Alina M.
Yelp
Nobody told me and my best friend about the carryout containers. Meaning, we didn't see a single person walking away with any sort of paper box and people weren't leaving food on their plates, so somehow we convinced ourselves that it was rude to take leftover Peking duck home from Spring Deer. We were young, we were dumb, and we had a hard time not making up local rules to each other.
At that point, I had already done one business trip in Hong Kong and the mainland which meant I was wined and dined at all sorts of elaborate buffets by our vendors. And nowhere had I seen people take food home. So, I may have been the first idiot to start spreading the lie at our table for two. When we were about to order the Peking duck we came for, I may have literally turned to my best friend and said, "hope you brought a big appetite because we can't take anything back to the hotel with us." Not to be outdone, she may have rolled her eyes and said, "everybody knows that." Basically, we were sitting in our own echo chamber of stupidity.
We didn't yet know we were in trouble when we first saw the gleaming, bronzed beast wheeled out in our direction. If I recall correctly (and why would I lie?), the cart was buckling and its little caster wheels were squealing under the weight of our impending feast. The waiter parked the cart next to our table. The duck was sexy as hell. I'm not one to fetishize my food, but the big reveal, when the waiter lifted the platter to show off the curvy duck to us, was quite burlesque. We instinctively knew that good times lay ahead.
The next hour in our story gets a little foggy.
I remember for a fact that we dug in like champions and the feeding frenzy began on an high note. We were busy connecting the dots between the four plates of duck flesh, pancake, scallions and sweet bean sauce. We had a good rhythm going. Both the meat and the crackling skin lived up to the hype of what we thought this centuries-old recipe should taste like. Every once in a while, I would bite into a piece that was fattier than the rest and instead of taking pause, I delighted in the gushing feel of fragrant duck juice in my mouth. Personally, I couldn't get enough. Or so I thought.
Just as they say that all that comes up must then come down, I'm sure there's an old wise saying that goes roughly like this: "your stomach has a limit, fatty."
I don't think we were even halfway through the platter of carved meat when the warning bells started going off for the both of us. We were slowing down but nothing verbal had passed between us yet. I mean, who wants to be the rude American who complains about a local custom? And so we entered the phase of the power-through. My best friend, a health-conscious nut who starts mentally sweating when she misses a workout, and I, a natural born glutton, decided that the platter must be wiped clean.
What the hell was wrong with us?
At a certain point, I think we knew that the sauce, pancakes and the veg would be left behind but we would put away as much meat as we could. I'm sure there's a force-feeding duck joke about irony or something to that effect just lurking here, but it's too easy. We were literally gorging ourselves on duck. It was unseemly.
I know we reached the point where we couldn't eat anymore. And then we slowly crept past it. It got to the point where we had only four pieces left. That, I remember for a fact. Four lonely pieces hung out on the platter but we couldn't eat 'em for all the money in the world.
We were officially done.
At that point, wouldn't you know it, our waiter re-appeared. I must make note of the fact that they don't spoil you with over-hovering service at Spring Deer. After he made quick work of carving up our duck, our waiter basically disappeared for the duration of the meal.
And do you know what our waiter brought to our table when he showed back up? Along with our check?
Of course you do.
It was a freaking takeout container. Because, after all, Hong Kong is a goddamn metropolis and they don't expect two lovely young women to polish off a whole damn duck that was intended for a group of six to seven people. I don't think we even had the strength to laugh at that point. We lifted our fat asses out of the chairs and wobbled our way back to the hotel.
The next morning, the duck was still there in the room. My best friend wanted nothing to do with it and I'm sure she was feverishly planning the longest hike in history of hikes that would take up our entire day. Anything to get that duck out of our system.
Me? I quietly ate the four pieces for breakfast and thought they were quite delightful.
Over a decade has passed since The Duck Incident and I've had worse and better Peking duck than the one my best friend and I split at Spring Deer in Hong Kong. But very few have left such a lasting impression.
Gonna go call my bestie right now and when she picks up, I'll just go "quack, quack!"