But really, none of that matters, because every ingredient in poon choi has a singular flavour and aroma: it tastes only of the sauce the whole thing is drenched in. 

Sauces are supposed to elevate a dish, rather than be the star of the show. Poon choi sauces go against this entirely: they are an MSG overdose, filled with the scent of burnt animal fat, complete with a viscous texture—all of this does nothing except overpower and take away from the unique flavours of each ingredient. 

Whose idea was it to ruin these perfectly good ingredients by piling layers and layers of them together and pouring an unappetising sauce over them, creating one gloopy mess? 

Still, poon choi remains a quintessential dish for Chinese holidays, with plenty of Hong Kong restaurants offering creations to suit every budget. Just take a look at the social media outcry over Hong Kong YouTuber Snow E’s ill-conceived poon choi reviews in January—it is claimed that it all started out of a desire to showcase mini poon choi that serves one, a new variety that has emerged thanks to the enduring popularity of the original dish.

In a now-deleted video, the influencer reviewed mini poon choi from establishments including the Ritz-Carlton, Hong Kong and Sham Shui Po cha chaan teng Ki Lung Tea Restaurant. The former’s now sold-out mini poon choi costs HK$688, while the latter’s version goes for HK$128. Her scathing remarks of Ki Lung’s offering (“rotten shrimp … too few fat choy”) and the fact that she pitted two poon choi at vastly different price points against each other drew people’s ire. Snow E has since apologised, adding: “Very few places offer mini poon choi—lots of places offer poon choi serving six to eight or 10 or more … we needed at least three [mini versions] to do a video review.”

I’ve never tried poon choi designed for one, though my first instinct is that as long as its preparation method remains the same as the classic version, there would be little improvement on its flavour. With so many varieties on the market, though, I wondered—and despaired—if I’m the only hater around. There’s even a Hong Kong poon choi concern group on Facebook, populated by lovers of the dish. Surely Hongkongers have higher culinary standards than this? 

Thankfully, a quick Google search proves my opinion is far from an unpopular one. It turns out, there are quite a few people out there who have the same gripe. In December 2020, a thread on the Hong Kong forum LIHKG titled “the most hated poon choi ingredients” gained enough traction that the responses were later reported in local media. 

“The whole thing just tastes bad—separating each ingredient would be much better,” says one commenter.

“When I look at a poon choi it doesn’t make me want to eat it,” writes a fellow hater. “Everything in there is okay [to begin with]. Then they’re forced to sit together, with all their flavours mixed up. Everything ends up tasting the same.” Boom!

“At the end of the day, poon choi is trash,” says another. “I’d be less annoyed if we just had hot pot.”

When I complained about poon choi on Instagram ahead of Chinese New Year, a friend and I ended up in a debate. The dish brings back good memories of breaking bread with family, she says. 

Poon choi, of course, is a dish traditionally associated with family celebrations and finds its roots in the walled villages of the New Territories. 

In 2016, fashion designer William Tang—a member of the Tang clan, one of the Five Great Clans of the New Territories who are descendants of indigenous inhabitants in Hong Kong—told the Hong Kong Economic Times that while poon choi indeed doesn’t have a set recipe, “most restaurants now simply put ingredients from a buffet together and call it poon choi.” 

That’s not “the spirit of poon choi,” added Tang, who also told the paper that poon choi only became trendy in Hong Kong after he held a banquet for some 300 guests in his ancestral village in 1997 for his mother’s birthday, where he decided to serve the dish instead of a standard Cantonese feast. 

See also: Unveiling the Secret of Poon Choi: Inside May Chow's Takeover of the Tang Clan Ancestral Hall

Poon choi traditionally calls for around eight to 10 ingredients, advised Tang. The likes of shrimp and shiitake mushrooms are not integral to the dish. Radish only goes into poon choi in the winter, when they are sweeter; bamboo shoots are used in the summer instead. Braised pork is the essence of a poon choi prepared the traditional way, he said. It is placed in the middle layer so that its gravy seeps to the lower layers. The most important part of this process is to create a sense of harmony while ensuring the ingredient stands out. Tang also only hosts poon choi dinners after the fourth day of the Lunar New Year to ensure freshness in his hero ingredient—“the guys who sell pork are off on the first three days”. 

So, what gives? Is poon choi inherently doomed as a dish because of its modern preparation methods, or is it just that—as a chef friend tells me—“maybe you just haven’t had a good one?” 

NOW READ

Eleven Madison Park’s Plant-Based Dining Experience: Is It Worth It?

Asia’s Best Food Cities According To Tatler Editors

The Best Poon Choi in Hong Kong for Chinese New Year 2022