BELLA CONTOUR AT THE FEEL GOOD FACTOR

YEAH, SO THAT'S THE KIND OF HOTNESS YOU SEE AT MR GAY HK AND FLOATILLA...

...AND THAT'S HOW MUCH FABRIC I NEED TO COVER MYSELF WITH,
BECAUSE I'M AN UNFORTUNATE VICTIM OF A CONSUMERIST GAY CULTURE THAT SAYS
'NO SIX-PACK, NO RIGHT TO TAKE IT OFF!' *WAGS FINGER*

THE MGHK / FLOATILLA WEEKEND IS 6 WEEKS AWAY.

Helen Barker, Spa Director of Hong Kong's mani-pedi stalwart, The Feel Good Factor, is one of my favorite people to hear from. Whenever Helen calls, there's always something fun to do -- dining/spa co-promotion, couple's pedi for me and Chris, sponsored beauty & wellness treatments for Heihei - the 2010 Mr Gay Hong Kong, fashion show, and most recently, breast reduction for me. Helen is a marketer's dream.

"We told Helen we wanted material..." Gili, one of the three ladies attending to me that afternoon, looked at me doubtfully the moment I arrived. I was scheduled to have a trial Bella Contour session using a machine that exists only at one other private clinic in Hong Kong.

"I've got material," I hurriedly reassured her, "I just hide it well. In fact, I'm very insecure about it. It's there, I promise!"

"OK," Gili squinted at me sideways, still looking doubtful. "Take your shirt off, let's take some photos. Don't worry, we will not include your head."

And so I was made to do quarter turns, like beauty queens had to do back in the day - until Women's Lib called the practice demeaning and akin to a "cattle call," effectively ending the practice publicly. Privately, it still happened. Clearly, I was being sized up, and wasn't convincing enough as a prized heifer.

"We have had some guys here who had real material," Gili continued as she punched my details into the machine. Another lady was taking measurements where I hadn't even thought to measure before. This must be why it's called "body contouring" - there's a lot more refinement to it, as opposed to just "fat loss."

"Well, I used to weigh 200 pounds," I said proudly. "I got super fit when I was doing five shows a day at Disney, but when I stopped..." I frowned, "...it seems like the fat returned - more stubborn than before!"

"We'll see what we can do about that," Gili said. "Luckily, yours doesn't look like gynecomastia. It's just loose skin with maybe a layer of fat."

"It's there," I insisted.

A cold gel akin to what's rubbed on women's pregnant bellies prior to an ultrasound was rubbed all over my underboob before gentle electric pulses were applied. Meanwhile, Gili and I gabbed about our respective partners (her hubby is hot as sin - as is Gili), their honeymoon vacay in the Philippines, their kids, Israelis in Hollywood... and then I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew, the treatment was over and I had to wipe the gooey lubricant-like substance off my chest.

"2 centimeters," Gili pronounced proudly after having taken my post-treatment measurements. It was immediately encoded into the machine. "That's how much you've lost from your chest. Now, imagine how much you'd lose with 9-10 treatments!"

"See," I said smugly, "told you I had enough material."

Bella Contour is FDA-approved, which is awesome. It means it's completely safe. It's quick, painless, non-invasive and, as I found out, instant.


THE FEEL GOOD FACTOR
2nd Floor, Winsome House
73 Wyndham Street
Hong Kong.
T: +852 2530 0610

The H Factor:
FGF has got awesome WiFi coverage

WHERE _S HYPERACT_VE?

IF THERE EVER WAS A TIME THAT EVERY MOLECULE OF MY BODY

HAD TO EXEMPLIFY HYPERACTIVE,

THIS IS IT.

_  BREATHE HYPERACT_VE.

_  MOVE HYPERACT_VE.

_  L_VE HYPERACT_VE.

! AM THE HYPERACT!VE GAY BOY™

HOLLA
HOLLA
HOLLA
C'MON, C'MON...

#GETHYPERACTIVE!

FABULOUS 'LIVE PAINTING' BY EMMA HACK IN THE CAT STREET GALLERY

SHE'S ALIVE!

...ISN'T SHE...?

I MEAN, HONESTLY.

HYPERACTIVE WITH GALLERY MANAGER, TANYA BENNETT
(LOVE HER TOP; MAKES ME WANNA BE A SPIDER IN MY NEXT LIFE.)

One of the things I love about living in Sheung Wan is its proximity to cool places that have cool people inside them, who do cool things. On the one end you've got Natalie Leung and the achingly hip SQUARE STREET design collective; on the other end there's Max Poelnitz and the hobolicious PoHo Bazaar hippies.

I was on my way home tonight when I saw henna tattoo artist, Sara Mush, waving excitedly at me from inside Cat Street Gallery.

"Thanks for voting," Sara enthused, "I won The Big Henna Contest!!!" The competition was organized by California-based Siren Song Productions as part of a campaign for the 203 Henna Intensive & Retreat in Wrightwood.

"AWESOME!!!" I gushed back. Sara works her butt off, promoting henna art in Hong Kong. She networks like crazy, seems to be at every event I attend, and is a tireless promoter on social media. A nu-age henna warrior princess!

There were a couple of girls hovering over Sara, so I thought I'd give them a chance to jump in - when I thought I saw one of the sculptures move... I moved closer - and I saw, it was a waif, painted completely in gold. All that gilded gold-ness instantly brought back visions of the Prometheus sculpture at Rockefeller Center, but this one is trompe l'oeil personified - literally!!! I mean, it's a person - a waif! My mind was reeling every which way as I stared aghast at the girl... What if she needed to pee?

"Work started on her at 11am," a leggy brunette behind me shared. "And we have just finished." It was 7pm.

"James," I thrust my right hand out. "I wouldn't have had the patience to sit for as long as she did. I'd die of boredom. Did you do her?"

"Tanya," she shook my hand. "No, I didn't do her; she did," Tanya gestured to a woman surrounded by well-wishers. "I manage the gallery."

"Wow," I whistled, "I just gotta have a photo..."

I  was as fascinated with the work of art as I was with the gallery manager who, with her gorgeous curls and open visage, looked like a Botticelli.



EMMA HACK TROMPE L'OEIL
August 29 - September 22
Cat Street Gallery
222 Hollywood Road
Hong Kong

LUNCH INSPIRATION: WILD GRASS | RUSTIC FRENCH DINING ON ARBUTHNOT ROAD, HONG KONG

Finally got a chance to catch up with my dear friend, Apple, for long-postponed lunch a couple of weeks ago. Apple and I first met years ago when our circumstances were reversed. I was then working PR & Marketing from the brand side; she was then editing a Discovery Bay community magazine.

Apple brought me to Wild Grass, a spacious restaurant along quiet Arbuthnot Road.

For some reason, restaurants on Arbuthnot haven't had much luck diverting even just a fraction of Wyndham's incredible foot traffic upwards. Good for me 'coz I walked into Wild Grass in its pristine, untouched, ready-for-service glory. It was every inch as idyllic as I imagined the French countryside might look like. Rustic, tranquil, yawning with contentment from all the love it has seen through generations.

Apple introduced me to Stephane, Wild Grass' GM, who recommended we try the set lunch. I agreed at once; I am instantly intimidated when faced with a French menu. Besides, I'll eat anything served.

The food was so pretty, I wanted to eat everything - including the herbs and the wooden serving trays. Delicious, too. Big flavors, sensuous textures, and just knock-your-socks-off-gorgeous presentation.

Next time you're feeling like you've run the gamut of boring lunch eateries, take a walk on the Wild side.


WILD GRASS
1/F, 4-8 Arbuthnot Rd.
Central Hong Kong
E: info@wildgrass.hk
T +852 2810 1189

CHRISTINA BIANCO - TOTAL ECLIPSE OF THE HEART

// LAUGH. //

thanks, ryeness,
for that heartwarming visit.

#gethyperactive

ASIA'S PR PRINCESS

I'm in the process of updating the Mr Gay HK media kit for 2013-2014. It's mostly tedious - re-looking at numbers, lay-out, new success stories, trends to watch out for, etc, etc - all in the name of grabbing potential brand partners by the balls and shaking them from side-to-side, until they relent and sign over precious sponsorship dollars for me to see my pet project through another year.

2013 is Mr Gay HK, Year 5.

I'm having a bit of a moment, reminiscing about what has been the past four years. How stories were created, how they were shaped, where I found fertile ground to plant the seeds of a campaign, and then watch it grow and intensify...

I used to enjoy this. I was really good at it, too. It's incredible, looking back at what you've done and realizing that you've accomplished some super-fucking-human feats. If I had met myself five years ago, I would have said:

Holy shit, princess - where'd you find time to get all of these done, plus manage a social persona, maintain friendships and a meaningful relationship with Chris, keep in constant touch with family, do drag, and blog??!

I was of course a lot more persistent when I was younger. These days, I wouldn't deem waste anybody's time. I'd move on as soon as I hear a No, because, I tell myself, it's not the end of the world. There are other things in life which will be a Yes, and they're just straight ahead, so keep on walking! But looking back at what I've been able to accomplish, armed with nothing more than youth and persistence and naivete, I'd say:

You fucking wore people out with your enthusiasm, until they just said Yes so you would go away!

I would have liked to be friends with that guy - that penniless, Hyperactive gay boy. He made things happen without knowing, fully, how he made them happen. He simply jumped into the deep end - and he'd ask questions later. But only if he absolutely had to. He was self sufficient and independent and driven and bullheaded and positive.

He was happy and energetic.

He was free.

Sometimes we need to force ourselves to look back, to inspire ourselves in the present, for what we need to get done tomorrow. That's just what happened to me.




POST-SCRIPT

Looking back on it, pondering, writing about it and congratulating yourself isn't enough. Pause for a moment and thank the universe for always making sure you see the redemption after every conflict she throws at you.

-Ryeness

FEELIN' GOOD - NINA SIMONE

THE MAIDS
BY JEAN GENET / DRAMA

STARRING LA CHIQUITTA & FABIOLA

OPENS NOV 6 AT MCAULEY THEATRE,
HK ARTS CENTRE

POSTER DESIGN BY JULY MALANTIC

HYPERACTIVE (R) MAPS OUT A MARKETING PLAN
WITH THE MAIDS' PRODUCTION MANAGER,
ENAN LIM.

I trekked to My Musical Studio on Saturday night for The Maids' first reading and production meeting. I was a bit apprehensive, but mostly, I was excited. Apart from my frequent outings as an MC and the odd appearance onstage, I haven't really been in involved in theatre work in a significant way.

I arrived at 5.30pm on the dot. My best friend, Rye, was ceremoniously pouring white wine for everyone. "Everyone," really was juts a handful of people: Rye (Solange), myself (Claire), Moe (Madame), Enan (Production Manager), Alvin (Director), and Tina (Co-director, Dramaturg).

We jumped into the material immediately - no preamble. I guess the best way to tackle any Genet piece is not really to approach it, but to attack it.

And that's exactly what we did.

The last time I touched The Maids was in 2002, for my senior directing thesis. I re-imagined the final sequence - a gruesome but nebulous act of sacrifice - as something that might have happened within the tight, echo-bound walls of a bath room. I got an A+, but I'll never forget the countless sleepless nights I endured, trying to make sense of the ending. 

Rye and I have been talking about performing The Maids as our alter egos, La Chiquitta and Fabiola, for years. Rye had always been more emotionally infatuated with the project than I ever was. The Maids is the kind of dangerous material that grips you by the balls and never lets go until it gets out of you a release that is neither satisfying nor predictable...

So this time around, I vowed not to over think it. I'll take the material as it comes, I told myself, one day at a time, and try to not to be wholly consumed by it.

...who was I kidding?

By the third line, I had become Claire - impetuous, impatient and impressionable -an accomplice to terrible acts that nobody will ever completely understand.

It felt so good.
 

// IT'S A NEW LIFE FOR ME

AND I'M FEELIN' GOOD... //

LIKE ME OR HATE ME?

 
LIKE ME?
 CLICK 'LIKE' ON MY FACEBOOK PAGE 
COZ THERE'S JUST 87 LIKES AT THE MO -
AND I'LL NEED AT LEAST 87 MILLION 
FOR ME TO ORGANIZE A FUN PARTY.
SIX MORE 0'S TO GO!

HATE ME?
HAFTA CLICK 'LIKE' EVEN MORE,
COZ HOW YOU GONNA KEEP HATIN' ON ME, OTHERWISE?!

IF YOU'RE INDIFFERENT,

JUST KEEP IT MOVIN'!

// #GETHYPERACTIVE. //

 (TFIF.)

I LIVE FOR THE APPLAUSE: HYPERACTIVEGAYBOY X GARRETT POPCORN X LADY GAGA MAKING MONDAYS POP!

I WAS THIS EXCITED
TO MEET CASON CRANE...

BUT I PROMPTLY TURNED INTO A WALLFLOWER
IN HIS PRESENCE

(I'M SHY AROUND MY CRUSHES.)

ALL I GOT WAS THIS BLURRED PIC.

SO I JUST SAT DOWN...

LISTENED...

AND BECAME ONE...

WITH THE CARPET.

THANKS TO THE 'CHICAGO MIX' BAGS OF GARRTT POPCORN ON THE SNACK COUNTER,
MY NIGHT - SLOWLY - GREW MORE AND MORE COLOURFUL.

CHEESY CHEESECORN™   TO WAKE MY PALATE UP
+ SWEET CARAMELCRISP® TO RESET MY ENERGY BACK TO #HYPR! 

...IT WAS SO GOOD,
I HAD TO KEEP WORKING THROUGH MY LITTLE BAGGIE
ON THE STEPS OF STANDARD CHARTERED BANK'S HEADQUARTERS
WHILST ADMIRING HK'S MAJESTIC SKYSCRAPERS.

GOSH, THIS POPCORN - THEY WERE INVENTED IN CHICAGO OVER 60 YEARS AGO.
THEY'VE CERTAINLY COME A LONG WAY!

SO IRRESISTIBLE,
I HAD TO POP THE LID
ON THE 1 GALLON TIN (PINK, NATCH)
THAT SCOTT SCHROEDER, GARRETT POPCORN'S EVP & CHIEF BRAND OFFICER,
GAVE ME FOR MY BIRTHDAY.

IT WAS A GRAND OPENING.

#HYPR HEART GARRETT POPCORN.

MONDAYS ARE MANIC AT THE OFFICE.

BUT TODAY, I'M TAKING MY GINORMOUS TIN OF GARRETT POPCORN
TO HELP MAKE MONDAYS MARVELOUS!

AFTER ALL, IF IT MAKES ME HAPPY TO EAT GREAT POPCORN,
SURELY, IT HAS THAT EFFECT ON OTHER PEOPLE, TOO!

WE'RE ABOUT TO HAVE ANOTHER
GRAND OPENING!

APPLAUSE, APPLAUSE!

// HAPPY MONDAY, 

 HYPRS! //

FAREWELL TO A BOY NAMED CLAREN

ROCK STAR

PORN STAR

SEX SYMBOL

APOLOGETIC BAD BOY-WANNABE

HE SAYS:
Please understand that I'm doing this because I need to get laid on Valentine's Day. LMAO.

ART DIRECTOR

JUNKYARDKID

CARTOON HERO

26, EX-BOYFRIEND MATERIAL,
HE SAYS.

I called him CHiP.

I guess it could have simply been "Chip," but he was an artist. There just had to be some idiosyncrasy to how I spelled my term of endearment for him.

CHiP was short for "chipmunk." His pocket-sized build, joyful presence and irresistible will to make me laugh reminded me a lot of Alvin and the Chipmunks.

And he called me GoOf - one letter short of "Goofy," in reference to my large, clumsy feet that would inadvertently step on his much smaller ones whenever we held hands while walking (all the time).

"Pneumonia," Kris, his best friend, messaged me on Facebook. " He's been in the hospital since last Wednesday. His sister told me he was getting better and then, all of a sudden, he couldn't breath. And then he was gone."

I was shell-shocked.

I last saw Claren in 2003, just before I started work on a TV talent competition and a soap opera. We broke up.

"He was much too gentle and beautiful and perfect a soul for me," I told Kris. "I loved him a lot. He was everything I ever wanted. I saw us getting old together - laughing. And I think that that scared me. We were both so young. I couldn't be sure until I was sure. Isn't that silly?"

"Claren Torres, 26, ex-boyfriend material," was his succinct description of himself on his blog. Even in death, he makes me laugh.

"Claren's such a cheat," Kris complained, with fondness. "He never turned 30."

"He'll be 19 forever," I said.

"In my memory," Kris reminisced, "we're both still 17."

Kris and Claren were like twins. Same age, same build, same boyish charm. One's darker, more brooding. The other one's an imp.

Kris relocated to the States several years ago, immediately following their graduation, methinks.

"I last saw him in 2007," he shared, "and only for, like, a few hours. I was in Manila only for two days. I asked his ate if I could have a pair of his pants. And I'll wear them when I go somewhere new. I guess at least kahit ganun lang, we can see places together..."

Boyfriends, especially at the age when Claren and I dated, are dispensable. mIRC was all the rage back then, and relationships came and went as quickly as you'd like for an EB to occur. But I can't even fathom the depth of Kris' loss. They were best friends. I understand the need to hang on to something - anything - as long as it wouldn't die and therefore remain an evergreen reminder of the one who once owned it.

What's perhaps funniest about my and Claren's brief relationship was the circumstance that brought us together. I dated his best friend, Kris.

Last night, I spent almost four hours making up for lost time. That's what happens with exes. You wanna be friends after you break up. And while you do make the effort initially (through some combination of guilt and determination), it's hard to keep it up. What I realized was, I missed out.

Claren's light shone even brighter - like the pop of his Canon's flash. Claren bathed his life in whimsical, colour-saturated imagery that married the character of Old Manila with his own need to express himself in ever-maturing ways through digital manipulation. By far, Claren's Flickr Photostream is the online profile that best represented him.

He called himself "Junkyardkid" - a collector of discarded objects and memories, because he finds pure, child-like joy in re-imagining these in ways we'd never see them otherwise.

He posted a photo of himself in the hospital, on his Facebook wall. His eyes looked rounder than the camera lenses' aperture must have been. He captioned it: Greetings from the hospital.

Up to his very last moments, he found a way to repurpose a junkyard of an experience - knocking on heaven's door - as something that clawed right back in a funny, ever-present way towards the living world.

Rest in peace, CHiP.

AN UPDATE ON CHRIS

CHRIS SAYS HELLO TO EVERYONE!

CHRIS' AUSTRALIA.

FUCKING BEAUTIFUL.

"Typhoon 8 in HK," I typed into my and Chris' Whatsapp window.

"Oooh... day off work?" he asked. He would have been up for hours already. Canberra is three hours ahead of Hong Kong, besides. And he bikes to work every day. He's always been an early riser, a creature I often consider alien-esque: The Morning Person.

"Only if T8 warning is still up by 2pm," I replied. "Would have been nice to have you here so we can sleep in together... I'd go right back to sleep to dream about you."

OK, so that last bit felt particularly sappy, even I wanted to bitch slap myself.

"Sweet" is not the first thing that comes to mind when I think about Chris. He's sweet in his own way, sure, but he's not all about warm, fuzzy words or grand gestures. He's a rock who lets you know, every day, through consistent and predictable actions, that he loves you and cares about you. I inadvertently regret being too sweet with Chris because he's kinda gruff and and, I suspect, a bit embarrassed about the very public ways I show and proclaim my love for him.

His reply:

"Mwah! Too long between snuggles xxx"

I was stunned.

Has some sappy spirit inhabited Chris' body?! Did he really manage to squeeze a bit of sweetness out for me?

Maybe it's the distance.

Maybe it's Australia.

When you're surrounded by nature's majestic beauty, wouldn't it just suck to have nobody to share it with?

"Love you!!!" I typed furiously. I wasn't about to let go of the moment. "A typhoon fuck would have been so nice! Miss you so bad!!!! Guess I'll have to wait 'til we see each other again at the end of September!"

"Yes, please!"

NORDIC EXPRESS AT FINDS BY JAAKKO SORSA

FAT BIRD MADE FROM HANDBLOWN GLASS.
I WANTED TO TAKE IT HOME.

AND THAT OH-SO-CLASSIC IITTALA CANDLE HOLDER, TOO.

NAPKINS ROLLED AND SECURED WITH A FINDS RIBBON!

HOW PRETTY ARE THESE PLATES, SERIOUSLY?

THAT'S ME - HYPERACTIVE!

MENU + ILLUSTRATED MAP OF SCANDINAVIA WITH 'PIN DROPS' ON PLACES WHERE DISHES ON THE NORDIC EXPRESS MENU ORIGINATED. 

THIN RYE CRISPS SERVED ON A BRANCH OF A BIRCH TREE -
BECAUSE WHY NOT?

OH!
BREADS IN A BOX!

TWO KINDS OF BUTTER: REGULAR AND SMOKED (?!).
THESE BALLS HAD A COOL, FLUFFY, AND ALMOST MOUSSE-LIKE TEXTURE. 

OH, THOSE CRISPS.
NOW, THEY'RE ON MY PLATE!

'LIFE OF ARCTIC CHAR' -
FROM ROE TO CRISPY SKIN!

SEXY SMORREBROD
TOPPED WITH GOLDEN VENDACE ROE ON SMOKED EEL.

KINDA REMINDS ME OF THE BIRTH OF VENUS BY BOTTICELLI.

MORE DANISH GOODNESS, ALL IN A ROW -
INCLUDING A PORK RILLETTE DISH THAT THE PRINCESS OF DENMARK APPARENTLY HAD THREE PORTIONS OF WHEN SHE WAS OVER AT FINDS FOR A MEAL.

BY THIS POINT, I HAD STOPPED TO CARE ABOUT THE DISHES' NAMES.
I WAS TOO BUSY ENJOYING THE PARTY IN MY MOUTH.

I DO REMEMBER, THOUGH, THAT EACH MORSEL OF PATE WAS TOPPED WITH ROWANBERRY JELLY THAT JAAKKO AND HIS MOM MADE WITH THEIR OWN HANDS. 

MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB;
JAMESIE HAD A LITTLE BITE.

AND I WANTED TO TAKE THAT WOODEN SERVING BOARD HOME WITH ME. 

JUNIPER-SMOKED QUAIL-EGG YOLK ?!?!?!??!!

MY BRAIN WAS STILL IN OVERDRIVE,
WONDERING WHAT KIND OF EXPERIENCES IT TAKES TO ADVANCE ONE'S PALATE TOWARDS DREAMING UP SUCH FLAVOUR COMBINATIONS, COOKING TECHNIQUES AND FUCK-OFF FABULOUS PRESENTATION.

OH YEAH - THIS WAS A SOUP. I HAD ALMOST FORGOTTEN.
BROTH IS MADE WITH WILD CHANTERELLES,
FINISHED OFF WITH A FLUFFY CLOUD OPF CHILLED POTATO CREME.

THAT GLACIER-INSPIRED SOUP BOWL WAS SO PRETTY, TOO,
CAN YOU GUESS WHAT I DESPERATELY WANTED TO DO WITH IT?

TAKE . IT . HOME.  

MACKEREL FISH BALLS SERVED ON HOT STONES.

BEER IS POURED OVER SUPER-HOT STONES -
CREATING A SIZZLING, AROMATIC BROTH THAT QUICKLY BATHES THE BALLS AND COOKS 'EM.

IT'S A SHOW.

HELLOOO THERE,
CHILLED, LITTLE CRAYFISH.

I'M ABOUT TO EAT YOU NOW!

OH.
I'M MEANT TO HAVE IT ON A PERFECTLY OVAL PIECE OF TOAST....?

BUT I DON'T DO CARBS.

JAAKKO'S SPIN ON THE HUMBLE 'BEEF RYDBERG' -
VENISON RYDBERG!

THOSE VENISON TENDERLOIN MEDALLIONS WERE SO PEFECTLY COOKED,
I SWOONED WITH EACH MOUTHFUL. THE FLESH HAD AN ALMOST VELVETY TEXTURE.
DELICIOUS BEYOND BELIEF. 

VANILLA SNOWBALLS!
SERVED ON WOODEN SPOONS!
WHICH I ALSO WANTED TO TAKE HOME WITH ME!

WHAT'S A PANCAKE PARTY WITHOUT A SELECTION OF JAMS?
CLOUDBERRY, RASPBERRY, LINGONBERRY, BLUEBERRY JAMES
AND SOME COGNAC CREAM, JUST COZ!

RHUBARB!

I DIDN'T GET TO TAKE HOME ANY OF THE FANCY IITTALA STUFF.
BUT JAAKKO GAVE ME A BAG OF NORDIC CANDIES, INSTEAD!

NO CONTEST - I'LL TAKE CANDY
EVERY . SINGLE . TIME.

Anybody who knows me, knows my appetite - perhaps none better than FINDS' Executive Chef Jaakko Sorsa, himself. Jaakko is a dear friend who has generously fed me on my countless moments of desperate hunger. That's, like, every day. Five times a day. I was FINDS' Marketing & PR Manager over three years. The amount of food I've enjoyed from Jaakko's benevolence would have been enough to feed a small village throughout a season of catastrophic drought. Because of this, the mere sight of Jaakko sends my dopamine levels shooting through the roof. Jaakko's smiling face is a neurotransmitter that tells me I won't simply be eating; I'm going to feast. Therefore, I'm a terrible critic when it comes to Jaakko's food.

I am not a real food critic, either. I'm just a food addict. That's why I got myself a job in a restaurant, in the first place. And so while real crits may pause thoughtfully between mouthfuls to consider taste, texture, portion and presentation, I'm too busy either shoveling entire platefuls down my esophagus or wondering when the next dish is arriving.

That having been said, I have seen how Jaakko's food has evolved and matured to a point where he's serving up complex Northern European dishes as though they were chapters in a whimsical Nordic fairy tale.

"This could have gotten so old, so quickly," I whispered to Adele Wong, HK Mag's dining and lifestyle editor. "I usually think food that requires an introduction - or a set of instructions on how to eat, much less! - is too pretentious for me to eat. I'd rather die from hunger than order a dish whose name I can't pronounce. Just sayin'."

OK, so that last line was a total lie. I'd eat anything. Besides - let's be honest - who knows a lot about Nordic gastronomic tradition, anyway? Not me. And as iconic as FINDS is - its 10th anniversary comes up in spring 2014 - it's not exactly propped up by a cottage industry of Nordic product and service providers that all together help to educate an entire populace. Aside from FINDS, the only other Nordic brands I have relationships with are H&M and Ikea.

Nordic Express is a 12-course magnum opus through Finland, Iceland, Norway, Denmark, Sweden and Lapland. The menu is presented with an illustrated map featuring with a "pin drop" on where dishes on the menu come from. Jaakko then introduces each dish with a story - about the ingredients, about the fishermen, about a country's history and culture - often, personal. The rowanberry jelly that comes with wild game pate was made just 10 days prior to our meal, by Jaakko and his mom.

The food is delicious.

The style - eye-popping, whimsical, fresh, enjoyable, incredible. Nordic topography comes alive on the table, with rocks, branches of birch, moss and herbs so supple, they might as well have been picked from Jaakko's garden mere minutes before they were served.

I've never experienced anything like it before.

I know FINDS intimately; I helped shape (rescue?) it. It has had its moments of identity crises. That tends to happen when a brand starts off with three (!!!) managing directors, a very strong general manager, and a genius in the kitchen. Who prevails, and when?

Nordic Express is the journey we've been waiting for all this time. It has just the one train driver. His name is Jaakko.

It has taken almost a decade to get here.

And it's worth the wait.

FINDS is back.



FINDS
1F The Luxe Manor
39 Kimberley Road
Tsim Sha Tsui, Kowloon
T +852 2522 9318
E reservations@finds.com.hk