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Chloe Loung

In Hong Kong neighbourhoods that once hummed with the sound of clinking glasses and chattering diners, independent kitchens sit closed behind metal grilles and many of the restaurants that remain open rarely fill.
The silence is all the more striking because just across the border with mainland China, Shenzhen’s shopping centres and food streets heave with Hongkongers queuing for hotpot, milk tea and beauty treatments.
Even Kosei Kamatani, a prominent Japanese restaurateur who has managed several Hong Kong hotspots over the past two decades, is feeling the pressure.
Last year, he was forced to close the original Ippei-an Ramen & Bar – one of the first ramen shops in Hong Kong and his own family’s legacy – alongside other venues he was running.
The post-pandemic script, Kamatani says, looked so promising at first. Borders reopened, and the industry braced for “revenge spending” – the pent-up splurge of millions of stir-crazy consumers.
What they did not realise was that the money flowed as expected – just not into local tills.
The upgraded high-speed rail turned Shenzhen into a weekend default, while the yen’s historic weakness made Tokyo and other Japanese cities absurdly attractive alternatives, where an omakase meal that might easily cost HK$1,000 (US$130) in Hong Kong could be enjoyed for less than half.
“They never spent it here,” Kamatani says. “They all ended up going anywhere else, and sales have dropped significantly. That’s really what’s hurt us the most.”

What makes the squeeze particularly punishing is that the cost of doing business has not eased. Rents, especially in malls where landlords are constrained by valuation targets, have stayed flat or edged up. Food costs – Hong Kong imports almost everything – are at an all-time high, particularly for the Japanese ingredients Kamatani’s kitchens rely on. Salaries, once paid, never go down.
For a while, he was losing money in multiple shops. His decision to close Ippei-An at its Mira Place location was less a choice than a must.
Kamatani is only one of the many owners in a sea of struggling Hong Kong restaurants. According to The Legislative Council (Legco) Secretariat Research Office, the first quarter of 2026 saw a 7.2 per cent drop in restaurant receipts compared with the pre-Covid peak in 2018, and a 27.9 per cent fall for Chinese restaurants specifically.
Joyce Yuen of Sichuan eatery The Red Cuisine knows this all too well. The restaurant has been on the same street for 12 years – five as a takeaway place, the past seven as a 25-seat restaurant serving fiery dishes and noodle soups to office crowds. Until last month, Yuen had never opened on a Saturday. Now she feels she has no choice.
“Business has dropped by 30 per cent or more,” she says. “During the pandemic, we at least had government subsidies. Landlords gave rent concessions, utility bills were partly covered.
“Now everything is back to ‘normal’, ingredient [costs] keep going up, but we can’t pass that on to customers. I don’t even want to increase a dish by HK$2, because one, it’s not fair on them, and two, it’ll only encourage them to go to the mainland.”

The Red Cuisine’s location in Taikoo Place in Quarry Bay, an office-dominated enclave, makes it vulnerable to the work-from-home habits that solidified during Covid and never fully retreated.
“I have customers who are senior executives at big firms. They tell me that to keep headcount without raising salaries, companies are offering more WFH days. That directly hurts a lunch-dependent place like ours.”
Even some of the neighbourhood convenience stores are no longer open on weekends, Yuen says. “That tells you how quiet it is.”
If you hit a niche that hasn’t existed before, you can do well, for sure
Kosei Kamatani, Hong Kong restaurateur
Yet she is trying. The Saturday experiment is, in her words, a “very Ah Q spirit” – a reference to the famous Chinese literary character who turns defeat into victory through sheer self-delusion. She hopes that people who do not work nearby might still come if they know she is open.
To attract more eyes, she has also pivoted her marketing towards expatriates and Korean tourists, having discovered that word of mouth in the Korean community – drawn by the area’s proximity to the Instagram-famous “Monster Building” housing estate – brings in diners who relish authentic, local spices rather than another cha chaan teng (Hong Kong-style diner).
In Central, Jen Balisi, a Filipino-American content creator and founder of Barkada, is fighting the same battle.
The spot opened in early 2023, a 2,000 sq ft (186-square-metre) ground-floor space in a shiny new building that brought modern Filipino cuisine to the heart of Hong Kong’s financial district.

Three years on, Barkada is still here – but only just. The original flagship location off Hollywood Road is gone, swapped for a smaller, leaner venue on Elgin Street. The initial euphoria – packed houses, multiple weekend turns, robust drink sales – evaporated within six months.
“Everyone is competing on price,” Balisi says. “You see these crazy deals – all-you-can-eat for HK$198, HK$298. From a consumer’s perspective, I used to think, ‘Wow, amazing.’ Now as a restaurant owner, I see it and think, ‘They’re trying to capture as much cash as possible in a short window, recoup their investment and get out.’ I don’t want to be part of that race to the bottom.”
For a casual spot like Barkada, the new sober trend is the last thing it needed. Where alcohol sales once accounted for 30 to 40 per cent of its revenue, it is now common for half the tables on a Friday night to order no alcohol at all. The mocktail list has ballooned, a commercial necessity in a city where Gen Z are drinking much less.
“Three of our cocktails are built on a mocktail base and we add the alcohol after,” Balisi says. “Most people order them non-alcoholic. That was never the case at our old venue.”
Balisi is now hunting for a business partner who can do what she admits she cannot: make the numbers add up.

Both Balisi and Yuen speak with a candour that has become increasingly rare in an industry where struggling restaurateurs often quietly duke it out with landlords before suddenly vanishing.
“A lot of the time it’s a secret fight,” Balisi says. “You’re trying to extend your rent, pay staff first, then suddenly the landlord says ‘No, bye’, and the place shuts within days. That’s why you see closures that seem to come out of nowhere.”
For Yuen, who slashed her team to just herself and one chef while still managing 25 seats, the daily grind has taken on a Sisyphean quality.
“Every morning I think about closing. But I believe my food is good,” she says. “If I try opening Saturdays and it brings in people from outside the area, maybe it works. If not, at least I tried. I’ve never had a night with zero dollars. Not yet. That’s what I tell myself.”
Both women describe a polarised industry that defies easy diagnosis.
“There are shops in Causeway Bay with queues at 2pm,” Yuen says. “Then there are restaurants that are completely empty. I can’t quite figure out the logic.”
Balisi is betting that the answer lies not in out-discounting the discounters but in building a brand with staying power.
“Barkada literally means ‘your group of friends’ in Tagalog,” she says. “We’re a place where you can come for a birthday, bring your baby, eat vegan, or just have an ube latte and work on your laptop. We fit so many occasions. I just need people to know that.”
She pauses. “And honestly? If a fraction of the Hongkongers queuing for hours at the Shenzhen border spent 10 or 20 per cent more on a meal in their own city, the ripple effect would be enormous. It’s our own economy we need to be feeding.”
Kamatani says innovative dining experiences will save the industry, or at least help it hold out a little longer. Groups like Black Sheep have built entire brands around immersive service training and transportive interiors that make diners feel they have left Hong Kong without boarding a plane. Meanwhile, Korean pocha-style bars and modern bing sutt – a revival of old-school Hong Kong cafes with a knowing, retro sheen – have tapped into something specific and underserved.
“Those are the kinds of sub-cuisines or concepts which are doing better,” Kamatani says. “What this doom and gloom is forcing people to do is be more creative. If you hit a niche that hasn’t existed before, you can do well, for sure.”
He still believes that Hong Kong has some fight left. The city, he insists, continues to possess strengths that no amount of flashy Shenzhen development or overseas alternatives can easily replicate. It remains one of the best places to eat in the world, he says.
“Hong Kong’s strength has always been that – the food’s just really good,” he says. “It’s all about choosing your opportunities now. You can succeed.”


A previous version of this story attributed information regarding Joyce Yuen's restaurant The Red Cuisine to captions of photos showing Jen Balisi and her Barkada restaurant.


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The Red Cuisine owner Joyce Yuen serves dishes at her restaurant in Quarry Bay, Hong Kong. Many restaurants in the city are struggling with falling customer numbers as more locals head to Shenzhen for cheaper meals. Photo: May Tse

Stewed pork ramen from Ippei-An in Tsim Sha Tsui. Owner Kosei Kamatani had to close the original Ippei-An outlet due to falling sales. Photo: Edward Wong

Dumplings with spicy sauce from The Red Cuisine in Quarry Bay, Hong Kong. Owner Joyce Yuen says business has dropped and costs have risen in the past few years. Photo: May Tse

Jen Balisi, founder of Barkada in SoHo, says that it is now common for half of the tables at her restaurant on a Friday night to order no alcohol at all. Photo: Jonathan Wong

Barkada moved to its current smaller location on Elgin Street three years ago after first opening on Hollywood Road. Photo: Jonathan Wong

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Food & Drink

Three restaurateurs discuss the challenges of staying afloat in Hong Kong as more locals cross the border into Shenzhen for cheaper food


Three restaurateurs discuss the challenges of staying afloat in Hong Kong as more locals cross the border into Shenzhen for cheaper food.


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Chinese cuisine

Are Hong Kong’s restaurants fighting a losing battle against lower-cost Shenzhen?

.css-1c6uqr6{color:inherit;font-weight:inherit;font-size:inherit;font-family:inherit;line-height:inherit;overflow-wrap:break-word;}Three restaurateurs discuss the challenges of staying afloat in Hong Kong as more locals cross the border into Shenzhen for cheaper food

Three restaurateurs discuss the challenges of staying afloat in Hong Kong as more locals cross the border into Shenzhen for cheaper food