A year or so ago I popped into a wine shop in Causeway Bay, the entrance of which sits just across from the minibus stop where I often ride home to Happy Valley after jumping off the Island Line of the MTR. Called
Cottage Vineyards, it's run by an enthusiastic young lady named Ada, who also organizes frequent wine pairings. Of course, after that first visit, I was added to Ada's distribution list, and I have been constantly kept abreast of all manner of events, from lunches and dinners to international trips abroad to visit vineyards and restaurants.
I've always wanted to attend one of these extravagant-sounding meals, but, sadly, it had never been in the cards, largely due to scheduling reasons. However, a month or so ago, Ada sent me a message about an upcoming dinner at
Zi Yat Heen, the Michelin-starred stunner at the Four Seasons in Macau, pairing American and French wines alongside seriously decadent Cantonese cuisine. It's not much of a secret how much I love Macau. What's more, at long last, the timing fit well with my schedule. So I eagerly booked two places and asked Courtney if she'd like to come along.
Courtney has recently begun a great new job with a very generous boss. It turns out, he is also a big fan of Macau, so much so that he seems to have a bottomless supply of free ferry vouchers at his disposal, in addition to the ability to book complimentary hotel rooms for himself and his friends whenever he likes. So with Grand Class passage arranged for us on the Turbo Jet and two nights' accommodation sorted at the JW Marriott (enconsed within Macau's iconic Galaxy complex), we were in business.
Ada titled her dinner
The Judgment of Macau, in reference to the famous Judgment of Paris in 1976, when French judges, during a blind tasting, declared California wines superior to French ones in a landmark decision. Playfully recalling that historic day, in front of each of us sat a ballot, where we would be rating the wines themselves and also how well they paired with the food. But the first thing you noticed on the table wasn't the ballot, it was the assortment of ten individually numbered wine glasses of so many shapes and sizes spread across each place setting.
The meal was to consist of an introductory reception followed by eight courses. Every course would be paired with at least one wine, while some of the main dishes were actually accompanied by two!
Over generous pours of one of the most easily drinkable sparkling rosés I've ever had the good fortune to sample, Ada explained about the regions we'd be experiencing that night: France's Jura appellation, its "smallest and most mysterious," according to our expert host, and Washington State wines from the USA.
We were also introduced to some of our fellow diners, including Kris, a fellow yank and new general manager of the Four Seasons, and Henry, a director for Macau's most visible gaming conglomerate, SJM, which operates eight (and counting) of the territory's iconic casinos. As the meal wore on—and the pours increased in frequency—we met more of the friendly faces sitting at our large circular table.
Ada opened the dinner by explaining that all true wine lovers are foodies at heart; "We love wine because we love food; wine is the stage on which the food is presented."
The first course was an appetizer trio of bite-sized morsels of diverse origins: burdock root in XO sauce, perfect roast suckling pig garnished with gold leaf and crispy white eel with sesame seeds and black vinegar. This was paired with the same sparkling rosé we'd been given during the reception, and I'm certainly not complaining. We were recommended to start from right to left, meaning the eel first, followed by the suckling pig and lastly the burdock root, which, incidentally, I'd never even heard of before. All three were sensational.
Next up was a kind of salad of assorted mushrooms (fungus, according to the menu) in yuzu vinegar. This description hardly does justice to the deliciousness of the dish—a common quandary when Western conceptions encounter Asian cuisine, where unfamiliar or unconventional ingredients belie centuries of expertise and mastery of culinary prowess.
The dish was paired with a Washington Riesling. Henry was sitting to my left, and we were enjoying comparing notes about the wines and how well they meshed with the food. "I didn't get any of the new wine," Courtney pointed out, almost dejected. "Look there," I replied, pointing nearly halfway around the table. Yes, the array of glasses arranged before each diner stretched so far that the most recently-filled addition was nearly beyond her peripheral vision!
The meal continued with a winter melon soup with crab meat and assorted seafood. "Winter melon is perfect in the summer, because it's cold and offsets the humidity outside," Ada explained as she got up from her table and made her way to ours. "And note how perfectly each aspect of the seafood is prepared, how the shrimp is impeccably cooked. This soup is unbelievably elegant."
At this point, both Henry and I were eagerly marking our ballots according to the designated one-to-three star system described at the top of the page. I looked across at Courtney's page a few moments later to see a spattering of check marks in random places.
One of the star attractions of the meal was up next: crispy beef tenderloin with out-of-this-world homemade curry. The servers came around with additional sauce to drizzle on our plates. "I told them they had to prepare extra," Ada continued. "There's no way people would be satisfied with that small amount initially on the dish."
This was truly sensational. The tenderloin was encased in a crispy pastry, and it was melt-in-your-mouth perfect. "Each course just keeps getting better and better," I blurted out at this point, and everybody at the table voiced their agreement. "This is like Asian beef Wellington," I joked. "To Asian beef Wellington," Ada lifted her glass, and we all clinked and toasted one another.
The dishes—and the wines—just kept coming. Next up was the steamed coral crab with Hua Diao wine and chicken oil. The crab was enormous, and presented in a huge bowl that was placed on the lazy susan in the middle of the communal table. But with over one hundred wine glasses literally sitting between the diners and the food, there was no way we could possible reach it without creating a sea of broken glass. Helpfully, the staff took the crab and disappeared back into the kitchen, emerging a few moments later with individually plated portions for each of us.
Last among the savory main courses came the pork belly pyramid. "You see a dish like this on a menu and you know the chef must be at least fifty-five years old," Ada explained. "That's how long it takes working in a kitchen to learn how to do this properly." I don't know what to say. I've simply never tasted anything like this before.
To boot, it was paired with wine number eight, a cabernet from Washington's Kiona Red Mountain Estate which just blew my socks off. The chef came out at this point and Courtney literally kissed him in appreciation. ("The most exquisite Chinese meal of our lives," we later concurred.)
The first dessert course was a double boiled pear with Osmanthus, paired with a sweet ice wine (again from Kiona Red Mountain). While Chinese cuisine is very popular in the Western world, their desserts don't always translate as well to our palates as the more savory dishes. However, I'm happy to report that this one was perfect. I was on a first name basis with everyone at the table now, and we were all nattering on about our favorite wines and our favorite courses, continuing to learn about our individual histories and career trajectories and, of course, how we had all first encountered Ada.
Slowly, though, I began to realize that Courtney's most recent cigarette break had stretched on much longer than usual. This was followed by a quick, very discreet tap on my shoulder: "Miss Courtney is in the lobby, and we've arranged for a limousine to take you back to the JW Marriott. She's having trouble standing and walking."
I bade a quick farewell to our new friends, on behalf of Courtney and myself, wolfing down the last of the baked walnut puffs and chilled apple jellies that encompassed the final course, Chinese petit fours. You know it's been a good evening when it ends with your dining companion being pushed through the lobby of the Four Seasons in a wheelchair! Oh, what a dinner! Oh, what a night!
