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It would not be an exaggeration to say I moved to Hong Kong, in part, for Nam Kee Spring Roll Noodle .
I first stumbled into the Stanley Street location on a work trip with Joe back in 2017. It was a small, fluorescent-lit cafeteria-like shop. I ordered one bowl, and that was enough. Eleven months later, I traded the heat and humidity of Abu Dhabi for the heat and humidity of Hong Kong — with the added upgrade of unlimited, affordable, delicious noodles.
When I told the editors of this newsletter I was going to review Nam Kee (actually what I said was “I’m going to write a love letter to Nam Kee”), they looked slightly uneasy. “That will be the cheapest restaurant review ever,” said one. “Probably,” said I. And here we are.
Those who’ve never been to Hong Kong are probably confused by this controversy. Let me explain. Nam Kee is a chain of cheap noodle shops with dozens of locations across the city. Reviewing it is a bit like reviewing a McDonald’s, except that the beef at Nam Kee does not resemble flat rounds of cardboard and no one’s filing class-action suits about portion sizes. In fact, Nam Kee is well-known for its generous mounds of rice noodles, topped with spring rolls, beef balls, minced pork and pretty much anything else one might want. It is beloved by students, office workers and the hungover alike.
When I told my husband I was going back to Hong Kong for the first time in four years, his first question was (I kid you not): “Are you going to have Nam Kee?” It was a silly thing to ask really, like asking if the sun would rise or if gravity would continue to function. Of course, I would have Nam Kee. The only question was how.
I lived in Hong Kong from 2018 to 2022, a period that spanned both the pro-democracy protests and the pandemic. That meant I spent an inordinate amount of time indoors, eating in via delivery apps like Foodpanda that gave me access to the full Nam Kee menu and its endless combinations of soup bases and toppings, all with convenient English translations. When I was rendered a couch potato thanks to a broken foot, I ate enough Nam Kee to gain 20 pounds. Reader, it was worth it.
So when I finally went back, it was with the mindset of a religious pilgrim winding her way to a sacred landmark. Here is the birthplace of flavor, I thought. Here is my cathedral of carbs.
But pilgrimages aren’t meant to be easy, and this one wouldn’t be either. As I strolled confidently down Stanley Street after recording a live episode of Odd Lots at Bloomberg Invest and meeting some old and new contacts for drinks at The Globe, I began to get nervous. Something wasn’t right here. Instead of the friendly fluorescent glow, there was an empty dark storefront. Nam Kee was gone.
“Where’s Nam Kee?” I asked (with the urgency of someone reporting a crime) a local delivery man standing nearby. He looked mystified for a few seconds — not, I think, because he didn’t understand the question, but because he was shocked that someone could care about noodles this much. “There is a crazy woman running around Central demanding cheap noodles,” he must have thought. With hand signals and roadside charades, he indicated that Nam Kee was somewhere, vaguely in that direction.
After wandering the streets of Central and getting precariously close to falling on my knees like Tom Hanks in Cast Away while screaming “Nam Kee!“, I finally found its new location on Queen Victoria Street, so inconspicuously nestled between a brightly lit office lobby and a lantern-adorned restaurant that it looked literally like a hole in the wall.
The first challenge, as I expected, was ordering. There is an English menu by the cashier at the front of the store, but it does not reflect everything that Nam Kee has to offer. I wanted — no, I needed — my old stalwart order. Spicy sour soup base, with extra fatty beef and extra pickled vegetables. In the end I could not communicate the extra portions. I think if I moved back to Hong Kong I would have a little laminated card printed with my standard Nam Kee order and carry it around with me, the way those with deathly allergies and medical conditions do.
After ordering, I wandered toward the back of the restaurant and slid into an empty booth. At 7:30 p.m. the space was pretty full. Office workers were dining in, others queued at the pickup counter for takeout. I saw at least one man carrying six packaged soup bowls in a single bag, a level of commitment I respect. For a fast-food place in the middle of Central on a workday evening, the atmosphere was surprisingly calm. Diners seemed at peace, lulled and comforted by the steaming bowls of soup in front of them. Everyone knew exactly what they were getting here.
When I heard my number called (or more accurately, when I triangulated that my meal was sitting on the counter), I picked up my tray and thought to myself: This is a thing of beauty. The rice noodles were so white they glowed beneath the broth, which, just as I remembered it, was a concerningly orange concoction slicked with flecks of red oil. I could see a silky tofu skin drifting just below the surface. There was a smattering of bean sprouts and pickled vegetables to give a thin veneer of healthiness. And its crowning glory: strips of, yes, fatty beef.
I realize “fatty” beef might sound unappetizing to some, but I love it. It reminds me of Yoshinoya’s rice bowls in Japan, where I grew up, and where the meat would often be dipped in raw egg instead of hot broth yet produced the same indulgent, comforting sensation. And I have often thought (or actually wished) that Nam Kee should attempt an overseas expansion into New York in the same way Yoshinoya has pushed into California.
Back to the food. Would it taste as good as I remembered? This was the moment of truth.
Eating a bowl of noodles is an art. It requires orchestration. Every chopstick load must apportion the perfect amount of noodles, meat and garnish. I put together my first bite carefully.
It landed.
There was the familiar taste: an explosion of not-too-spicy broth, combined with chewy noodles, melt-in-your mouth beef, and the sour and slightly sweet tang of pickles cutting through all the richness. Suddenly, I was back in my apartment on Peel Street, crouched at my coffee table, slurping just like in the days of old.
Look. I could have reviewed some of Hong Kong’s more “prestigious” restaurants, classics like Mott 32 or Yardbird. I’m told the new La Vache and its tables overlooking the Peak are phenomenal. I’m sure they’re all excellent, but they are also beside the point.
Nam Kee, in my mind, is infrastructure. It is cheap and common enough so as to be nearly invisible. But it is also good enough to be unforgettable — a combination that explains its hold over me and others who have left the city.
You can’t, as they say, go home again. But you can sit at a table on Queen Victoria Street, order a bowl of noodles and a lemon ice tea for HK$71 ($9), and get close enough that it feels like you did.
The vibe: Nam Kee’s shops aren’t much to look at, I’ll admit. They’re sparse and not always that clean. Most importantly, however, they are there .
Who’s next to you: The space was pretty full at 7:30 p.m. with mostly office workers and the occasional delivery driver.
Can you conduct a meeting here? I would argue yes, in the same way that you can theoretically conduct a meeting at a McDonald’s in the US. (In fact, Joe and I have dined with at least one senior Goldman Sachs employee at the McDonald’s around the corner from our office).
What I’d order again: Always, always the fatty beef. I would just try harder to get more of it.
Need to know: Nam Kee operates dozens of locations. The Central one at 5-8 Queen Victoria Street is open 8 a.m. to 8:30 p.m. Mondays to Saturdays, and 9 a.m. to 8 p.m. on Sundays and public holidays. (Editor’s note: This was indeed Hong Kong Edition’s cheapest review , a title previously held by Lin Heung Lau .)
This was originally published in a special Odd Lots takeover of the Hong Kong Edition , a weekly newsletter. To subscribe for free, click here .
Read more reviews of beloved Hong Kong chains: Bakehouse , Tsui Wah and Veggie Kingdom .
Are there any restaurants you think we should check out? Let us know at hkedition@bloomberg.net . See all our reviews here .