Cool Intentions: why chilled dishes are having a moment in Hong Kong
Cold food has always lived in the shadow of the flame. It lacks drama. It doesn’t sizzle. It’s quieter—often dismissed as a prelude or a palate cleanser. But in Hong Kong, where summer is less a season and more a full-body assault, some chefs are embracing the chill, transforming cold dishes into a showcase of texture, balance and precision.
The concept isn’t new. Long before modern refrigeration, people were finding ways to hold food at lower temperatures—for preservation, yes, but also for contrast. Cold introduces structure where heat blurs; it offers acidity to balance richness, tension where softness dominates. The cold makes you pay attention.
Yong Fu’s boneless chicken feet with jellyfish, dressed in chilli vinegar, channels heat and cold into a bold interplay of texture and spice
At Yong Fu, chilled abalone in hua diao wine and agarwood delivers taut texture and lingering aroma, a masterclass in restrained elegance
Yong Fu, Hong Kong’s Ningbo fine-dining restaurant, presents cold dishes that are an integral part of the rhythm of the meal. The abalone in hua diao wine and agarwood is tender and aromatic, served chilled to keep its texture taut and its flavour lingering. More confrontational is the boneless chicken feet with jellyfish, marinated in a chilli-vinegar dressing; the interplay of crunch and slipperiness, of numbing heat and cold protein, turns a humble appetiser into an exercise in contrast.
At Estro, Italian chef Antimo Maria Merone approaches coldness with the same discipline. His oyster arrives cooked but chilled, paired with tomato and smoked caviar, a composition so restrained it almost dares you to underestimate it. But the impact is immediate: salinity, sweetness, umami and smoke unfolding in sequence.
At Estro, the chilled oyster with tomato is restrained yet unexpectedly powerful
It is paired with the smoked caviar, which reveals a layer of salinity and umami
The thinly sliced octopus arrives like a pressed flower at French restaurant LPM Restaurant & Bar. Dressed with lemon oil and a green chilli dressing, it’s a masterclass in balance: clean and citrus-bright, with just enough heat to lift without overwhelming. The octopus itself is tender with a precise bite, the kind of texture that only works when served cold
Then there’s Path, one of Hong Kong’s newer openings, where chef Tony Mok lends a more experimental hand to modern Chinese cuisine. His crab dan dan noodle, inspired by Korean mul-naengmyeon, swaps icy broth for a chilled cashew and crab sauce enriched with dashi. It’s poured over springy noodles and topped with flakes of flower crab and a crunchy typhoon shelter crumble of garlic, breadcrumbs and chilli. The result is a dish of structure and depth, its tension and texture made possible only by the low temperature.
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At Path, Tony Mok’s chilled crab dan dan noodles swap heat for tension—springy strands in a crab-cashew sauce with dashi, topped with a punchy typhoon shelter crumble
What links all these plates isn’t seasonality or trend—it’s intention. These dishes don’t rely on cold to soothe, they use it to heighten. Acids register more sharply, textures stay firm, flavours arrive with focus, and the absence of heat forces their creators to ensure precision in every element.
Science simply confirms what chefs already know: we perceive sourness and salinity more vividly when food is cold. Chill doesn’t mute—it magnifies.
And so, when the heat outside feels oppressive and the idea of finding comfort in something warm feels like a burden, these chilled dishes offer something more compelling than relief. They bring you back to your senses, refreshed and recalibrated, proving that the boldest move of all might be to turn off the heat completely.
Thinly sliced and served cold, LPM’s octopus carpaccio is citrus-bright and delicately spicy
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