So popular are some of these private dining rooms–they have limited seating and keep irregular hours–that they are booked up weeks or even months in advance. And because most are unlicensed and don’t advertise, merely requesting a reservation can be as difficult as getting one. Jacky Yu–who serves whimsical Japanese, Southeast Asian and Chinese dishes out of his small, third-floor art gallery in the bustling Wanchai district–doesn’t answer his phone. Instead, prospective diners must send a fax to a number obtainable only through good connections. Several days later, Yu or an associate calls back. The current waiting time: seven months.
The trend is, in part, a response to the excesses of the 1990s. During the boom, confident Hong Kongers strutted about in Versace and ate at posh chrome-and-glass restaurants. These days, few want to be seen spending money on such extravagances. Since 1997 property prices have fallen by more than half. The unemployment rate hovers at about 7.8 percent, three times its 1996 level. Personal bankruptcies increase exponentially with each quarter. An influx of big spenders from China has only compounded snobbish Hong Kongers’ distaste for flashy eateries. Says Christabel Lee, a regular private diner and managing director of a printing company: “There’s too much overseas money [in the best restaurants]. It doesn’t make for an appetizing meal when the people at the next table are loud ladies from Shanghai or Beijing.”
For chefs, the trend is mostly about staying employed in a tough economy. Many launched their businesses after losing their main sources of income. Two years ago Yu shut down his small advertising agency due to the slowing market. A food lover who was working on his own cookbook, he sat at home testing recipes on his friends. Word got out, and Xi Yan, or “Wedding Banquet”–the name of his establishment–was born. Like many of the private dining-room chefs, Yu cooks for guests by referral only, shops for produce himself, serves a fixed menu and loves playing host to the small groups. Likewise, Maria Lee, one of the genre’s pioneers, started hosting elegant dinners ($50 to $120 per meal) in her antiques-filled flat in the upscale Mount Butler neighborhood after her multimillion-dollar cake business failed in 1999. The well-coiffed septuagenarian is now moving to Zhongshan, China, where she hopes to introduce private dining to the mainland next spring.
Exclusivity is the main draw for patrons in a city that is still obsessed with status, if not showiness. “There’s the added charm of discovering a hidden treasure that only your inner circle knows about,” says Yuda Udomritthiruj, executive director of the investment bank Crosby’s, who waited three months to throw a corporate dinner at Da Ping Huo, a three-table restaurant known for its spicy Sichuanese cuisine. The buzz is even drawing local celebrities. Recently, action hero Chow Yun-Fat and his entourage ate at Mum Chow’s Sichuanese Kitchen, started by chef Zhou Ziru, who likes to serve her children’s favorite dishes.
From the proprietor’s point of view, such tiny restaurants make good business sense. In the current climate, they can afford to hire well-trained waiters from top hotels and clubs. The fixed menus also mean that chefs buy only what they need for the night. But will the trend last? More than likely, once Hong Kongers have more money to spend on fancy food, they’ll be more than happy to be seen doing so again.
