My Hong Kong | The iconic snack that is Hong Kong: the humble fishball mirrors city’s highs and lows, from its economic triumphs to its gritty underbelly

For as long as I can remember, the fishball, or yu daan, has been the iconic street snack of Hong Kong, and it’s also the story of the city and its people. If I had to choose one image that truly represents this city’s life, it would be of someone holding a skewer of fishballs dripping in curry sauce. This simple image is quintessentially Hong Kong. The beloved and humble snack encapsulates the unique, yet quirky spirit that makes up the one-of-a-kind Hong Kongness. Fishballs have seen the city through its many decades of growth, decline and recovery, and will continue to be a popular staple as Hong Kong undergoes turmoil and transformation. They are more than just cheap bites to Hongkongers; they play a significant role in our economics, politics, friendships and even sex. When I was a young reporter, I once went on an overnight police raid on vice establishments in Kowloon. The goal of the operation was to find wanted criminals and check if underage girls were being employed. After raiding a number of bars and nightclubs we moved onto “fishball stalls” or yu daan dong in Cantonese. #Fishballrevolution: Hong Kong’s social media users react to violent Mong Kok hawker protest These places, now obsolete, were not your ordinary fishball noodle shops, they offered a different kind of treats. These cafes, located upstairs, employed schoolgirls who allowed customers to grope their bodies as they served them. Sex was officially off the menu, but often implied. And because the groping hand movements were similar to the process of squeezing when making fishballs, the name yu daan dong and yu daan mui (fishball girls) became a double entendre. It’s a little unseemly to see the name of such an innocuous Hong Kong icon being exploited and used in this setting, but then again, it did clearly depict this fast food-style sex service that was popular in the 1980s. Going back to the night of the raid, the fishball stall was set up like a mini private cinema. Once you entered the premises, there was a small reception desk and next to it was a heavy red velvet curtain, covering a doorway leading to a pitch-black cafe area furnished with high-backed booths. When I tried to lift the curtain to take a peek inside, one officer tapped my wrist with the handle of his flashlight and said: “What are you doing? Do you know what they do inside? And God knows what ‘substances’ have been accumulated on this curtain.” I was shocked and pulled my hand back quickly. As soon as the lights were switched on in the cafe section, we heard the piercing scream of a man from inside. The officer looked at me and said: “Well, I guess someone discovered it’s not a young girl who was serving him.” I later found out women who worked there were not schoolgirls, but mostly women in their 40s, 50s, and even 70s. They were housewives who took the job as a quick way to pay off gambling debts. And of course, the service was not limited to just “squeezing fishballs”. On a more wholesome note, fishballs play a significant role in Hong Kong’s life in many different forms. I reckon there should be a fishball index in Hong Kong to indicate the state of the economy. Every year at the Lunar New Year Fair stall auction, the highest bid will always come from a fishball seller who wants to get the largest and most coveted space in Victoria Park. In 2018, the winning bid was HK$520,000 – one of the highest ever for this space. The stall owner had to sell more than 3,700 sticks of fishballs per day, at HK$20 per skewer, over a seven-day period of the fair just to break even. The big, fat truth about the health risks of Hong Kong street food The prices of these stalls can certainly gauge the health of our economy. According to the government, the prices of the 2020 fair stalls were half of those the year before. Fishballs continue to occupy a significant place in the hearts and minds of Hong Kong people. There was the so-called Fishball Revolution in February 2016, when a seemingly routine crackdown on unlicensed street hawkers in Mong Kok during the Lunar New Year holiday escalated into violent clashes. On a more personal level, snacking on fishballs is an affordable and affable way to bond with friends and family. You can either get a bowl of curry fishballs from a convenience stall for just HK$12, or a stick of six from any street vendor. I am ready for a fix, who’s buying? Luisa Tam is a Post correspondent who also hosts Cantonese-language video tutorials that are now part of Cathay Pacific’s in-flight entertainment programme

.css-1m2rp1p{color:#34b8b5;}My Hong Kong | The iconic snack that is Hong Kong: the humble fishball mirrors city’s highs and lows, from its economic triumphs to its gritty underbelly

My Hong Kong | The iconic snack that is Hong Kong: the humble fishball mirrors city’s highs and lows, from its economic triumphs to its gritty underbelly