Showcasing more than 300 booths, rare vintages and award-winning restaurants, the annual Hong Kong Wine & Dine Festival reaffirms the city’s status as a crossroads of taste
In a private room of Café Bau — a farm-to-table concept named after Hong Kong’s national flower, the bauhinia, and styled like a vintage brasserie — owner Alvin Leung sits with his familiar half-smile and relaxed shrug, making it clear he has no interest in being compared with others.
People either appreciate his culinary provocations or they don’t, since he has little patience for courting the vaguely curious. But what he rejects, almost on principle, is the notion that his cooking must be measured against some external standard or slotted into a tidy category to make it easier to swallow.
In its own way, Hong Kong is not unlike the iconoclastic “Demon Chef” and Masterchef Canada judge himself: a metropolis that resists being reduced, decoded or ranked beside others for convenience.
“The city doesn’t need to be compared because it is unique on its own, from our interpretation of food derived from different regions to the vast availability of native ingredients. We were the first to remove the wine tax in 2008, too, which helped establish us as a major international trading hub,” he says, stating it plainly.
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This home to TVB dramas and the golden age of Cantopop does not reward the lazy palate. Walk its streets and you will find a diverse gastronomic culture that thrives among the in-betweens: dim sum trolleys weaving through steamy back kitchens as neon-lit bars pulse a street away; or cha chaan tengs cranking out buttered pineapple buns within blocks of tasting-menu temples orchestrating 12-course epics. As Leung reiterates, the Fragrant Harbour does not need to be “the next” anything, nor does it perform for the comfort of tourists in search of a narrative they have heard before.
That same uncompromising spirit was what the chef brought to last month’s Hong Kong Wine & Dine Festival at the Central Harbourfront Event Space, where he participated under his other restaurant, Bo Innovation, celebrated for its modern deconstructions of old favourites, including xiao long bao wrapped not in dough but delicate seaweed membrane that burst with pork-dumpling richness. The two-Michelin-starred stalwart anchored a spot at the Towngas Gourmet Avenue, a festival highlight and rare shortcut to 12 of the city’s most coveted dining rooms usually booked out weeks in advance.
The lineup also elevated its star power with the inclusion of Cristal Room by Anne-Sophie Pic, the one-Michelin-starred Hong Kong outpost of the world’s most decorated female chef, whose global portfolio holds 10 Michelin stars. Pic did not take the conventional path into haute cuisine; she returned to her family restaurant only to lose her father and mentor months later, leaving her to fight for respect in a domain defined by swaggering, male-driven bravado and veterans who doubted she belonged there at all. The years she spent rebuilding and relearning forged the style she is now known for, and festival-goers tasted that evolution through dishes such as her iconic Berlingots (triangular, goat cheese-filled pasta parcels mimicking the famous French candies from Nantes); Chinese peas from Yunnan with caviar; flower crab seasoned with sobacha geranium; and the modernist Le Millefeuille Blanc, a sculptural cluster of thin white wafers lightly speckled with Voatsiperifery pepper and wrapped around Tahitian vanilla as well as jasmine jelly.
“Cooking is about emotion and memory,” says the industry trailblazer. “Every dish is tied to personal stories, and joining this festival allows me to connect with a vibrant community and showcase the flavours that inspire my work. I will continue my exploration of the Asian continent, which is so dear to me, through the lens of French traditions.”
Among the heavy-hitters at Towngas was also Épure, where Singaporean-born Aven Lau commands reverence. His reputation today is built on the kind of grit that never makes it into tasting notes: nights when ambition strained his mental well-being; unpaid stages in Copenhagen that tested his resolve; and those bleary post-service hours at two in the morning when, instead of sleeping, he devoured cookbooks as if they were lifelines. Over time, that punishing drive sharpened into steadier clarity, and under his watch, Épure continues to hold its place in the Michelin firmament with assurance. At his booth, the Crispy Wagyu Black Pepper Beef Beignet provided a bite-sized, yet vivid, glimpse of the finesse he has fought to cultivate.
Rounding out the dozen was a name that needs no introduction to locals: the three-Michelin-starred Forum. If the festival had its vanguard, this institution — co-founded by the late Yeung Koon-yat, who built his empire on the now-mythic Ah Yat braised abalone — was its anchor, carrying the full weight of his legacy in every glossy, slow-braised bite.
“I had such a rewarding experience last year,” says executive chef Adam Wong. “It’s inspiring to see even more world-renowned talent joining this time, and I’m delighted people can try not only our signature abalone again, but also other limited-edition creations such as the Dried Longan, Red Dates, Lotus Seed and Lily Bulb ice cream, as well as braised oxtail. These represent the flavours of Cantonese heritage.”
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From this concentrated microcosm of Hong Kong’s culinary standard-bearers, the event — which ran until midnight — widened into a far larger and more ambitious celebration. Co-organised by the tourism board and the Bordeaux Wine Council, it featured some 300 booths: roughly 70% dedicated to wine and 30% to gourmet food, presenting flavours from 31 countries and regions. Bordeaux, Spain, China, Japan and the UK returned with their signature pavilions, joined by newcomers such as Italy, the Czech Republic, Belgium, Norway, Austria, Mexico, Poland and the US. United under this year’s theme “Remix. Best of All Worlds”, the four-day extravaganza lauded the city’s melting pot identity and East-meets-West innovation, a sensibility that Malaysian visitors, too, instinctively understand.
Just as the chefs staked their ground, oenophiles had their own arena. Beyond the heat and hum stood the BEA Grand Wine Pavilion, where connoisseurs and the curious drifted through a relaxed, open setting to explore nearly 500 bottles that mapped the world’s vineyards in a single sweep. At its centre was a historic Bordeaux convergence commemorating the 170th anniversary of the 1855 Classification — a once-in-a-generation tribute that brought together all five First Growth estates: Château Lafite Rothschild, Château Latour, Château Margaux, Château Haut-Brion and Château Mouton Rothschild. Across the room, a dedicated counter curated by esteemed critic James Suckling displayed more than 100 of his highest-rated wines. His selection spanned Old and New World regions, and included a striking ensemble of premium Chinese vintages that underscored how rapidly that scene is rising in global esteem.
The Pavilion also introduced a few acclaimed and storied names: Spain’s revered Vega Sicilia, Italy’s Biondi-Santi and the exclusive Colgin IX Estate — a wine that has earned Suckling’s perfect score. These sat alongside Long Dai, the ambitious Chinese label established by Domaines Barons de Rothschild (Lafite), further illustrating the breadth and depth of the winemakers gathered under one roof. For those drawn to what swirls in a glass, expert-led masterclasses offered an even deeper dive into the craft while illuminating how technique, terroir and time shape what ends up in a bottle. Adding a thrill of serendipity to the proceedings, a grand lucky draw sent winners on a trip for two to Bordeaux, complete with round-trip flights to Paris and a two-night stay at a winery.
But abundance, especially among a 163,000-strong crowd, brought its own dilemma. With rows of stalls and hundreds of labels, even seasoned drinkers found themselves momentarily unsure of where to begin. Acknowledging this, the organisers implemented the “Pairing Exploration”, an interactive guide that invited visitors to rethink flavour completely, turning the grounds into a colour-coded adventure for the palate. Five key grape varietals — Merlot, Chardonnay, Shiraz, Cabernet Sauvignon and Sauvignon Blanc — were linked to the five fundamental tastes of sweet, sour, spicy, salty and umami through a vivid, easy-to-follow system threaded across selected booths. By tracing these hues, guests could match their tipples with thoughtfully chosen bites, transforming casual sipping into a discovery that encouraged experimentation and the occasional, delightful surprise.
As the last corks were pulled and the final plates packed away, it became clear that the point, as maverick chef Alvin Leung noted at the outset, was never about proving how the city stacks up but reaffirming what it already is: a bustling hub that cooks, ferments, invents and reinvents entirely on its own terms. Street-side comfort and white-tablecloth aspiration, after all, coexist here with ease, each nudging the other forward rather than pulling apart.
Setting the course
Singapore-born chef Aven Lau reinvents French fine dining by honouring its classics while grounding them in Asian flavours
Long before he arrived at Épure, Aven Lau had become one of the most closely watched young chefs. His talent — honed at Singapore’s Odette, refined at Hong Kong’s Belon and fully unleashed when he became head chef at French bistro Bâtard — was evident enough to make aspiring peers take stock of their own careers. Waiting lists swelled, and as the buzz around him gathered pace, the sense of anticipation grew heavier with each new kitchen he stepped into.
Yet, those on the outside rarely see what brilliance costs. Just as the hype reached its peak, he began to feel a disquiet he could not quite name. Ideas stopped landing with their usual urgency and the dishes he envisioned, though technically sound, lacked spark. Sensing a reset was imminent, he left Hong Kong with plans to regroup in Singapore. The chef, who once hopped continents for inspiration and thrived under pressure, suddenly found himself abruptly out of charge, lying awake at night with a mind he could no longer outrun.
Only many months later did the fog begin to lift. Julien Royer, his mentor from Odette, welcomed him back into the scene with no pressure — just a space to reacquaint with the craft on gentler terms. Not long after, a call from Épure’s co-founder, Michelle Ma-Chan shifted his trajectory again. Now back in the city as the one-Michelin-starred establishment’s executive chef, Lau is shaping new dishes with a deliberate hand instead of devising a sweeping reinvention or menu overhaul.
“Eight years ago, everyone was chasing the Nordic wave but that moment has passed. What matters now is understanding your own landscape, diners and location.” Cooking in Hong Kong, he notes, means reconsidering what excellence looks like through the lens of regional tastes. Flying in a French turbot makes little sense when pristine fish from the South China Sea is at arm’s reach. Preferences differ, too: Diners here tend to favour duck with a cleaner, less gamey profile, while across the border, pigeon remains a hard sell. “At the end of the day, what you put out still has to be delicious. Philosophy doesn’t matter if people don’t want to eat it,” he says, while explaining his signature aged rice duck “a l’orange” over lunch.
The reimagined version of the dish with a bigarade sauce shows how a classic can be dismantled and reassembled without arrogance. Instead of relying on imported European birds, Lau works with Asian ones, which are fully bled during processing and naturally yield the lighter, more delicate flavour his guests prefer. The development process was exhaustive: He sampled more than 80 ducks before settling on one with the right balance of flavour, fat and texture. It then undergoes a 14-day dry-ageing period to draw moisture from the skin, followed by brining and a maltose-vinegar glaze that produces a glass skin reminiscent of the Peking-style crackle. The traditional orange element is replaced with aged tangerine peel, or chenpi, while a light smattering of Timut pepper — a Himalayan relative of the Sichuan peppercorn — lends a subtle, tingling lift without overwhelming heat.
Despite the momentum around him, Lau is in no hurry to chase another star for Épure. “We just want to cook with more purpose. I want customers to see the intention on the plate, not just everything I feel like putting on it. It has to make sense, and reflect that I’m a Chinese, or a Singaporean, running a French restaurant.”
