In this week’s Hong Kong Edition, we take a look at the changing restaurant landscape up on Victoria Peak — so long, Burger King — and speak with a local piano prodigy. For the Review, we find a vegan dim sum spot where even self-proclaimed carnivores won’t miss the meat.

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King Off the Hill 

We say farewell this weekend to a Victoria Peak institution.

Not the Tram, of course, nor the Peak Galleria. We’re talking about the Peak branch of Burger King, long the American fast-food chain’s last bastion in the city proper (an airport venue, located past security, lives on).

While the restaurant was packed during a recent Saturday visit, there were hints of an empire in decline, not least the line of broken self-serve kiosks at the time. The Whoppers weren't as whopping as you might expect either, and they cost a heady HK$73 ($9.38) each. Burger King on the Peak closes Sunday. 

One last look. Photographer: Tara Mulholland/Bloomberg

It was clear from the rest of our tour around the city’s most famous vantage point that there’s been a significant transition of power up there. Restaurant heavyweight Black Sheep has left its mark all over the hilltop, opening five new venues this year.

“The Peak is such an iconic location,” Akbar Butt, Black Sheep’s chief operating officer, told us. The group now has six ventures on the Peak, a special place for him and his fellow executives who grew up in Hong Kong and take inspiration from it. “For a while, we felt the F&B program could really benefit from a few upgrades over there.”

The transformation of the Peak’s gastro scene is a microcosm of a larger trend playing out across the city. We’ve written plenty in this newsletter about the challenges Hong Kong restaurants face as spending habits shift among locals and tourists. People have become thriftier since the pandemic, an issue compounded by the allure of bargains across the border in Shenzhen.

“If Hong Kong was the city that never slept, it looks like the not-so-sleepy people have moved north,” John Wong, an associate dean and professor at the University of Hong Kong who has studied business in the region, told us when we rang him this week. Options in Shenzhen are cheaper and varied, offering what he called “a repertoire of cuisines that can rival Hong Kong in many ways.”

Pricing is key to surviving as a Hong Kong restaurant operator. While Black Sheep owns several luxury and premium eateries, there’s been a “shift in strategy” toward value-conscious consumers as a component of the company’s expansion plans, Butt said. 

All Black Sheep. Photographer: Tara Mulholland/Bloomberg

Take pizza, for example: Customers at Falcone, Black Sheep’s neo-Neapolitan style pizzeria, can expect to dine out for at least HK$400 each. At Peak Pizza — a by-the-slice joint the company opened in January — a meal runs closer to HK$50 (if one slice is enough to sate your appetite).

Formulating the secret sauce that brings in customers can be expensive. Black Sheep founder Syed Asim Hussain late last year pegged the company’s spend on new developments at $30 million. Roughly half of that has been directed toward its hometown Hong Kong, including the Peak venues. 

Turning that investment into profit has required some agility. Butt said some of Black Sheep’s recent success was born from pop-up experiments — including Peak Pizza, which got its start as a temporary spot in the city’s Soho neighborhood. Peng Leng Jeng, the company’s take on a traditional dai pai dong, is extending a pop-up run because of strong demand. 

There’s an advantage in being small and nimble, said Jonathan Glover, founder and director of the Hidden Gem restaurant group.

“Gone are the days of fat cats with expense accounts spending 1,500 bucks on lunch,” he said. “Tourists, particularly the international business traveler, are not here in the way they were.”

Hidden Gem — owner of the Flat Iron Steak chain, as well as the recently opened Picanhas’ and Lasagna Factory — designs its concepts around specific meats that can be imported at high volume and lower cost. All restaurants are supplied by a centralized butchery and kitchen, enabling them to operate with smaller on-site kitchens and higher seating capacity. 

Specific meat: 200-days grain-fed Black Angus at Picanhas’. Photographer: Filipe Pacheco/Bloomberg

The company also leases existing restaurant spaces that have failed or are being vacated, allowing it to avoid expensive refurbishments while negotiating rent and revenue-sharing opportunities with landlords.

The restaurant industry can be notoriously brutal, and the past few years haven’t been kind to many operators in Hong Kong and elsewhere. But Glover is bullish about the future of the city’s food industry. It’s just a matter of making sure the price is right.

“The locals are here,” Glover said. “We don’t know what’s going to happen, but we’re a small enough group and lean enough and flexible enough to pivot. And that’s the key.” —Jill Disis and Tara Mulholland

Chart of the Week: Property Heights

The Peak is also living up to its reputation as the city’s premier neighborhood for luxury homes. A mansion at 1 Gough Hill Road sold for almost HK$1.1 billion Tuesday, the priciest sale this year. The house spans more than 1,063 square meters (11,442 square feet) with five bedrooms and a private lift. And in another sign of the property market perking up, driven by an IPO boom and a lengthy period of low borrowing costs, Richard Li’s insurer FWD on Wednesday signed the biggest office deal of 2025 at Swire’s Taikoo Place. —Venus Feng

Five Minutes With: Hong Kong’s Piano Superstar

Pianist Aristo Sham made history in June as the first Hong Konger to win the Van Cliburn International Piano Competition, a once-every-four-year contest that’s viewed as the Olympics of the instrument. The 29-year-old Harvard graduate will play two homecoming recitals this weekend, performing some of the solo works that helped him stand out among the 28 competitors from 15 countries. (Forget about scoring tickets; they went in a flash.)

Sham, who was featured in the BBC’s The World’s Greatest Musical Prodigies, began piano lessons at the age of 3, toured with an orchestra by 8 and performed for dignitaries including former Chinese President Hu Jintao and British royalty as a teenager. But there’s never a guarantee that child stars will keep shining into adulthood. Despite his early success, Sham once sought a “normal” life, earning a degree in economics — while concurrently getting his master’s from the New England Conservatory — before fully committing to music.

We spoke with Sham about how that pivot came about, the new “sounds and colors” he made on stage playing Beethoven, and what his degree has to do with Bach. —Alan Wong 

Aristo Sham, at different stages of his music career. Photographer: Justin Chin; Jessica Sham

Did you realize how unusual your talent was at a young age? 

I enjoyed what I was doing and was not even aware that it’s unusual. I only felt it was strange after 10, when I won an award in Germany and received media attention. The first big change was around 13 or 14, when I realized others didn’t spend as much time on music, and maybe there were other things I wanted to explore.

I was losing a bit of interest in music and I went the other way. I wanted to study normal stuff, be as “normal” as possible. But I fully committed to music at 21, halfway through my degree. I went to the finals of one competition and I realized, “They are better than me but I can be there. I just haven’t committed to what I’m doing.” That was a moment of epiphany for me.

Is there a way your economics training informs your musical approach?

The way I understand and make music involves structuring things and understanding structures with everything being completely rational. Everything adding up together in music is very important to me. I think I always had it intuitively, but my economics education had an influence on that.

Bach is the grandfather of this, followed by Beethoven and Brahms, who attained this to the highest level, along with later composers like Rachmaninoff and Scriabin. To deliver a message, to express something, I think it has maximum impact if it’s fully understandable. It’s just  that the mathematics adds up. In Scriabin’s case, all the chaos is order; every note is meticulously placed to create the illusion of chaos, but each note is exactly where it should be.

What was your experience at Cliburn?

For many years, due to my background, people in the industry called me “the most famous unfamous pianist.” I understood that, but I don’t go into competitions thinking about my chances. I just try to push myself to be my very best at every stage. I felt I developed tremendously during the competition, becoming a completely different person musically, pianistically, and in professional maturity. During the competition, you spend every waking moment trying to squeeze everything out of yourself.

I remember even giving myself lessons in dreams, like completing the emotion of a harmonic progression or developing the pulsation of a passage. I recall a YouTube comment saying the slow movement of Hammerklavier [Piano Sonata No. 29, a piece Beethoven wrote when almost completely deaf] sealed the deal. That was the first moment in the competition where I felt truly centered, making sounds and colors I had never done before in my life.

How has Hong Kong reacted to your win?

The response has been beyond anyone’s imagination. I don’t think any other place would respond similarly, which is extraordinary. Friends from around the world say it might be in the newspaper for a day or two elsewhere, but not like what’s happening here. 

What was the strategy in your choice of repertoire for the Cliburn?

The previous two winners played Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 3, and the last winner Yunchan Lim’s Rach 3 was so widely lauded that I realized whatever I did, even “the best Rach 3 ever,” people would still compare me negatively because his fans are crazy. [Lim won the award at 18, the youngest ever.]

We’re very different musicians. I’m also near the upper end of the age limit, so portraying maturity aligns with my musical values and, if I do well, paves the way for me to play the music I want in my career.

How does the future look to you?

I’m happy and flexible. For example, streaming is a big thing now, and classical musicians and labels have figured out how to play the streaming algorithm game. The biggest sort of playlists are always more ambient stuff, right? A lot of albums, even by very respected artists, often include smaller pieces to serve this purpose. The endgame of all performing arts is butts in seats.

The Review: A Dim Sum Refuge for Vegetarians

In Hong Kong, you don’t need to step inside a restaurant to know what’s cooking. Roast ducks dangle in windows, char siu glows behind glass and the scent of pork buns fills the air. Meat is front and center, a daily celebration of flavor and tradition.

But for those like me who grew up vegetarian, options tend to be limited to the usual suspects like stir-fried greens or tofu in brown sauce. So when a friend mentioned a 100% plant-based dim sum spot serving authentic Cantonese flavors, I quickly called and made a reservation. I also dragged along two self-avowed carnivore friends, not least in honor of the Hungry Ghost Festival in September, when many locals forgo meat. 

Scents of soy, ginger and vinegar greet you as soon as you step into Veggie Kingdom. The kitchen, visible through glass at the back of the room, hums with activity as chefs work in sync, pleating dumplings by hand, to the occasional flash and clang of woks.

Veggie Kingdom Source: Veggie Kingdom

Father-son Sanjay and Sunny Bhimsaria set up Veggie Kingdom with chef Dicky Yip in 2021 in Tsim Sha Tsui, the branch we visited, before adding a second location in Causeway Bay early this year. The three share a passion for authentic, plant-based Cantonese cuisine and the goal of creating a no-frills space where anyone — including vegans, Chinese Buddhists and Indian communities — can enjoy high quality, flavorful food.

Dishes are designed to reimagine classic Cantonese cuisine, from dim sum to roasted meats. They also avoid garlic and onions to be suitable for various religious groups. While many Hong Kong vegan or vegetarian joints look to the West for trends, Veggie Kingdom takes a road less traveled. There’s no Beyond Meat, Impossible Pork or lab-grown substitutes. The restaurant doesn’t cast vegetables as supporting actors — wheat gluten, mushrooms, tofu, eggplants and fresh produce are royalty here. 

The wok-fried monkey head mushrooms might fool you into believing you’re eating sweet-and-sour pork. Photographer: Supriya Batra/Bloomberg

We visited on a Saturday for the 12:35 p.m. lunch session (there are also seatings at 11 a.m. and 2:30 p.m.), and our total came to HK$636 for a selection of 10 dishes, including two mains and two desserts.

The vibe: No flashy signs or Instagrammable decor here, but there are traditional Chinese elements sprinkled throughout, from the large red Changshou knot with a golden “fu” (福) character symbolizing good fortune to the wooden lanterns with calligraphy hanging from the ceiling. While there’s calm music in the background, it’s overtaken by the buzz of diners and the steam and sizzle of the kitchen.

Who’s next to you? The place was packed when we came for lunch. My friends and I were surrounded by a mix of people of various ages, including Chinese families with elderly parents, large groups of Indians, couples with toddlers, and expats from Europe and elsewhere. I struck up a conversation with a trio from London at the next table, one of whom said he’d been a repeat visitor. The siu mai, he said with a grin, “tastes better than the OG.”

Can you conduct a meeting here? No, the tables are too close for a professional meeting (but you can chat up the table next to you). You can have a team lunch, a family outing or even a relaxed date here. This is a place to enjoy food, not to network.

What we’d order again: It’s safe to say I will be back, likely with a bigger group, just for the dim sum alone. Most start at HK$39, making them some of the most affordable and satisfying in the city. The spicy salt crispy eggplant (HK$72) is a must. Stacked like golden Jenga blocks, the fried exterior provides a nice contrast to the tender gooeyness inside. This is a dish that looks as striking as it tastes.

The spicy salt crispy eggplant are presented like a stack of Jenga blocks. Photographer: Supriya Batra/Bloomberg

From the mains, I would pick the wok-fried monkey head mushroom (HK$138) again. It is a dead ringer for sweet-and-sour pork: sticky, tangy, chewy but made entirely from fungus. Even my die-hard non-vegetarian friends were impressed by its texture and taste. Both enjoyed the meatless meal though one remarked the price seemed high compared with local cha chaan tengs. For dessert, the mango pudding, made with coconut milk, offers a light, sweet finish.

Need to know: Veggie Kingdom has two branches. The original is on the seventh floor of VIP Commercial Centre at 120 Canton Road in Tsim Sha Tsui. It opens daily from 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. for lunch and 6 p.m. to 10 p.m. for dinner. Reservations are essential and can be made by phone at +852 2366 3233. Its Causeway Bay branch is on the fourth floor of Kyoto Plaza at 491-499 Lockhart Road, and takes bookings at +852 2366 9223. —Supriya Batra

Read our reviews of restaurants with green Michelin stars: recently reopened Roganic, plant-inspired Feuille, and Mora, where soy is the star.

Are there any restaurants you’d like us to review? Drop us a line at hkedition@bloomberg.net.

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