The Only Dim Sum You Need to Eat in Hong Kong
Diners rush to get the good dim sum from wheeled carts. (Photo: Jo Piazza)
You dim sum and you lose some. It’s always a risk to try out a new dim sum restaurant — especially one in a dingy back room in central Hong Kong where no one speaks a lick of English — but for good dumplings and delicious pork belly, I am always willing to take that risk.
I’ve had many a friend recommend the Lin Heung Tea House (160-164 Wellington Street, Central, Hong Kong; 852-2544-4556) over the years, but prior obligations (and restaurant reservations) have always kept me away. This trip I found myself wandering alone at lunchtime around the city’s Central District with a distinctive rumbling in my belly.
The entrance to the tea house is hidden behind the bakery. (Photo: Jo Piazza)
Enter the tea house through the bright and cheery red facade of the Lin Heung Bakery. Proceed past the delicious green bean and lotus seed pastries, up the stairs and into the fluorescent-lit back room so filled with tables, there is barely room to wend a small food cart between them. (You would be forgiven for thinking you’d just wandered into some back alley mahjong tournament.)
Don’t bother to look for a hostess. A woman standing behind the cash register at the entrance will only speak two words to you—”Anywhere, sit!”
Just park yourself at any available seat. (Photo: Jo Piazza)
Lin Heung Tea House, established in 1926, hasn’t changed in 80 years. On a Sunday afternoon old men will park themselves there for hours as they read through five different newspapers. Families will spread across two or three tables, standing up to yell at one another. Girlfriends will giggle over brunch, and an American tourist will try to just go with the flow as ceiling fans whir noisily overhead.
Some reviews of the restaurant describe the staff as rude. Rude isn’t the right word exactly. The staff has a system here and they expect you, the customer, to fall in line. The waiter will quickly recognize that you don’t speak a word of Cantonese and will revert to hand gestures, the first of which will indicate that you should wash out the dusty tea cup, plates, and chop sticks in front of you at the table with the bowl of hot water he has produced.
He hands you a receipt, not unlike a Bingo card and sends you on your way.
Collect your stamps as you go. (Photo: Jo Piazza)
Tired looking old women wheel the dim sum around the room and diners rush to the carts they know have the best eats — pork belly dumplings, fish balls, eight-flavored duck, BBQ pork, lotus paste buns, rice dumplings. Get there quick. The locals are dim sum hoarders. When you don’t know what a particular cart is pushing, open the steamers yourself and point. Someone in the crowd will usually provide you with some context about the item — pork, beef, prawn, veggie, lotus.
Beef, prawn and pork belly dim sum. (Photo: Jo Piazza)
Portions can be large and friendlier tables may be willing to share, but make sure that you ask first.
Without speaking Cantonese you will have no idea what you are being charged until you pay the bill, but as a ballpark I can tell you that I ate eight rounds of dim sum for around $14.
Lin Heung isn’t for everyone, but if you’re hungry and adventurous and don’t mind throwing a few elbows or letting your eyes do the ordering, it is one Hong Kong experience you shouldn’t miss.
