Ah, the kaleidoscopic whirl of San Francisco’s culinary arena, where gastronomic traditions and avant-garde inklings waltz cheek to jowl! Here we find Cantonese cuisine, that venerable ancient yet ever-youthful dame, ready for her new coming-out party. Lo and behold, young cavaliers like James Yeun Long Parry and Mike Long gallantly usher her into the modern ballroom.
Mr. Parry, a man of alchemical talents, formerly casting his culinary spells under the enchanted roofs of Michelin-starred establishments, is at the helm of the forthcoming Happy Crane. With a wave of his wand—rather, wok—he transforms humble pork jowl into a barbecued char siu that would make even an Iberico pig blush with pride. Fusion? He snorts. The essence of the dish remains as Cantonese as a dragon dance during Lunar New Year, albeit danced to a remix by a Eurocentric DJ.
As for chefs Mike Long and Franky Ho, nostalgia is the yeast in their dough, the pearl in their oyster sauce. With visions of Hong Kong street food glittering like neon signs in their eyes, they prepare for the grand opening of their pop-up, Four Kings. Ah, they must think themselves culinary King Arthurs, pulling scallions instead of swords from the metaphorical stones of their memories. After all, Long himself admits to being a child tantrum-thrower, which in the gourmet realm translates to a high-ranking officer of culinary obstinance.
And let us not overlook Chef Ho Chee Boon, the Hakkasan alumnus presiding over Empress by Boon, that temple of Cantonese exquisiteness. He toils not only with treasured ingredients like abalone but also with the very essence of “the breath of the wok,” an ineffable element that could well be the Holy Ghost of Cantonese cooking.
But what of the Old Guard, you ask? Those titans of yore like Yank Sing? Fear not, for they shall remain—stalwarts in the ever-changing tides of taste, the Gandalfs who say, “You shall not pass (without trying our dim sum).”
Yet, the chefs collectively share an unspoken lamentation: Cantonese cuisine has been somewhat ossified, fossilized by the very reverence people hold for it. Enter the valiant young knights, modern-day Lancelots in kitchen whites, hoping to administer the elixir of youthful rejuvenation.
In this culinary crusade, the antagonists are not found brandishing cleavers but in the resistance to change, that cantankerous yet ever-righteous force that argues, as if pleading its case to the heavenly host, for the sanctity of tradition. “Why fix what isn’t broken?” it bellows, blissfully ignorant of the adage that even the most illustrious roses must occasionally be pruned to encourage new blooms.
And thus, the tapestry of San Francisco’s Cantonese culinary landscape continues to be woven, each chef a vivid thread in an ever-expanding, ever-enriching design. Ah, may the loom never falter, and may the gastronomes among us ever revel in the delectable narrative unfurling on their plates. Cheers… or better yet, 乾杯 (gān bēi)!
Copyright © 2023 by Paul Henry Smith
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