A Gritty Love Letter to Hong Kong: Colonialism and the Cha Chaan Teng

The smell of hustle permeates Hong Kong long before the skyscrapers’ glistening lights replace the stars, and fuelling this city’s relentless energy are the Cha Chaan Tengs. These ‘tea restaurants,’ famous for their brusque service, dish out affordable ‘soy-sauce Western food’—an unpretentious, sometimes bizarre, but always comforting meeting of the East and West that melds the frugal ends of two distinct culinary traditions.

 Cha Chaan Tengs were rocking fusion cuisine long before it was voguish, and these quirky spots hold a connection for every Hong Konger. Regardless of the juxtaposition, calloused labourers and sharp-suited white-collar workers pack in, sit down, eat, and get out. The Cha Chaan Teng is a nostalgia merchant, a living exhibit of colonialism’s enduring mark on Hong Kong.

 The origins of the Cha Chaan Tengs have their roots in the Hong Konger’s curiosity for European gastronomy imported from Britain. European fine dining, the luxury that litters the streets of Mayfair, already peppered Britain’s Far-East colonies. Availability, however, did not outweigh affordability.
Money, Mao, and More Money

In the 1920s and 1930s, labourers' starting salary was 20 to 80 GBP a month (adjusted for inflation), and a meal in a Western restaurant would swallow a month’s pay. Regular labourers simply could not afford the doggy bags of European dining (Government of Hong Kong 2024).

 Enter the burgeoning Hong Kong upper class riding high on the booming textile and plastic industries and those savvy Chinese businesses fleeing Mao’s revolution. Flush with cash, these folks splurged on pricey European exotica—not necessarily because of newly acquired palates, but because of what importing European standards to Hong Kong represented.

 By the 1950s, incomes were slowly rising, thanks to British economic policies that turned Hong Kong into an industrial powerhouse. The colonial craving for European flair was now a full-blown hunger. Tastebuds got bolder, and the Cha Chaan Tengs were born—cheap, available, and aspirational joints offering a slice of the European lifestyle. The working-class diet started to mix in European flavours, creating a wild fusion that was uniquely Hong Kong.

 Fortune alone did not pen Hong Kong’s prosperity narrative; it rested on sound policies: Private property rights, low taxes, and balanced budgets. The government did not waste time meddling, running a surplus nine out of ten years since 1949. The reserves? Fat enough to keep the city running for months without taxes. The Hong Kong dollar, pegged to the U.S. dollar since 1983 and fully backed by U.S. reserves, ensured trust despite global uncertainties (Hoover Institution 2024).

 This laissez-faire ethos engulfed governance. No favourites, handouts, or rigged games—a stage with no tilt, a private sector that thrived unencumbered. Importers, exporters, manufacturers, financiers, labourers—all got the same deal. It was an experiment in minimalist governance, not without its flaws, but a breathing demonstration of a system that prioritised free-market principles.

 The Port of Hong Kong, a relentless artery of trade, became the heart of culinary alchemy. Ships groaned with treasures: fiery spices, the umami punch of soy sauce, and the gleaming canned oddities of the West. Hong Kong’s resourceful cooks turned these ingredients into weapons of flavour. The Cha Chaan Teng was not just feeding people—it was remixing the world, one dish at a time.

 And a Side of Nostalgia Please

Certain dishes are the lifeblood of a Cha Chaan Teng, nostalgia served in every bowl. The macaroni soup, with strips of cheap ham floating in a broth, was not born of culinary finesse but of sheer practicality. Without the knowledge to build a delicate roux, the coveted Campbell’s cream of chicken soup, stabilisers and all, was used instead. An emblematic humble concoction that undoubtedly tugs at the heartstrings.

 While the Europeans were twirling pasta with fresh tomatoes, a luxury far beyond the reach of the average wage earner, Cha Chaan Tengs got creative with ketchup. Sweet and tangy, ketchup became the go-to sauce, a testament to ingenuity and adaptation.

 Eggs are the holy grail of a Cha Chaan Teng kitchen. Cooked in large batches, scooped to order, and in front of you before you can count to ten. Hong Kongers hold a special reverence for their eggs done ‘Wat Dan’—barely cooked, trembling on the edge of doneness, and slipping across the plate like molten silk.

 A staple is ‘sai do si,’ more famously known as Hong Kong-style French toast. This artery-clogging marvel starts with two slices of white bread, slathered with peanut butter, dipped in egg, and fried to golden bliss. It is finished off with a healthy knob of butter, a gluttonous drizzle of Lyle’s golden syrup, and in a token gesture towards health, the crusts are trimmed off.

 Critics might sneer at the ingredients, calling them shortcuts. But serve these dishes often enough, and the locals will start to fall in love with the flavour profile. What starts as necessity turns into nostalgia, and before long, it becomes tradition. These unpretentious dishes, born of resourcefulness and a little creativity, are the backbone of Hong Kong’s comfort food. Each bite is a journey back to the city’s interaction with colonisation. It is a collection of stories of how Hong Kongers reacted to 100 years of colonialism.

 Chaos Served Hot

All dishes are delivered rapidly by cranky, harried staff in stark, egalitarian surroundings. The bathroom-tiled walls plastered with giant menus, retina-searing strip lighting, and dingy tables and seating. By the time your butt hits the stool, the question is, what do you want to drink? How do you like your eggs?  40 seconds. Everything arrives. The old generalisation was that the waiters were most likely triads at night, but during the day, they were waiters who enacted the most harsh and efficient service.

 No Plaque Needed: A Heritage Built on Hustle

In sheer irony, this proletarian haven was once floated as a candidate for UNESCO’s cultural heritage list. But irony did not get the last laugh here. The nomination was rejected. And yet, in some strange, poetic way, that rejection feels right.

 The Cha Chaan Teng does not need the validation of a plaque or a title. Its charm lies in its scrappy, unpolished authenticity. The rejection is almost a badge of honour, a testament to its roots as a place for the everyman, serving food born of necessity and ingenuity. It’s not heritage by decree—it’s heritage by taste, memory, and survival.

 The smoky haze of the 2019-2020 protests still lingers over Hong Kong, a city forever changed yet stubbornly resilient. But amid the chaos, one thing remains steadfast: the scene at a Cha Chaan Teng.

 Step inside, and you’re greeted by the unmistakable archetype—a cranky waiter, pen marks trailing all over like battle scars. His barked command to order is as much a part of the experience as the food. You collapse onto a plastic stool, the kind so rickety you would not dream of taking it home, and prepare yourself for the menu’s unpredictable mashup of beverages, fusion hors d'oeuvres, and gloriously unpolished entrées.

 It’s all here: the soul of Hong Kong served on mismatched plates, where the food is as messy, chaotic, and unexpectedly beautiful as the city itself.

Sources

Hong Kong Memory. "Shipbuilding and Dockyards." Hong Kong Memory. https://www.hkmemory.hk/MHK/collections/prewar_industry/topics/topic6/index.html.

 Rabushka, Alvin. "Freedom’s Fall in Hong Kong." Hoover Institution. Published May 1, 1997. https://www.hoover.org/research/freedoms-fall-hong-kong.