COMMENTARY, Dec 10 — Many of my friends have been grousing about the cabin fever they’ve been feeling after months of being cooped up at home. They miss travelling, they tell me, they miss the thrill of time away from home.

It’s understandable. They aren’t the only ones to feel that way. All around the world, folks are aching to travel again. But for now it’s safer for everyone (and the ones they love) to stay put.

We don’t realise how easy it is to miss home if we were to be travelling all the time. Getting to stay home is a blessing, a privilege.

I remember the sharp pangs of homesickness. Of craving a familiar taste I long for whenever I used to be far from home. Too many days or weeks of cold sandwiches and greasy fries would do that to you.

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But travel — and life — can surprise us.

For one, who knew you could find proper Cantonese-style roast duck in Amsterdam?

It’s unusual fare if you are only expecting Dutch cuisine but here in the cosmopolitan city you’re as likely to find an okonomiyaki fresh off the griddle as you would a stroopwafel, and more likely to locate a summery pad Thai than a wintry oliebollen, a sugar-powdered doughnut ball served typically on New Year’s Eve.

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Yes, the Venice of the North (so named due to the profusion of canals and waterways encircling the city) is a haven for migrants and visitors alike, and as a result, a melting pot of flavours.

There is a decent Hong Kong restaurant serving Cantonese fare in every major city in the world.
There is a decent Hong Kong restaurant serving Cantonese fare in every major city in the world.

Which means we could have eaten whatever we desired in Amsterdam.

And what our hearts desired — or our bellies, famished after hours-long flights across continents before landing at Schiphol Airport — was Chinese food.

Chinese food is too generic, of course, and often bastardised to suit Western diners (a shame, and a disservice to an increasingly globalised group of customers who can handle and demand authentic cooked dishes).

Shredded pork congee with century egg (left) and a bowl of wontons (right).
Shredded pork congee with century egg (left) and a bowl of wontons (right).

After days or weeks of steaks, burgers and salads, we craved the clear flavours of Cantonese food. Well balanced, not too spicy, not too greasy. Definitely not heavily battered and deep fried.

Our regular go-to is but a 10-minute walk from Amsterdam Centraal, a Hong Kong restaurant serving Cantonese staples in a decidedly Dutch environment. On one side, the heavy foot traffic along the Damrak, on the other the notorious Red Light District.

Here we could enjoy a well-deserved meal after skipping the usual miserable in-flight food.

We have had shredded pork congee with century egg, wonton noodles and braised beef. We savoured chasiu caramelised to perfection and the iconic Typhoon shelter crab with garlic and chillies. Steamed fresh scallops with ginger and spring onion.

Steamed fresh scallops with ginger and spring onion.
Steamed fresh scallops with ginger and spring onion.

A Cantonese restaurant is also a great place to get leafy greens, cooked the way we enjoy it best: flash fried in a hot wok with plenty of garlic, the only aromatics needed.

No thyme, parsley or oregano. No bay leaves, nothing that strong. No onions, carrots and celery; no French style mirepoix, basically.

Just garlic, divine and most exalted of aromatics. Whether stir fried with Hong Kong kailan or clusters of nai pak, no one cooks vegetables quite like the Cantonese do.

Stir fried Hong Kong 'kailan' (left) and 'nai pak' (right).
Stir fried Hong Kong 'kailan' (left) and 'nai pak' (right).

Our usual order would be a pair of matching plates: Roast duck and rice. Soy chicken and rice. Both with plenty of the mouthwatering braising gravies.

Crispy, golden skin. Rich juices spilling from bird fat. Moist, tender meat full of flavour. And the flavour of the city — gleaned from sitting near the large windows to observe the street life outside — adds to every bite.

Perhaps there is no riddle as to why we crave roast duck when we are in a foreign land; perhaps we are unadventurous or perhaps we are creatures of routine.

There is something to be said for routines and rituals though.

Sure, it’s largely for the food: it’s comforting you can always find one good Hong Kong restaurant serving recognisable and well-executed Cantonese favourites in nearly every major city around the world.

Sitting near the windows allows one to observe a city’s street life.
Sitting near the windows allows one to observe a city’s street life.

It’s not merely about being Cantonese (though I am, and my family would judge cooks by how they steam their fish). It’s seeing the same pattern over and over wherever we go.

We remember the oldest server at the shop fondly. She would always have the biggest smile for us once she realised we spoke Cantonese. We have heard her story of how she migrated to the Netherlands from Hong Kong decades ago.

We have heard it many times before but we always smiled at her recollection: it’s quite a journey. It’s quite a life. And she’s not the only one.

We have chatted with another Hong Kong transplant, a manager at a Cantonese restaurant in Prague; with a Malaysian ramen chef in Singapore (he was friendlier than any ramen chef we’ve encountered, certainly more garrulous and optimistic — that Malaysia Boleh! trait travels well); with a Brazilian Chinese waiter in Liberdade, the São Paulo Chinatown, who could only manage Portuguese-tinged English; the list goes on...

They are all happy to see a familiar face though we are all strangers, at least at the beginning. We would be happy to simply sit comfortably after hours of walking and eat what we have been yearning for.

We know how they feel. It’s a welcome taste of home.