Picture this. You are given a badly scribbled map to your destination. You trek through rubbish-strewn streets, down dark alleys, up a few dirty staircases to a door with no sign.
You knock three times, and a pane opens. You give the code name, and the door opens. Inside, the sour smell of citronella and the sharp pungency of chilli peppers greet you. You sit down, and a platter of alien vegetables and meats is presented. After an hour, you pay $20 and leave the way you came.
Those were the original Vietnamese restaurants in Hong Kong. When boat people were respected as patriots, not criminals, and they could work in the factories. Where were they to eat? Without restaurant licences, some opened their rooms illegally to their compatriots so they could dine on their own food.
How life has changed. Now restaurant moguls build glittering versions in Lan Kwai Fong, and chain operators serve watered-down versions for local tastes.
Peace Garden has been around for 10 years, and it has made no compromises. The restaurant is plain, on the largish side (about 120 can eat here); there is a glass-panelled private room, where the plebs can stare at the relatively rich.
Few Europeans come here; the clientele is made up mainly of Vietnamese, Chinese-Vietnamese and a large sprinkling of Japanese.