[FICTION] “Consumption” by Sam Powney

^{Photograph © Oliver Farry}

It was only when her gym closed down that Apple sensed things may have gone too far. She arrived one day to find, in typical Hong Kong fashion, that her gym had disappeared, the premises boarded up and renovation already underway for the imminent arrival of a new restaurant. She had been too busy to visit the gym for a few days and, like some fragile succulent, it had perished in her brief absence.

This was a personal shock, she had depended on the gym to burn off excess calories, but no surprise. Rather, it was the way of the city: food was king here. She was in the restaurant game herself, having left the finance world a few years ago in search of something more fulfilling. Inspired by shows like The Bear and Midnight Diner, she had quit her compliance job and opened a Spanish fusion restaurant in North Point.

Her boss took her resignation more stoically than she had imagined and even confessed to having a similar dream himself. He said he wanted to start a Taiwanese restaurant in Sheung Wan one day. He advised her on the financial details, how to get investment, manage cash flow, set up employee insurance, tips which proved extremely valuable, especially during the first few difficult months.

It was much more demanding work than Apple had ever done before. Even with three kitchen staff and two waiters, she still had to get up before first light every day and found herself answering messages long into the night. The time between was a daily furore of physical and emotional strain, a never-ending barrage of decisions and emergencies. It left her a frayed husk, but pride in what she had created kept her going. Her restaurant had a flavour and atmosphere that could be found nowhere else in Hong Kong.

The magazines and influencers agreed, in fact, they were swarming her even before opening day. The customers followed in their masses. Apple’s restaurant rarely had an unbooked dinner table, let alone a quiet day.

That being said, the finances were seldom better than break-even. The menu was higher mid-range, and even the lunch menu was relatively expensive, yet her revenue only just covered the cost of exotic ingredients, a hyper-transient workforce (she quickly learned not to get attached to employees), the exorbitant rent, and a tormenting welter of bills. She had barely paid off the initial cost of the Andalusian interior design by the time a refurbishment was needed.

Despite her all-consuming focus on steering her restaurant past the first-year rapids where so many others foundered, Apple occasionally got intimations of wider changes in the city. She had noticed the closing shops and other businesses, and was worried about increased competition from the swelling numbers of newly opened restaurants. It wasn’t just Spanish-themed restaurants (although these alone had quadrupled in the space of a single year), but more the sheer volume of eateries of every kind.

One lunchtime she counted the restaurants on her street. Despite the unfêted location, Apple was stunned to tally no less than 79 cooked food venues. She had never before fully appreciated the range of choice in her immediate vicinity. They spanned the full gamut, from greasy dai pai dongs and “three-dish-rice” takeaway joints, through mid-range steakhouses and ice cream sellers, to a couple of discreet but eye-wateringly expensive sushi bars.

It was part of a larger trend: food seemed to be all anyone was interested in. Bars, cafés, bookstores, florists: all felt obliged to sell increasing varieties of food options in addition to their usual trade, even if they clearly didn’t have the space to prepare it. Apple herself spent a large quantity of her income trying out new restaurants, and, needless to say, posting about them on social media. It was a great way (perhaps the only way) of producing fresh content to maintain her follower base and ensure they didn’t forget about her restaurant. She found that sharing glowing reviews of other Spanish restaurants had no ill effect on her customer stream. Competition did not exist, only insatiable demand and the struggle to feed it.

Apple’s financial concerns were not hers alone, and it was reassuring when the government finally stepped in to help the industry. Had they not, the economy would surely have collapsed. Restaurants from Aberdeen to Sheung Shui were swimming against an impossible economic tide, and experts began to warn about a looming “event horizon” unless bold action was taken.

An online petition of restauranteurs and economic realists quickly gained steam and forced the government to face facts. Either it supported the food and beverage industry, or the restaurants, now making up 60% of businesses and 70% of the workforce, would sink and take the city down with them. Free market cabinet members schooled in the Thatcher era swallowed their revulsion and accepted the need for government intervention.

Fortunately, ministers had a ready digital solution to hand. They didn’t call it a union or co-operative, but the “Eat Out!” app came to encompass nearly all the city’s restaurants in a system of heavily subsidised gastronomy. Indeed, the scheme’s security encouraged a fresh crop of restaurants to open, bringing the sector’s share of the economic pie up to 80%. A free-for-all it was not, however. The financial secretary craftily tied subsidies to a government-approved online ratings system, thus replacing the hidden hand with a digital thumbs-up.

Now more than ever, restaurants had to dazzle. They searched desperately for new ways to pique customers’ interest, and rapidly copied their rivals’ latest schemes. On the other hand, while venues struggled to accommodate their clientele’s spiralling expectations, the cooks and cleaners and waiters made precisely the same kind of demands as soon as they stepped through another establishment’s door. The humblest dishwasher expected nothing less than a culinary nirvana when he took his girlfriend to the next-door udon joint.

Nobody cooked for themselves any more, and simple fare was heresy. The city sprouted a bewildering new swathe of exotic and fusion cuisine: Greco-Japanese goat curry, Finnish fried chicken, Belgian churros, Mongolian fish and chips, Canadian dimsum, Surinamese fondue. Elaborate garnishes became de rigueur, complimentary starters and desserts were par for the course, and many establishments forced their staff to practise song-and-dance routines or other entertainment for their guests.

It was in this context that the culture of “forking” began. Apple started hearing about restaurants in Central and Causeway Bay where waiters would delicately lift morsels into their patrons’ mouths, hovering discreetly at their side with a fork in one arm and a large napkin folded over the other. It was first inspired by romantic gestures in Korean TV dramas, but before long it had become a local norm; customers arrived in Apple’s restaurant who simply sat down, ordered, and opened their mouths expectantly like chicks in a nest. She bowed to the inevitable, but as there were never enough waiters to feed every mouth, Apple was forced to help out as a “forker” herself.

Eventually, the scale of activity became too frenetic, with teams of overworked forkers up and down Hong Kong having no time to get forked themselves. By now, 90% of the working-age population was working in the F&B sector, yet consumer appetite remained unsatisfied.

The government was forced to step in again. There was no question of abandoning forking, it was now viewed as a basic dining right, the only way to eat with dignity. Instead, a system was devised whereby people could fork each other at the same time. This necessarily narrowed people’s choice of restaurant (pairings were organised through “Eat Out!”), but as nearly all restaurants were by now of Michelin-star or equivalent status, this was not hugely important. People preferred to be guaranteed a forking than to choose a venue and risk not being forked. However, as a special concession, once a month each user could request a specific forking venue of their choice.

A mutual forking was a delicate simultaneous operation, not only because of the physical constraints, but also because of the weight of expectation that each customer placed on the other. A forker was expected to show the utmost tact, respect, and attentiveness when forking their customer, regardless of whether he or she was being forked at the same time. Mercifully, chopsticks had fallen out of favour.

Apple snapped a photo of the small sign on the boarded-up premises explaining how to claim her membership refund. This appeared to be a tedious process involving multiple identity verifications through, inevitably, the Eat Out! app. Again, she couldn’t shake the impression that life had been less aggravating in the time before Eat Out! and forking, and that perhaps all of this couldn’t carry on indefinitely, that she had had about as much as she could take.

Then her eye was drawn to an advertisement for the restaurant-to-be, a Madagascan high tea and macaron salon represented in saturated AI imagery. “Forkers and assistant forkers for every customer!” it proclaimed. She quickly opened “Eat Out!” and pre-booked herself an opening-day forking.

^{How to cite: Powney, Sam. “Consumption.” Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, 13 Sept. 2026, chajournal.com/2026/09/13/consumption.}

Sam Powney writes satirical poetry, verse, and short stories. His first poetry collection, Special Characters (Trivial Disaster Press, 2024), explores subjects ranging from Brexit to beg-packing, and from the nature of heaven to Hong Kong’s Food and Environmental Hygiene Department. He was lead editor of the Hong Kong Writers Circle’s 2024–2025 anthology, Score, and is an associate editor at The Apostrophe magazine.