EVEN though the Bostonian has been around for years, I've resisted it because of the ''cutes'' - little one-liners on the menu which are hardly worthy of the food. The cuisine does not deserve menu headings such as ''Starters and other leftovers (just kidding)'', or ''Poultry (Winged, far removed relatives to Batman)'' or ''Low Calorie Stuffings, in case Jane Fonda should arrive''. Add to that the crayons and drawing paper for whims and doodles that complete at the table setting. Taking food seriously, I resisted the Bostonian for many years but loved and frequented the Sunday brunch (which is still going). For a restaurant specialising in American style I was curious about their Cantonese chef, Jacky Li, who had worked with the two previous chefs, both Americans. And equally curious about their new maitre d'hotel, Roland Jegge. What would an F&B man from the French part of Switzerland know about Maine lobster, Alaska king crabs or Kansas black Angus prime rib? Apparently quite a bit. Having travelled across the States several times, Mr Jegge has a feeling for the food. He may be a bit out of date, since the Cajun food trend died several years ago. But since Hong Kong is also a bit behind, the clients seem to love the moderately spicy food. Jacky Li has passed the most difficult test with honour. This is poached salmon - and I dare any other restaurant to serve a salmon which is not either crumbly-dry or soggy-wet. The secret, I felt, of his spot-on salmon must be due to the implicit Cantonese knack of cooking just enough, not a fraction more. Li simply laughed off the suggestion, and said he had his own method. What sets the Bostonian off from other local American restaurants is one ingredient - or an accumulation of ''green'' ingredients. Not ecological green, but green lettuce, endives, cucumbers, a plethora of vegetables on every plate. This justified the $1,285 bill for two. These are the ingredients which put the rubicund glow on the cheeks of American cheerleaders. What better endorsement could the Bostonian have? Back to the cuteness, though. The restaurant seems to thrive on it. The waiters, to a man, were sharp, efficient and, yes, sassy. Where were the strawberries from? ''Oh, they're local,'' said one waiter. ''From around Hung Hom.'' Could I have the coffee black, without anything added? ''Sure,'' answered another waiter. ''We'll hold back the cup too if you want only the coffee.'' Well, sassiness may not be appreciated in some parts of Hong Kong, but here, it seems to go with the dinner. And that can be superb. It begins with ''presentations''. Mr Jegge comes to each table with a basin of live lobsters, crabs, mussels and other crustaceans to prove that they're fresh. We wanted something else though. The menu is too full for hasty choices. What we did choose was splendid. It was the greens which did it. I started with a duck confit. This was not only a warm and tender piece of sliced poultry, but was accompanied with a virtual garden of cucumbers, lettuces and endives, crunchy and freshly sliced. Augmenting the taste was a zesty garlic-cilantro dressing. The duck itself lay on a bed of grilled zucchini. The combination of tastes was bewitching. My guest eschewed the New England clam chowder (being British, he unconsciously may have resented the American adoption of his country) and ordered another chowder, this with lobster and fresh asparagus. Chefs at the Bostonian add kernel corn to the chowder. This seems superfluous, but guests enjoy it. The chowder was rich and thick, and redolent of lobster. The kernel corn were neither disturbing nor significant. I make no guarantees that tomorrow's salmon at the Bostonian will be poached as perfectly as ours. The salmon was filled with heavenly juices. It was put on spinach with peppers, eggplant and fresh mushrooms, along with a garnish of greens. More greens came with the rock Cornish hen. For some reason, the serving platter is about two feet long. That is hardly necessary except to display the hen to its best advantage. Be careful though. This hen, from the West Coast of California, can be exceedingly spicy. Like clause 378 of a lawyer's contract, the ''small print'' says this is ''marinated with dried jalapino peppers'', and those peppers are even hotter than tiny chillies. While the meat was tender, the flavour was in question since the peppers overpowered the meat. Even the accompanying brown sauce did little to mitigate the sting. No dessert menu is available, but it all comes on the trolley. The fruit selection - with loads of whipped cream - looked appetising. But as I'm an American, I asked for the cheesecake. Cheesecake? Topped with mango and whipped cream, it was no more ''real'' cheesecake than a Mars Bar is ''real'' chocolate mousse. The Bostonian is estimable, but their version of cheesecake - whipped and airy, not dense - isn't for Americans who were raised on the dense, rich cheesy style. Throughout the meal, we sipped, without enthusiasm, the cheapest wine on the list dominated by California labels but with French-ified prices. Most prices begin around $450 upwards. We took a $245 bottle of Monterey Vineyard white zinfandel. The blush-coloured wine could have doubled for fruit soda in sweetness. Mr Jegge told us later that he was considering warning us about this saccharine monstrosity, apparently quite trendy in the States but unpopular here. But he followed his Swiss discretion. At that point, we would have preferred some good old American sassiness, ridiculing our choice.
