

And now, 17 years later, I feel a pang of regret at the loss of the cart system in Hong Kong, even though it has in most cases become impractical and inefficient: restaurants are simply too big. By the time the food arrives it's already cold, and no one wants to eat from baskets that 20 people have peeked into prior to the cart reaching the table; they prefer dim sum without expectorant, thank you very much.

The checklist system now in place works well; food arrives steaming hot and fresh from the kitchen. It may be more hygienic, but in no way is it as iconic or romantic. The dying cart system is as sad as the teahouses that have disappeared: cozy places where men hung decorative bird cages from bamboo poles strung across the ceiling, so that their songbirds could trill and chirp while folks drank tea, chatted or read newspapers.

Hong Kong still has a handful of small restaurants that use carts, including Lin Heung Tea House, which is old school, baby. Sure, the joint is crowded and noisy (meaning you may have to scramble for a seat), and yes, the floor is grubby and still has spittoons salted about, but if you want to know what dim sum was like 50 years ago, it's the place to find out. During the 50s and 60s, before the cart system was created, waiters carried dim sum in large bamboo steamers that dangled from a strap around their necks, which sounds even less hygienic than the carts.

I love that place: despite its rustic charms I like to take Mabel there once in a while to get a sense of Hong Kong when life was simple and unpretentious.

And to remind me of that magnificent first date, and everything to which it has led.

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