Before he was a chef, Chan Yau-Leung was a boxer. The discipline, rhythm, and intensity of the ring eventually translated into his mastery of Cantonese cuisine. With a career spanning top-tier establishments such as Fook Lam Moon and Guo Fu Lau, today he leads a youthful, energetic brigade at Duddell’s—a space where culture and cuisine meet in the heart of Central.

Meeting Chef Chan, one immediately senses the gravitas of his food—solid, polished, confident. But what leaves an even deeper impression is the atmosphere in his kitchen: three of his lead chefs are barely in their thirties, and yet there’s no hierarchy in tone, no sense of distance. Chan isn’t a chef who leads by command; he leads through trust and craft.

That day, he presented his signature “Crystal Prawn with Chicken Broth”—a dish refined over more than two decades. Vietnamese jumbo prawns are transformed with fine knife work into translucent, blossoming forms. The broth, extracted from mature chicken slow-boiled in a traditional clay pot, is milky, rich, and resonant with umami. The prawns are gently poached in hot oil, locking in a sweetness that’s layered and pure.

“Perfection,” he says, “isn’t about flair. It’s about mastering every detail.” One could say the same of him.

Few chefs know how to cook with time. Li Chi-Wai, Executive Chinese Chef at The Legacy House at Rosewood Hong Kong, is one of them.

Best known for his deep passion for chenpi—the prized aged tangerine peel from Xinhui—Chef Li has elevated this traditional ingredient into a centrepiece of haute Cantonese cuisine. For most diners, chenpi might conjure images of medicine drawers or congee shops, but to Chef Li, it is an aromatic archive, a link to childhood, and a symbol of patience and age.

Born and raised in Xinhui, Li grew up surrounded by the scent and stories of chenpi. Today, he curates tasting menus showcasing chenpi of different vintages, allowing diners to savour the passage of time through flavour. In our meeting, he brought out a selection of peels—some over two decades old—each with distinct fragrance, colour, and history.

One standout dish was the “Deep-fried Duck, Mashed Taro and 24-year-old Chenpi.” The taro was silky and weightless, the duck meat infused with the natural aroma of chenpi, brought a lingering warmth that tied the entire dish together.

While some refer to aged chenpi as “gold that grows on trees,” for Li, it is a memory—a scent of home, of heritage, and of something worth sharing with the world.

Chef Zhen Liu doesn’t talk about mentorships, but his dedication to passing down skill is evident in every move. Trained in a military culinary academy, he built his foundation on discipline and technique—qualities that now anchor his role as head chef at the Hong Kong outpost of Yong Fu.

Originally founded in Shanghai, Yong Fu has become one of the most respected fine-dining Chinese restaurants, known for its rigorous treatment of Ningbo cuisine—a refined play of saltiness and umami, or xian. In Hong Kong, Chef Liu continues that mission, adapting local ingredients to craft dishes that are faithful yet forward-looking.

He thrives on the city’s culinary crosscurrents. “The best part of working here,” he says, “is the mutual respect among chefs—people value originality and honour each other’s creativity.”

Chef Liu’s precision recalls the Japanese ideal of issho kenmei 一所懸命 —a life committed wholly to one thing. He prefers simple relationships and honest work, and he strives to present Ningbo flavours in their purest, most expressive form.

His signature king crab two-ways is a perfect example. Though king crab is not native to Ningbo, it’s a prized delicacy in Hong Kong. Drawing inspiration from typhoon shelter-style crab, Chef Liu reinterprets it through a Ningbo lens. One version is stewed king crab leg with minced pork and Ningbo-style soybean paste; the other, wok-fried king crab with bamboo shoots and preserved vegetables. One dish is soft and savoury, the other bright and briny—together, they exemplify a harmony of innovation and tradition.