February 27, 2021
Chinese restaurants in the NYC of my childhood went two ways. Some, conforming to American tastes, went pu-pu platters (oh, how you loved the blue glow of their Sterno!), rumaki (scrumptious!), and chop suey (not bad) which had loose connection to authentic Chinese cuisine. Then there were those Chinese restaurants that zealously protected the integrity of their cuisine imperiled by the distance from its roots. At Mandarin West in Chinatown they served winter melon soup in the melon itself, with wonderful nubbins of dry, salty ham, the rind elaborately carved into Chinese designs. At the time you had no comprehension of the crazy labor and talent this required. You were simply charmed. You remember the first dim sum to hit NYC at Bo Bo’s, the line to get in, and their siu mai, har gow, and hum bao that made you dopey with pleasure. You remember a nondescript restaurant, no doubt subducted beneath earth’s mantle by now, where they brought a large bowl filled with baby whiting, whole garlic cloves, ginger, scallion, and chilies into which they poured hellishly hot oil (carried to the table in a cauldron by two nervous waiters, the air above it corrugated by heat) which ferociously bubbled to the rim, endangering everyone, instantly cooking the contents within.
It is to these steadfast patriots of authentic cuisine that you’ve always been drawn. And it’s what you seek in Hong Kong with its food under constant mutational pressure from the tastes of visitors and immigrants. You went to Shanghainese Wu Kong in Causeway Bay seeking this and were underwhelmed by food which seemed pallid. Unwilling to accept this as status quo you cast your gaze upward to Ye Shanghai in Pacific Place. Various remarks online combined with their sibling restaurant’s Michelin star, suggested it was a place of no compromise.
They hit you with a trifecta to start: Crispy eel, Sliced pork terrine served with Zhenjiang vinegar, garlic cucumber.
Ogden Nash wrote, “I don't mind eels. Except as meals. And the way they feels.” But these eels were as uneely as could be, deep-fried, super crisp and candied. Actually, there was no taste of eel whatsoever. It could have been any protein in there. You liked them – crunchy as chicharrones -- but the sauce tasted like molten lollipop and needed another layer or accent or something to make it sing. There was a bit of shredded scallion in a separate bowl. A large bouffant of shredded scallion on top of the eels themselves – like Uncle Padak does their fried chicken -- would have been stylin’.
The cucumber serving was small and though the menu only promised garlic, it would have benefited from vinegar, soy sauce, maybe cilantro or ginger, perhaps a tad of sugar as other restaurants do it. It was not ultra-crisp, like shattered jade, which is your ideal. You suspect it was prepped too early.
The scrumptious pork terrine reminded you very much of glorious French jambon persille (ham and parsley terrine) which includes a good deal of vinegar and parsley in the mix. In this case the vinegar (with garlic you think) was on the side which worked well. Something herbaceous either in the mix or as a garnish would have been welcome, perhaps cilantro or, better yet, a chiffonade of shiso.
The soup dumplings were excellent though you wish they had the julienned ginger on top as in the menu photo. The pot stickers were a disappointment. You can tell a lot about a restaurant’s heart and soul from its pot stickers. Their dough had an odd hint of sweetness you didn’t adore and was slightly stiff like cardboard, not supple. You wonder if they were frozen and defrosted or made elsewhere. There’s a caress from the dumpling maker’s hands discernible in a great pot sticker – as with Little Chili’s, Lao Zhang Gui Dongbei’s or Wing Lai Yuen’s – that’s missing here.
They served their Peking Duck in two courses, the first was just the skin with pancakes, the second was minced duck meat stir fried with bean sprouts. The skin was crisp and delicious. Their pancakes were apparently made from batter and steamed you think. This is not uncommon, but you don’t like them nearly as well as “spring pancakes” -- rolled thin and blistered in a hot pan -- toasty and chewy. The second course which you liked pretty well, oddly had no taste of duck per se. Actually it looked and tasted like pork. You can’t conceive how the ducky taste was lost. In your view, the best way to serve Peking duck is by carving the meat with the skin into thin slices which you then place within spring pancakes along with cucumber, green onion and hoisin. Lao Zhang Gui Dongbei does this perfectly. Theirs costs 425 HKD compared to Ye Shanghai’s at 580 HKD. For some perplexing reason the total volume of duck and skin was significantly greater at Lao Zhang Gui Dongbei. Was your duck’s meat intermingled with other duck meat and portioned out? Doesn’t the Hong Kong constitution expressly forbid intermingling duck meat? You wonder.
Their braised beef rib with brown sauce was okay. Fork tender, it tasted exactly like brisket, ideal seder food. Had it been smoked or charred it would have been vastly more flavorful. Sichuan Lab utilizes sous vide (with their brilliant 52° C duck breast), why can’t Ye Shanghai? They could have smoked the rib, sous vide cooked it medium or medium rare and then hit it with the salamander or a blow torch or put it in a Josper to char. That would have made a trophy dish to be proud of.
The wok-fried cauliflower and salted pork was delicious though, to be brutally frank, the cauliflower was ever-so-slightly overcooked.
Crispy prawns with chili and spring onion were fine. There was a bit too much batter on the shrimp. It probably would have been better just dusted in rice or tapioca flour. The dish wasn’t close enough to its ignition point to thrill you.
Dessert was warm, glutinous almond soup, a black sesame dumpling bobbing within. Tasty enough, you’d never order the soup again but would definitely order more of the scrumptious, jet-black sesame dumplings if you could. Your wife says she loved the soup and your taste lacks subtlety. You attempted a subtle come-back but couldn’t think of anything.
The interior of the restaurant is more handsome than elegant. The servers dress sharp and are attentive though not warm or personable (which is par for HK Chinese restaurants). While completely proper, they express no enthusiasm for the food nor make any attempt to make you feel welcome. Black Sheep restaurants or Brut! could show them how to do this. You went with another couple and the meal came to 1570 HKD per couple which included several Tsing Taos and a bottle of Chianti.
Ye Shanghai’s cuisine is authentic and technically proficient, no small distinctions. It delivers on a very complicated menu which is impressive. But it lacks the perfect pitch of truly great restaurants, often slightly sharp or flat in terms of conception, flavor and execution. What this restaurant needs is a chef with fresh eyes, a chef who can throw a cleaver that shaves the sous-chef and hits a target across the kitchen, to buff the entire operation.
The food is expensive, perhaps inevitable given its location below The Upper House Hotel. You get significantly better food at a vastly lower price at Liao Za Lie, Lao Zhang Gui Dongbei, Wing Lai Yuen, Café Hunan, Hu Nan Heen, or Sichuan Lab. An entire meal for two at Liao Za Lie costs less than Ye Shanghai’s braised beef rib.
Sifting through what you’ve written, you see that “good,” “fine,” “okay,” “tasty enough” are the main modifiers. They sum up the restaurant.
Rating (on a scale of 0 to 5)
Food: 3
Ambiance: 3.5
Service: 3
Overall Value: 3
Ye Shanghai
Shop 332, 3/F, Pacific Place, 88 Queensway, Admiralty, Hong Kong
https://www.elite-concepts.com/restaurants/ye-shanghai/hong-kong/en/