Yardbird - Hong Kong

Night number one, venturing out of our hotel, but too timid to venture far. The centrally-located Yardbird is only a few walking blocks away, and have zero regrets about getting lost three times. This may be the sexiest restaurant on earth.  

Yardbird plays your sense of exclusivity against your desire for inclusion. The wait is an epic and integral part of the experience, and your evening starts at the standing counters, not the bar. But the counters are sleek, and when you place your cocky sticker to stake your claim, you're far more excited than annoyed, and you can’t help but flirt and banter as you look over the food and drinks. 

They serve a scrumptious list of whiskey, full of smooth Suntory and flowing Nikka. I try their house made Umeshu, a plum liquor that reminds me of sweeter soju. It finishes feather-light and transitions seamlessly to anything you choose to eat.

Servers in casual black weave swiftly between the standers and the seated, hands always full of smaller plates. They serve food and drink to the seated and the standing, and TBH, skewers might taste better when you're standing.

The Chicken Heart peeks through piles of green onion, tiny tender muscles that pump savory juice into the chambers as you chew. Their seasoning mix is distinct, and they highlighting the flavors without overpowering. They’re not ginger with the ginger; it’s the acid that tempers the fat.

Chicken Skin hangs from the skewers, stiff penants wave a victorious flag of melting fat. Each piece makes a definitive crunch.

The Gizzard is grilled like the rest, but it’s so soft it's it tastes confit. Rivulets of fat sweat slickly down the sides, and we got the last one before they ran out.

The Meatball is their signature skewer. It has to be because there can't be anything better in the world. The ground chicken is so delicate; the small ball stays moist beneath the grill-kissed crisp. A rising sun egg yolk breaks and thickens a tare dip, and it slathers on the meatball like a salty, gooey paint.

We break from the skewers for the Chicken Katsu Sando, a special for the night. A perfect cutlet, battered and fried, the fluffy brick of white bread seduces with a dark n’ sour barbecue sauce.

The Scotch Egg is our heaviest item, and it is a great among the greats. Battered and fried in chicken, it sits lighter than pork, but the stripes of mayo change that for the better. The bed of cabbage beneath isn’t just for show - it catches the egg drippings and tastes like scotch egg cabbage.

We finish with a few shared skewers - we're full but we just can't stop. The meatball gets another go, and we bend the Knee to a craving for cartilage.

The Thyroid is last, a strong suggestion from our server. It's creamy yet supple, with a texture as springy as tendon and a juice that tastes like it was cooked in savory milk.

There is something irresistible about Yardbird, and I can't describe it, but you'll feel it when you're there. The ambiance is unforgettable, and you inevitably soak in the air of playful sophistication. The flavors are serious, yet they flirt with your senses and tease your sensibility. I don't know what got into me that night, but standing at that counter with a skewer was the most fun I’ve had in years.