​At Trio, flavours meet with quiet innovation.

Chef Yuen Kwok-hing grew up in Wuxi, where the rhythm of Jiangnan cuisine shaped his earliest food memories—red-braised meats, delicately poached shrimp, the floral lift of aged Huadiao. But it was Hong Kong that taught him something just as lasting: tradition isn’t a boundary—it’s a base. “You don’t cook to repeat,” he says. “You cook to carry something forward.”

Now, at Trio, Yuen works in threes—Jiangsu’s richness, Zhejiang’s freshness, Sichuan’s heat. Each tradition brings a different texture to the table, and his best dishes don’t choose between them. They harmonise.

​​ His commemorative dish for the Hong Kong Jockey Club’s 140th anniversary is a case in point: Alaskan King Crab, prepared in two distinct ways. The body is flash-fried with house-fermented rice lees and chili, a nod to Sichuan’s aromatic boldness. The legs are steamed with egg white and aged Huadiao wine, bringing a quiet clarity that evokes the elegance of Jiangnan. “I wanted to show how one ingredient can speak with two voices,” he says.

Yuen’s process is meticulous but never static. A single dish might take years to refine—not because he’s chasing perfection, but because his sense of taste is rooted in memory. His method for drunken chicken, for instance, hasn’t changed since he first learned it under a famously exacting Shanghainese master. “He taught me how to get the skin right—just firm enough, with the right jelly underneath,” he says. “If it wasn’t right, you started over.” That same discipline shaped his approach to dishes like clear stir-fried shrimp and red-braised pork belly, both of which remain on Trio’s menu after many seasons. “We may adjust technique or temperature,” he says, “but the soul stays the same.”

Still, Trio is not a static showcase Yuen’s kitchen is experimental at its core. New dishes emerge through reinterpretation, guided by memory, instinct, and restraint. “We listen to the dish,” he says. “Some ingredients want heat. Some want quiet.” His innovations often begin with a traditional framework—like a Huaiyang poaching technique or a Sichuan-style marinade—then take on new shape through local sourcing or seasonal nuance. Each new dish becomes part of a broader conversation between regions, eras, and tastes. But the purpose is always the same: clarity of flavour, fidelity to feeling. “A good dish,” he says, “should feel like you’ve tasted it before—even if you haven’t.”

That sense of quiet discovery is what defines Trio. Guests may arrive for the classics, but they return for what’s subtly transformed. One visit might include a Huaiyang-style consommé beside a Sichuan cold dish; the next, a new take on vinegar-braised pork or a reworked version of Gong Bao shrimp made with sea prawns and pickled vegetables. “The possibilities aren’t endless,” Yuen says, “but they’re enough.”

Because for Chef Yuen, the essence of great cooking lies not in invention or imitation, but in transformation. At Trio, each dish embodies authentic flavours while embracing a contemporary twist, making it a modern kitchen with a genuine heart. ​