becoming-carmen-travel-hong-kong-lee-tung-avenue-red-lanterns — **Chinese New Year is a time of celebration, family reunions, and, most importantly, feasting your way into good fortune.**

In Hong Kong, auspicious Chinese New Year foods are so much more than snacks to nibble between lion dances. From nostalgic snacks to elaborate festive dishes, everything on the table is laden with symbolism – prosperity, health, happiness, career progression, and, if your elders have anything to say about it, lots of babies. You name it, there’s a dish for that.

Eating well at this time of year is practically a moral obligation. The sheer abundance of food reflects the collective hope that the coming year will be just as generous. Reunion dinners, poon choi parties, and snack tables that could easily feed a small village – it’s all part of the ritual of unity and togetherness.

If you’re visiting friends and family, don’t turn up empty‑handed. Local supermarkets and wet markets in Hong Kong transform into treasure troves of Chinese New Year snacks and auspicious fruits, so grab something edible and festive on your way. And if you’re the one hosting, it’s customary to return the favour with a small red packet – a tiny envelope, a big gesture.

Happy Chinese New Year – may your year be gloriously over‑catered and filled with abundance and joy.

Puddings and Cakes (糕點)

Just as mooncakes are non‑negotiable at Mid‑Autumn, puddings are the undisputed stars of the Chinese New Year in Hong Kong. These festive cakes are steamed, sliced, and pan‑fried, and then ceremoniously devoured in the days surrounding the New Year, usually as part of family feasts or casual “come over and eat something” visits.

Most Chinese New Year puddings start with flour and water, steamed in moulds until they set into a soft, bouncy slab. The magic happens afterwards: you slice them and pan‑fry until the edges turn crisp and golden, creating that irresistible contrast between sticky centre and crunchy exterior.

In true Hong Kong fashion, the city’s big Chinese restaurant chains and well‑known bakeries release their own branded Chinese New Year puddings weeks before the holiday. Vouchers usually drop not long after Christmas, and a fair warning – the popular ones absolutely sell out. If you’re picky (and you should be), pre‑order.

Turnip Pudding (蘿蔔糕)

Symbolism: Good fortune and good beginnings.

Turnip pudding – or radish cake, if we’re being pedantic – is the white, savoury block you see everywhere, from dim sum trolleys to grandma’s table. It’s made with grated white turnip, studded with Chinese sausage, dried scallops, ham and dried shrimp. The result is a dense, fragrant slab that fries beautifully, especially when dunked in chilli oil or oyster sauce.

Making a good turnip pudding at home, however, is not for the faint‑hearted. The ratio of turnip to flour to water is unforgiving. Too much water from the turnip and you get a tragic, floppy mess that collapses at the mere suggestion of chopsticks and refuses to fry properly. Too little, and it turns into a stodgy brick.

Turnip pudding is the workhorse of the pudding world – you can find it all year round, but the Chinese New Year version feels different, almost like an annual quality check for your chilli oil collection and XO sauce. It’s often the opening act in a long line‑up of puddings, and rightly so.

My go‑to is the turnip pudding from Maxim’s Cakes for its consistent flavour, generous fillings, and just the right firmness for pan‑frying without disintegrating.

Taro Pudding (芋頭糕)

Symbolism: Stability and steady luck.

Taro pudding follows the same logic as turnip pudding but swaps the radish for taro, giving it a slightly darker, earthier look and a much more robust texture. The taro chunks make it delightfully chunky and a bit firmer than its turnip cousin, so it holds up particularly well when sliced and fried. Flavour‑wise, this is one for taro lovers – mildly sweet, nutty, and deeply comforting amongst a crowded festive table of glossy meats and bright greens.

My favourite taro puddings are also from Maxim’s Cakes. If you’re stocking up, get both turnip and taro – there will always be someone at the table with strong opinions about which is superior.

Water Chestnut Pudding (馬蹄糕)

Symbolism: Clarity, sweetness and a fresh start to the year.

If I had to pick just one Chinese New Year pudding, water chestnut pudding would be in a very close race with taro. Made from water chestnut flour and usually sweetened with bar sugar, this pudding has a yellow‑brown, translucent body that looks especially pretty when the light hits it.

The joy is in the texture. Each slice hides crunchy bits of actual water chestnut, giving the pudding a crisp bite that contrasts beautifully with the jellied base. Pan‑fried, the edges caramelise into golden, glassy corners that crackle slightly when you bite into them – it’s dessert, but with personality.

You’ll find water chestnut pudding on the menu at some dim sum restaurants, especially around the New Year. For the at‑home version, my favourites are from Maxim’s Cakes – reliable, fragrant, and just sweet enough without sending you into a sugar spiral.

Glutinous Rice Pudding (年糕)

Symbolism: Climbing higher every year.

If the Chinese New Year had a dessert mascot, it would be glutinous rice pudding. Its Chinese name, “年糕”, sounds like “higher year” (年高) – it’s eaten for advancement, promotions, and levelling up in life. Sticky, chewy and rich with coconut fragrance, it turns up at every house, every office pantry and every relative’s place, whether you asked for it or not.

Made from glutinous rice flour and coconut milk, the pudding has an almost hypnotic aroma when steamed and an even more addictive texture when pan‑fried. Classic versions come in simple shades: white (plain coconut milk), yellow (yellow sugar), red (cane sugar), and brown (dark brown sugar). But of course, this is Hong Kong, so there are fancier takes loaded with bird’s nest or even rose petals if you enjoy your prosperity floral.

Pro tip: When pan‑frying, brush each slice lightly with beaten egg. It helps form a delicate crust and prevents everything from melting into a sticky pile in the pan.

My favourite glutinous rice puddings are from Wah Lai Yuen, which strike that sweet spot (literally) between rich and overkill. If you’re into sweet puddings, I’d also highly recommend the red date puddings (紅棗糕) from Lei Garden, essentially a full‑sized version of their much‑loved dim sum and dangerously easy to keep snacking on.

Chinese Candy Boxes (全盒)

No Chinese New Year snack table in Hong Kong is complete without a Chinese candy box – the elegant, often lacquered container that magically appears whenever guests step through the door. To children, it’s an enchanted treasure chest. To adults, it’s both a design object and a subtle social performance: how well have you curated your sweetness this year?

Historically, during the Ming and Qing dynasties, these were known as “攢盒”, multi‑compartment gift boxes used to arrange food, with “攢” meaning “to piece together and gather”. Over time, they evolved into festive candy boxes filled with snacks symbolising blessings and smooth sailing for the year ahead. The name later shifted to “全盒”, because “存” (saving) and “全” (complete or perfect) share the same pronunciation. Naturally, nothing says auspicious like a box literally named “full and complete”.

Traditional candy boxes usually come with three, five or nine compartments. In ancient China, odd numbers were associated with Yang energy, and the New Year was all about gathering that Yang. Only the royal family could use the “most yang” nine‑grid version, so the more compartments you had, the higher your implied status. Modern interpretation: the number of compartments correlates directly with how seriously you take snacking.

Candied Fruits and Vegetables (八甜)

Symbolism: Each candied piece has its own pun‑filled blessing – together they form a sugary manifesto for the new year.

Candied fruits do it for me, every single time. The traditional “eight sweets” (八甜) are fruits and vegetables preserved in white sugar, each with a homophonic or metaphorical meaning:

Sugared winter melon (糖冬瓜) – good beginnings and good endings (好頭好尾)
Sugared water chestnut (糖馬蹄) – good fortune and smooth luck (馬運亨通)
Sugared lotus root (糖蓮藕) – abundance year after year (年年都有)
Sugared carrots (糖甘筍) and sugared kumquats (糖柑桔) – prosperity and wealth (金玉滿堂)
Sugared lotus seeds (糖蓮子) – continuous births (連生貴子), a favourite among elders with grandchildren agendas
Sugared coconut (糖椰子) – three generations living together in harmony (有爺有子, 三代同堂)

If you’re the sort who plans your Chinese New Year tablescape early, you can buy traditional candied fruits all year round at Yue Hwa. They’re nostalgic, unapologetically sweet and wonderfully old‑school – just the way they should be.

Roasted Seeds (瓜子)

Symbolism: Fertility, abundance and money.

Roasted seeds are the understated backbone of the snack line‑up, with red or black melon seeds, roasted sunflower or pumpkin seeds, and pistachios all making regular appearances. Cracking them might be mildly labour‑intensive, but it’s also a built‑in excuse to linger at the table just a bit longer.

On the surface, they’re simply something to mindlessly nibble while chatting or watching reruns of classic CNY films. Symbolically, they pull double duty:

Fertility and abundant offspring (多子多孫) – because seeds naturally suggest new life
Wealth and money – in ancient times, grabbing seeds was compared to grabbing silver coins (抓銀子)

Sweets, Chocolate and Confectionery (糖果)

Symbolism: Modern sweets don’t always carry formal meanings – but joy, nostalgia and sharing are auspicious enough.

These days, Chinese candy boxes in Hong Kong have modernised. Alongside traditional candied fruits and seeds, you’ll find an eclectic, slightly chaotic selection of chocolates and sweets designed to please everyone from sugar‑high toddlers to jaded millennials.

Crowd favourites disappear at an alarming speed (all’s fair in love and snack warfare), and the line‑up often reflects the era you grew up in. Some classics you’ll frequently see:

Big White Rabbit candies (大白兔奶糖) – chewy, milky, and dangerously moreish
Crispy peanut candies (金絲糖) – striped shells that crack open to reveal a filling of shredded coconut, peanut crumbs and sugar
HONEY Lemon Tea Flavour Bee Candy – for those who like their sugar with a hint of Hong Kong cha chaan teng energy
Kasugai Seika fruit gummies
Lot 100 mango gummies
PINE Soft Drink Spira Balls
Sugus – fruity little squares of childhood
Nougats – my personal favourites are from Nine Two 九二會糖, pillowy yet satisfyingly chewy
Quality Street toffees – because some traditions are suspiciously British
Chocolate coins in gold foil – aesthetically pleasing, flavour‑wise… let’s just say you eat them once and learn your lesson

Deep‑Fried Dough Foods (油器)

Chinese New Year in Hong Kong isn’t just about soft puddings and refined tea sweets – there’s a whole category of deep‑fried goodness that adds golden abundance and a dangerous crunch. These snacks perfume your entire flat with the smell of hot oil, making distant relatives suddenly very keen to visit.

Sesame Balls (煎堆)

Symbolism: Unity, abundance, and a house full of gold and silver.

Sesame balls are widely loved across Guangdong and southern China. Made from glutinous rice flour for that signature chew, they’re rolled into balls, filled with sweet pastes, coated in a generous layer of sesame seeds, and deep‑fried until golden, puffy and irresistible.

Fillings often include red bean, lotus seed, black sesame or peanut paste – all respectable choices that pair perfectly with the crisp shell. The contrast between the crunchy exterior and the soft, molten centre is pure happiness.

The symbolism is just as joyful:

Round shape – completeness, wholeness, family unity
Sesame seeds – richness and abundance
Saying: 「煎堆轆轆，金銀滿屋」 – roughly, “as the sesame balls roll, gold and silver fill the house”

You’ll spot sesame balls on many dim sum menus year‑round, but they feel particularly fitting during Chinese New Year, when everyone hopes their bank accounts will roll upwards, too.

Sesame Cookies (笑口棗)

Symbolism: Laughter, joy and a year full of good news.

Sesame cookies, translating literally to “smiling dates”, are petite, crunchy spheres made from flour, sugar and sesame seeds. When deep‑fried, the surface splits into an uneven crack, making them look as if they’re laughing, hence the name.

They’re wonderfully snackable – crisp, nutty and easy to demolish by the handful. Symbolically, they embody open laughter and cheerful beginnings, the kind of energy everyone wants at the start of the year.

You can find good‑old‑fashioned sesame cookies at traditional bakeries such as Kee Wah. If you’re assembling a snack table, they add great texture and look charming when piled into small bowls.

Deep‑Fried Taro Balls (芋蝦)

Symbolism: Full use of blessings and rolling prosperity.

Deep‑fried taro balls might look like embroidered yarn balls, but bite into one and you’ll understand why they’ve become a festive staple. They’re crunchy and fragrant on the outside, rich in taro aroma yet surprisingly light.

Originally, taro balls were a clever way for older generations to use up the year’s taro harvest before the New Year. They didn’t start out spherical – earlier versions were elongated and slightly curved, hence the Chinese name “taro prawn”. Shredded taro was deep‑fried until golden and crispy, with the loose threads resembling shrimp antennae and legs. Over time, practicality won, and they evolved into the neater ball shape we know today.

You can find deep‑fried taro balls at traditional bakeries like Kee Wah, and they’re a wonderful way to add texture (and a lot of crunch) to your Chinese New Year snack selection.

Crispy Pastry Dumplings (油角)

Symbolism: Gold ingots, rising fortunes, and big ambitions.

Crispy pastry dumplings are affectionately known in Cantonese as “角仔”, “little corners” – flaky half‑moons of deep‑fried dough filled with a lightly sweet or savoury mixture. Once sealed and shaped into crescents, they’re dropped into hot oil and fried until golden and gloriously crunchy. They’re delicious eaten plain, but you can also pair them with soy sauce or sweet chilli if you like to mix your symbolism with a touch of fusion.

Their auspicious reputation stems from a neat homonym: “油角” sounds like “有角”, which gives rise to the saying 「今年吃油角，來年露頭角」 – “eat crispy pastry dumplings this year and you’ll make a name for yourself next year.” The crescent shape also resembles ancient gold ingots, doubling the fortune symbolism with a tidy visual metaphor.

Look out for them at traditional bakeries such as Kee Wah in the lead‑up to the New Year – they’re practically compulsory.

Poon Choi (盆菜)

Symbolism: Communal wealth, shared blessings and overflowing abundance.

Poon choi is less a dish than an event. Sometimes called the “big bowl feast”, it’s a layered, one‑pot celebration traditionally served in large basins for village gatherings in the New Territories.

A classic poon choi is a vertical cross‑section of festive ambition:

Braised meats – pork, chicken, duck, often braised in soy sauce and spices for maximum depth
Seafood – prawns, scallops, squid and other luxe additions for wealth and status
Vegetables – mushrooms, bok choy, radish and friends for colour and texture
Dried seafood – dried oysters, fish maw and other prized ingredients believed to bring good luck and prosperity
Taro and potatoes – starchy sponges that greedily soak up braising juices
Sauces and broth – a rich, savoury liquid, usually made from the cooking juices of everything else, poured over the top

Traditionally, poon choi was a practical solution: villagers pooled resources for big celebrations, and everything was placed in a single shared basin. These days, it’s often pre‑ordered from restaurants in Hong Kong for family reunions or corporate gatherings, then reheated and served family‑style at the table.

Personally, I’m not the biggest fan of poon choi. It’s a rather saucy, wet dish, and after a while, the flavours start to merge into a unified, slightly overwhelming stew. But for many people, that’s exactly the appeal – everything soaking in the same rich gravy, everyone scooping from the same pot. It’s communal, theatrical and undeniably festive.

At its heart, poon choi isn’t just food; it’s a symbol of shared celebration, unity and collective prosperity. And that, more than the ingredients, is what keeps it firmly on the Chinese New Year menu.

Lo Hei / Yu Sheng (撈起 / 魚生)

Symbolism: Rising fortune – the higher the toss, the greater the luck.

If Poon choi is a hearty communal stew, lo hei is its flamboyant, performative cousin, the exuberant, slightly chaotic raw-fish salad most commonly associated with Chinese New Year in Hong Kong, Singapore, and Malaysia.

The dish arrives as a large, meticulously arranged platter:

Raw fish – usually salmon or other fresh seafood, symbolising abundance and prosperity, and served raw to represent life and freshness
Shredded vegetables – carrots, radish, cucumber and green onions for colour, crunch and vibrancy
Pickled ginger and garlic – for harmony, peace and a touch of sharp balance
Sesame seeds and peanuts – for wealth, prosperity and textural satisfaction
Sweet sauce – a glossy drizzle of plum or hoisin‑based sauce binding everything together
Coriander and lime juice – for brightness, freshness and just enough acidity

The ritual is half the fun. Once all the symbolic condiments are added, everyone grabs their chopsticks and starts tossing the salad together – a process known as “撈生” (lo sheng). As you toss, you shout auspicious phrases wishing for good fortune, health, promotions, successful ventures and anything else your heart desires. The unofficial rule: the higher you toss, the greater your fortune. Yes, things get messy. That’s part of the charm.

Lo hei is usually enjoyed with family, friends or colleagues, emphasising unity and collective wishes for the coming year. If you’re invited to a lo hei session, go hungry, wear something washable and practise your prosperity phrases.

Fish (魚)

Symbolism: Surplus for the year ahead.

Serving a whole fish at Chinese New Year is practically non‑negotiable. The word for fish “魚” shares its pronunciation with “餘”, meaning “surplus” or “extra” – and in a culture that prizes having more than enough, this is exactly the kind of pun you want on your table.

A typical Hong Kong New Year fish is served whole (head and tail intact) for completeness, often steamed with ginger, scallions and soy to keep the flavour clean and the symbolism on display, and respectfully presented as one of the centrepieces of the reunion dinner.

The most important part? Don’t finish it. Leaving leftovers symbolises that you’ll have surplus going into the new year – extra money, extra luck, extra everything. There are few things more auspicious than starting the year with intentional abundance in your fridge.

Dumplings (餃子)

Symbolism: Wealth, prosperity and money literally wrapped up for you.

Dumplings are more classically associated with northern Chinese New Year traditions, but they’ve comfortably settled into the city’s festive food repertoire.

Shaped like ancient gold ingots, dumplings symbolise wealth and prosperity. The act of wrapping them is its own mini ritual: families gather, hand‑folding each piece, making them as plump and well‑filled as they hope their bank accounts will be.

They can be boiled (silky and comforting), steamed (delicate and juicy) and pan‑fried (with that coveted crispy skirt and a soft top). Fillings usually feature minced meat or shrimp, along with popular Chinese vegetables such as cabbage, bok choy, chives, or leeks. Everyone has their preferred combo.

Personally, I have a soft spot for the pork-and-leek dumplings from Wanchai Ferry (灣仔碼頭). They’re widely available in Hong Kong supermarkets and perfect for emergency “I forgot to defrost anything but still want something vaguely festive” situations.

Fruits (水果)

Fruits, with their bright colours and round shapes, play a starring role in Chinese New Year traditions in Hong Kong. They’re visually appealing, relatively healthy compared with the rest of the menu, and rich in layered meanings thanks to Chinese homophones.

Oranges, Mandarins and Kumquats (橙、柑、金桔)

Symbolism: Great fortune and thriving prosperity.

As the saying goes, 「金為財，桔為吉」 – “gold represents wealth, orange represents luck”. The formal name for orange is “橘”, often written as “桔”, which literally contains the character for luck “吉”.

These sunny citrus fruits are practically shorthand for Chinese New Year; their bright golden colour represents fortune, while their round shape symbolises family unity and togetherness. Businesses and households alike decorate with potted kumquat trees, their glossy leaves and tightly clustered fruits signalling wealth and peace.

During New Year visits, it’s customary to exchange tangerines and oranges as gifts – a simple yet striking gesture that instantly brightens any living room or office reception.

Persimmons (柿子)

Symbolism: Smooth sailing in every matter.

Persimmons are bright little suns of good luck. The word “柿” is a near‑homophone of “事”, so they symbolise the wish that everything – all matters, big and small – will go smoothly in the coming year “事事如意”.

Their round, plump shape represents perfection and completeness, while their saturated orange hue adds an instant festive pop to any fruit arrangement. They’re also ideal as gifts or offerings, especially if you appreciate symbolism that’s both poetic and photogenic.

Pomelos (碌柚)

Symbolism: Blessings, abundance and a very auspicious bath.

Pomelos might dominate the Mid‑Autumn Festival, but they also deserve a solid supporting role at the Chinese New Year. Their Chinese name “柚” is homophonic with “blessing” (佑) and “have” (有), linking the fruit to both divine protection and abundance. In Hakka, “碌” (luk) echoes “祿” (lu) from the trio 福祿壽 – the gods of fortune, prosperity and longevity. So yes, this citrus is doing the absolute most symbolically.

Traditionally, the whole fruit is kept untouched from the Chinese New Year until the Lantern Festival, then finally eaten to “release” its blessings into the year. There’s also a cleansing ritual: on the 28th of the last lunar month, the designated day for pre‑New Year cleaning, people boil pomelo leaves and bathe in the fragrant water to wash away bad luck before stepping into the new year.

In Hong Kong, you’ll see small bundles of pomelo leaves sold at local fruit stalls in the final days before the New Year. They’re easy to overlook until you know what you’re looking at – and then you’ll see them everywhere.

Apples (蘋果)

Symbolism: Peace and safety.

Apples, especially bright red ones, are classic symbols of peace and harmony. The word “蘋” shares its sound with “平”, meaning “peace” or “calm”, so apples are sometimes nicknamed “平安果”, literally “safety fruit”.

Their glossy red skins also fit neatly into the festive colour palette of luck and celebration. You’ll often find them nestled in fruit baskets gifted among families, neighbours, colleagues and clients – discreetly conveying “may your year be safe and peaceful” without a word.

Pineapples (菠蘿)

Symbolism: Good fortune, prosperity and fertility.

Pineapples are anything but subtle in their symbolism. In Minnan dialect, pineapple sounds like “旺來” (prosperity comes), giving rise to the cheerful saying 「好運旺旺來」 – may good luck come rolling in. In Cantonese, “golden pineapple” is homophonic with “a cherished child” (金笸箩), adding another layer of symbolism around fertility and hopes for children. It’s a multi‑tasking fruit at its finest.

Display them whole as a centrepiece or slice them to serve. Either way, they bring bold colour, fresh sweetness and very energetic symbolism to the table.

Glutinous Rice Balls (湯圓)

Symbolism: Reunion, completeness and family unity.

Glutinous rice balls are the gentle, quietly emotional finale of the Chinese New Year season. They’re especially associated with the Lantern Festival, which marks the official end of the celebrations, but in Hong Kong, they often appear throughout the festive period. The symbolism is straightforward and lovely: perfectly round shapes for completeness, reunited dumplings bobbing together in one bowl for family unity and togetherness.

Made from glutinous rice flour mixed with water, these smooth, chewy dumplings are filled with sweet pastes such as black sesame, peanut, and red bean. They’re boiled until tender, then served in a lightly sweetened syrup made from water and bar sugar, often perfumed with ginger or osmanthus flowers. The result is soothing, delicately fragrant and vaguely addictive.

On a personal note, my favourite glutinous rice balls are the sesame‑filled ones from Siu Ning Bo (小寧波), and larger peanut‑filled ones from Lee Chun (利川). Both are easily found in Hong Kong supermarkets and are excellent to keep on standby in the freezer. Perfect for cold nights, unexpected guests or sudden cravings for something hot, sweet and auspicious.

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