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“CHEEEEEEEEEERS!” Plastic cups of milk tea are chimed by two banquet tables celebrating a fuschia-pink birthday girl in joyous clamour. And, just like any Chinese restaurant, the rest of the dining room is unfazed, clinking chopsticks against porcelain bowls whilst chattering in a steady stream of animated Cantonese.

Close your eyes and you could be in downtown Hong Kong. Open them again and you’re in the middle of sleepy Telopea – now with shiny new Parramatta light rail stop out the front.

Tony and Jessie Peng are the husband-and-wife owners of Fishboy Kitchen, which also goes by the name Taste of Hong Kong if you’re searching for it on Google. What started as an online business selling mackerel-based fish balls eventually flourished into a retail shop (still open next door) and, in 2021, a dine-in restaurant. It’s heaving with Hong Kong expats on the night I’m here.

Everyone has prebooked, and those who walk in without a reservation are turned away disappointed. The decor is typically no-nonsense – menu posters adorn the mint green walls; jacquard polyester covers each table.

The Pengs have a staunch commitment to making everything themselves. 

A photograph-heavy binder menu is crammed with Hong Kong classics (hello, curry beef brisket and those fish balls) but there are less famous gems too, such as pan-fried lotus root cake. Usually served in dim sum restaurants, these plump and golden-fried pork patties are a treat. Each bite has a juicy savouriness with the refreshing crunch of lotus root flecked throughout.

“Fishman steamed rice” is a signature, with the lid of its giant bamboo steamer dramatically lifted at the table to unleash the sea-sweet aromas of dried prawns and scallops, toothfish and fresh squid. Rice on the bottom of the steamer absorbs all the mingling juices.

Meanwhile, steamed pork mince with salted fish offers an instant nostalgia hit for Hong Kongers. The dish is more commonly cooked by busy parents at home than served in restaurants – the kind of meal that’s whipped up quickly, to be eaten with a heap of fluffy rice. Here the pork is majestically soft and almost springy, contrasted against crunchy pops of water chestnut.

The fish adding flavour to that pork mince is a fillet of pomfret salted in-house. The Pengs have a staunch commitment to making everything themselves, from the addictive candied walnuts that arrive as table snacks to the XO sauce you can buy for $32 a jar.

I’m dining with expats too, and they both reckon it’s the most authentic Hong Kong food they’ve encountered in Sydney outside of home-cooked meals. Not “authentic” in the tradition of elaborate old-school banquet dishes, but contemporary Hong Kong cuisine that focuses on making things from scratch and using local ingredients. (One friend later realises her mum regularly visits next door to buy take-home products including fish stock and siu mai dumplings.)

Word to the wise: Don’t skip the soups. The “mini” version of Buddha Jumps Over the Wall (the name coined because even vegetarian-sworn monks are said to have been lured by its deliciousness) is a riot of umami and luxury ingredients such as abalone, sea cucumber, scallop and longan fruit. The pork, chicken and seafood-based broth is its own wonder, layered with subtle sweetness.

If you have ailments that need curing, there’s the cordyceps flower rattle soup – a double-boiled elixir based on traditional Chinese medicine and believed to boost immunity. Cordyceps flower looks like golden enoki mushrooms, and you’ll also find dried scallop and a whole chicken foot buried in the bowl. Red dates and goji berries add pops of sweetness to a clear soup that’s otherwise relatively mild in flavour.

Drinks are typical of Hong Kong’s cha chaan teng diners, such as milk tea, lemon ginger honey, and iced Coke with lemon. If you only order one, go for the honeydew and bittermelon juice. It’s a palate-challenging mix of honeydew with the faint trail of bittermelon, but makes a great digestive aid for any rich food.

In further melon adventures, there’s also the deep-fried melon-flavoured soy milk for dessert. Usually made by deep-frying logs of chilled milk custard, the kitchen uses honeydew for a fruitier finish. It tastes as bizarre as it sounds, but it’s also strangely compelling, with a silky filling and bubbly, light batter to create satisfying crunch with every bite. Certainly worth hopping on the Parramatta light rail for.