Saturday night in HK

I had decided that I do not like hot pot joints. To be sure, I am a germaphobe. I used to carry little bottles of Purell, but I hate the cold and clammy film that is left after the vigorous microbe killing.

Anyway, at this very hot pot joint in HK, I watched a spiny lobster watch a couple eat its body. Its head separated from its body, and trapped in an ice pack, the poor spiny lobster feebly moved its arms around in protest.

I dipped a sliver of grey meat, which was cooked in a mild fish broth, into a raw egg, which had been seasoned by chilies, peanut butter, and some soy sauce. I watched Jehan squirt ground fish bits and some doughy stuff from a plastic bag into that same mild fish broth, where it transformed into a rough noodle, with rough edges. Chantel kept stuffing the broth with leafy vegetables. White fish turned grey.

Huh?

Food should never be grey. Have you ever overcooked a glistening red tuna steak? It turns grey, a gloomy day, or a cheap suit, or car upholstery.

Stinking of hot pot, we then proceeded to a warehouse in a strange part of town for the Kee Club 5th Anniversary party, where all of HK's young, rich, and beautiful people queued for hours to get inside.