Restaurants & Cafés

The quiet stretch of Oi Kwan Road has lit up recently with the arrival of a neon sign showing two monkeys. Depicted in chef uniforms and wielding strands of noodle and slabs of beef, these novel creatures are the mascots of Mashi No Mashi, the first wagyu tsukemen restaurant in town. This new spot boasts serious street cred, being co-opened by the same team behind neighbouring Wagyumafia (aka the creators of the world’s most expensive beef sandwich) as well as La Rambla and Elephant Grounds. Much like its slightly older sister restaurant next door, Mashi No Mashi is cool and minimalistic, with counter seating that only runs 12 chairs deep. The service is equally simple, with an automated ticket machine near the entrance from which guests place their orders. There are only three noodles to choose from – the regular tsukemen ($80), wagyu tsukemen ($130) and the tokusei wagyu tsukemen ($160). We go for the most expensive option, which comes with around 150g of noodles topped with a slice of Kobe beef, bamboo shoots, cabbage, nori and half a soft-boiled egg. The main attraction, of course, is the meat, which is the same Ozaki beef used at Wagyumafia. The brisket is used here, chosen especially for its balanced fat-to-meat ratio. It’s served as a large, thin sheet and, torched to our requested medium, melts like warm butter on the tongue. Tokusei wagyu tsukemen If wagyu is the star though, then the dipping sauce is the soul. At Mashi No Mashi, the complex and layered base is

There are two breeds of envelope-pushing restaurants. One is the enfant terrible type that brashly rebels against white-tablecloth norms by way of powders, smokes and multisensory menus. The other is the quiet, introspective kind – the type that alters your notion of dining without you even realising it. Aulis, Simon Rogan’s first foray into the Hong Kong dining scene, sits in the latter category. The concept already exists in the UK, where it acts as a testing ground for dishes at the British chef’s Michelin-starred establishments in Cartmel and London. It’s the same idea in Hong Kong, where ideas are hatched, plated and served to no more than 12 guests at a time. Whatever dishes prove successful make it past a large sliding door and onto the menu of Aulis’ more conventional sister restaurant, Roganic. In essence, diners at Aulis are guinea pigs for Roganic. It’s fitting then that the space exudes a sort of lab-like aesthetic. It’s stark and smooth with Miele equipment built seamlessly into wide grey countertops. The only feature that juts out is the hibachi grill, which is used to char some of the tastiest local vegetables we’ve had in a while (more on that later). In this arena, the chefs move through an ever-changing, multi-course menu ($1,480) with the agility of an athlete and the precision of a surgeon (be prepared for a lot of tweezer action). On the night of our visit, our dinner turns out to be 20 dishes deep and starts with a host of delicate small bites. There

The artwork that adorns the walls of ChullsChick is some of the best we’ve seen in Soho in recent months. It’s not just because it’s hilarious (one part features a llama sporting a wig and sunglasses), but because it literally illustrates chef-owner Abel Ortiz Alvarez’s love for his home country of Peru. On the night we visit the restaurant, a small outfit on the upper stretch of Graham Street, the television is tuned into a travel doc featuring the rolling hills of the country. And then there’s the food, which includes some of the most popular dishes eaten in Peru. The main sell here is the pollo a la brasa, a style of rotisserie chicken that was created by a Swiss businessman in Lima in the 1950s and has since become so popular in Peru, it even has a day named after it. The original recipe uses a saltwater marinade known as salamuera. At ChullsChick, Alvera puts his own spin on the bird by bathing it for two days in a mix of dark beer, herbs and spices. The chicken is then cooked in a custom rotisserie until the skin crisps up and blackens in parts. The meat, meanwhile, remains luscious and tender and pulls clean off the bone in the manner that only really well-cooked meat can accomplish. It’s a shame then that the flavours from the beer-based marinade don’t penetrate deep enough into the flesh, although the disappointment is easily rectified with a smear of aji amarillo sauce. The portion you order – quarter for $88, half for $138 or whole for $268 – dictates the numb

When it comes to rooftop spaces in this city, the widely accepted rule is if you've got it, flaunt it. That’s what The Murray hotel does with Popinjays, the crowning gem of its F&B portfolio. Accessible by a private elevator, the penthouse venue has a bar on one side and the restaurant on the other. It's encased in floor-to-ceiling windows with a wraparound terrace that looks out in all directions to surrounding high-rises. While the acoustics could use some improvement – right now, it's difficult to hear the staff, even if they’re standing tableside – the space is a stunner, a cool blend of class and playfulness, with plenty of Kaws artwork to embellish the walls. This showiness is apt for a restaurant that derives its name from the old-fashioned term for a parrot. Expect plenty of fowl language here, beginning with the 'aviary' cocktail selection where the Pecking Order ($130) roosts. Made with tom yum-infused Nusa Caña rum with yuzu, elderflower, lime and mint soda, it's extremely drinkable with its candy-like sourness and just a slight touch of heat. In terms of food, there's the Birds of a Feather sharing menu ($990 per person) served on Fridays and Saturdays, as well as a four or six-course degustation option ($980-$1,280) on Tuesdays to Thursdays. Deciding to fly in a different direction, we order à la carte, starting with the Hokkaido scallop and sea urchin carpaccio ($260). It's a disappointing opener, the mollusc being thick and creamy but lacking any sweetness. M