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The Max factor

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CHINA Max is a yo-yo of a restaurant, portrayed in extremes rather than adjectives. For instance: ''It's the most imaginative place in town.'' Or: ''It's a $23 million white elephant.'' ''The service is the best. I go there just to watch the waiters.'' ''Those $%%& waiters. They hover around like mosquitoes, getting us to move on. I told them to buzz off.'' One food critic told me: ''You'll love the Thai food here. It's not covered with peppers. You can actually taste it.'' An old Thai hand told me: ''You'll hate the Thai food here. You can't taste any of the Thai peppers. It's all prawns 'n' stuff.'' I've felt the same extremes. When invited twice, for press drinking-fetes, I was treated with almost sycophantic respect. But when calling up anonymously for a reservation, the voice from the other side had the clipped opprobrious tones of a senior civil servant.

''You want 7.30? You can't come then. You'll have to come at 7.00.

''You come at seven, and then you finish by 9pm. You can sit at the table for two hours, then you have to move.'' She was a lady with an attitude. A bad attitude. But I had a guest, I would be hungry, and I wanted to see whether they actually would throw us out - or maybe turn us into pumpkins - at the stroke of nine. Added to that is a setting resembling Trader Vic's on steroids.

But against all expectations, the meal turned out to be good. Very good, in fact.

As for the atmosphere, you either accept it on its own terms - the terms of Max Schnallinger - or you move on to safer climes.

Max is the ultimate foodie. Thirty years in Hong Kong, he's developed restaurant and hotel concepts for five-star hotels, with a restaurant consultancy in New York, and seems to be bigger even than his newest restaurant.

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