I was accompanied to Hong Kong by a friend. We wanted to eat in a simple restaurant, nothing fancy. We walked up and down a street, looking at all the places, not really sure where to go until this one restaurant piqued our interest. It smelled great and there was no English menu in sight, so we thought that must be it.
We entered and sat down. The chef came over (the lady in the black-purple striped shirt in the upper right) and asked for our choices. She gave us a menu, but since we didn’t read Chinese, that was no help. The walls were covered with photos of the dishes and so it was easy to pick what looked delicious. Or so we thought. Apparently, it was not enough to just point at something. Apparently, the dishes can be had with a vast range of dumplings and, most importantly, the number of dumplings has to be decided as well. By now you are wondering how we understood all this. There was an old man sitting at the table next to us, who spoke some English and translated a bit. First, we had thought it would be a good idea to suggest that she just prepare what she thought was best, but that made her mad. How was she supposed to know what we wanted? Because we did not respond in a manner that she approved, she became exasperated, barked at us, and stormed off.
After a moment of confusion, we picked two dishes, chose two types of dumplings and gave a number. The old man confirmed that that was a good choice, and yelled it in the direction of the kitchen. When the chef came over with the food, she had calmed down. It was delicious.