It was a stormy typhoon evening in 2015, the wind was picking up and signal No 3 had been raised, but it was still relatively safe to navigate the town. After all, how big was Hong Kong? I could easily get to the beaches from my office in Central in just 10min – if I took an Uber, of course.
My very best friend Cheryl was eager to introduce me to new contacts, especially since I had just returned to Hong Kong after spending decades abroad. We both went to the same boarding school in Wiltshire, England, and now found ourselves working together at the same American bank.
“10 Old Peak Road, please,” I requested of the taxi driver, hoping that he would drive me there despite the weather. It was really pouring with rain.
“Tip me 100 bucks, as it’s treacherous up there,” the driver said with a straight face.
Settled comfortably in the back seat, I looked at the HK$400 bottle of bin-end wine I had picked up from a shop in Pedder Street, still taken aback by how expensive things were in Hong Kong. Back in London, we would normally just grab anything from the Majestic neighbourhood wine shop or even a supermarket to bring to our friends’ places, as long as it had alcohol in it!
The moment I stepped out of the taxi on May Road in Mid-Levels, a flash flood almost swept me away, the rain gushing down the steep lane like the Nile. Clearly, I was not prepared, without a brolly or my Le Chameau wellies. I was thoroughly drenched by the torrential rain, but it actually felt good in 36-degree heat.
After a short walk, I arrived at a fancy clubhouse, the Ladies’ Recreation Club. Just as the security guards in ponchos were barring me from entering the gate, Cheryl ran over in her iconic Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress, an umbrella flipping half inside out.
“I thought it was a house party?” I called out over the rain.
“They decided to host it in the clubhouse.” Cheryl sounded like it was normal protocol for them. “Go dry off first in the dressing room.”
Sounding a bit worried, she added: “Did you bring a bottle with you?”
“Here you go.” Puzzled by her concern, I handed her the wine, its tote soaked through.
As I made my entrance, other guests were seated with Zalto universal wine glasses in hand, filling the dining room with chatter and laughter. Cheryl introduced me to Caroline, the gracious host.
Caroline, in her mid-30s, was a dynamic businesswoman in wine and art trading, fashionably attired in a Gucci dress in vibrant colours and patterns, the brand’s popularity having been revived under the creative vision of Alessandro Michele.
After exchanging greetings round the table, I noticed my bottle being uncorked by a sommelier while six others were already opened for decanting. “You didn’t tell me this was a wine dinner?” I asked Cheryl, a hint of nervousness in my voice.
The selection of wines for the evening represented a broad array of regions spanning the Old and New worlds. Lined up from left to right were Salon 1996, probably the only champagne producer that did not make wine every year; Domaine du Comte Liger-Belair La Romanée 2010, clearly not ready to drink yet but was from one of Burgundy’s most coveted parcels right next to Romanée-Conti; Domaine Georges Roumier Chambolle-Musigny Les Amoureuses 2005, one of the most poetic and sought-after premier crus in Chambolle; and Opus One 2002 from Napa Valley, a collaboration between the Mondavi and Rothschild families. Cheryl, though not a serious drinker, had contributed a bordeaux, the Chateau Pichon-Longueville Baron 2004.
Watching me go through the wines, Caroline called out from across the room: “What did you bring us to drink tonight, Kelvin?”
“Oh, nothing too special,” I said, masking my unease but sweating away; I felt as though I was severely underdressed for what was supposed to be a black-tie occasion.
Caroline slowly approached, picked up my bottle with a bin-end sticker still attached, and began reading out the wine label aloud, “The Sadie Family Columella 2009, hmm… I have never heard of it.” The room’s chatter paused as our host placed the wine down and returned to her seat without another word. Columella was a syrah by Eben Sadie, the most innovative winemaker in South Africa.
Cheryl, sensing the awkwardness, tried to lighten the mood. “No one has ever brought a South African wine to our dinners before. Maybe let’s try that first!”
She then turned to me and whispered: “I am so sorry I forgot to mention, there is an unwritten rule in our wine circle that each bottle should be at least HK$800 or more for dinners.” I was left uneasy for the rest of the evening, traumatised by the revelation.
I could not help but wonder, why do people in Hong Kong care so much about the price of gifts? Back in the United Kingdom, when attending dinners at friends’ homes, nobody really minds the drink you bring over, let alone its price.
Sometimes too much emphasis has been placed on wine in social gatherings, overshadowing its intended purpose. As a Master of Wine once highlighted in my wine education, wine should never take centre stage in any meals; it is meant to elevate the taste of the food, enhancing the overall dining experience.
This awkward experience during my initial months back home highlights the stark cultural differences between Hong Kong and London in socialising. It also underscores the economic disparities between the two financial hubs, particularly in terms of disposable income for middle-management professionals. A quick back-of-the-envelope calculation using data from Glassdoor, a compensation tracking website, indicates that after-tax base salaries for vice-presidents and directors in London are about 35% lower than Hong Kong.
Savings habits and consumer behaviours vary significantly as well. In Hong Kong, the combination of low income tax and higher nominal wages allows individuals to have a greater propensity for spending on luxury goods, wine included. Of course, one may contend that this could be true for only a certain cohort of the population, defined by profession, age or class, but it is a phenomenon worth exploring.
Viewing it through the lens of history, wine to Asia in the 21st century is like tea to Britain in the 19th century. Back in the days, the bourgeoisie and aristocracy were willing to spend huge sums for teas and ceramics from the Orient. Now, the trend is reversed, with Asia showing keen interest in wines, revelling in all that novelty.
Picking the right bottle is not a matter of life or death, but newcomers to either financial hub should navigate with care. A bit of know-your-customer research about the host and venue can prove beneficial, as preferences may vary with the culture. In smaller, more intimate dinner parties, hosts could have already selected wines to pair with their dishes, so your bottle is likely just a token gesture. However, in larger gatherings, the choice of wine becomes less significant, given the usually chaotic atmosphere.
Ultimately, what truly matters to the host and their guests is your company, the engaging conversation, your interesting background and your sense of humour.
