It's cooked tableside - perfect for your Insta feed.

Two things are vying for my attention. I'm seated by the window at Hong Kong's award-winning Hutong restaurant, renowned for its contemporary take on northern Chinese cuisine. In front of me are Hong Kong Island's famous harbour lights. Its nightly show, A Symphony of Lights, where skyscrapers beam colourful lightsabers into the sky, has just commenced. Any thought of the city being cautious with power usage is knocked into the stratosphere.
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Right beside me, another light show begins. I ordered the restaurant's signature flaming duck; its name is to be taken literally. A hood-wearing, black-gloved chef wheels a workbench featuring a giant pan the size of an acoustic drum next to my table. A tiny desk lamp in the corner barely illuminates the pan and could be mistaken for a prop. Yet serious late-night business is about to take place.
The chef moves the half-roasted duck off a plate and onto the pan. Va voom! The pan burns bright. Light-blue flames move like electric currents along the pan's base, mutating into an intense orange blaze. The chef holds the duck's leg, twirling it around anticlockwise, sealing the flavours of its Peking baste. Kylie Minogue's Spinning Around springs to mind as I'm mesmerised by the chef continuously moving my future meal in a circular motion. "I know you're feeling me 'cause you like it like this" - the soundtrack to my sizzling duck.
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It's all over within minutes. The duck is removed from the pan and thinly sliced to reveal rose-coloured meat crowned with crispy, browned skin. It's plated next to a bamboo steamer filled with pancakes and a platter of thin cucumber slices, hoisin sauce and slivers of spring onion strips.
The meal is meant to serve two, but after one pancake roll then another, then another, it eventually disappears. I'm slightly mortified that I consumed a whole half-duck to myself.




