How one bite of oyster in Hong Kong ruined food trip but taught valuable lessons

Everyone loves the idea of being a food journalist, but few see the downsides: the countless mediocre meals fatly sandwiching the exceptional ones, the weight gain, the late nights, and the most dreaded of all: the inevitable bouts of gastroenteritis.

I am usually quite disciplined about not eating out – or at least not eating risky dishes – days before an important engagement or holiday. But this time, things did not quite work out.

At a dinner, an oyster-led dish was presented. It occurred to me that perhaps it would not be the best idea to eat it. But, out of respect to my host, plus a dash of misplaced confidence in the bivalve, I ate one bite before burying the rest in my bowl of rice.

A day and a bit later, it hit. I would not – nay, could not – eat for the following 30 hours. Even worse, I had a food-packed holiday to Japan planned just two days after symptoms started: reservations had been made, venues mapped and pinned.

Unusually for me, this bout of food poisoning did not clear up within a day. Instead, I spent the next two nights fretting and sweating, dwelling and expelling.

By the time my early morning flight rolled around, I was at least able to nibble at a plain cooked salmon onigiri at the airport. Thankfully, the flight itself was uneventful. The only upside to having zero appetite was that I felt none of the hunger my fellow travellers did as we disembarked after being delayed for almost two hours.

Originally, landing Friday night in the city of Fukuoka would have meant eating our way through its fantastic yatai, or street food carts. We had even marked one known for its evening coffee and cocktails. But my delicate digestive system could not; instead, my ever resourceful friends redirected us to a restaurant serving Fukuoka’s famed mizutaki, or chicken hotpot. Chicken soup for the soul and all, right?