Located on Stanley Street, near Lan Kwai Fong, adjacent to D'Aguilar Street, Luk Yu Tea House is one of Hong Kong's most famous tea houses and dim sum restaurants. Opened in 1933, Luk Yu boasts three dining rooms and a unique menu that changes constantly, keeping customers curious and anxious about what will be served the following month.

While Luk Yu's main attraction is the food, the restaurant owns the dubious distinction as the site of the 2002 assassination of Hong Kong real estate tycoon Harry Lam.

As the legend goes, Lam's assassin, a professional hit man who was aware of hit target's fondness for Luk Yu's breakfasts, arrived at the restaurant early to dine on their famous dim sum. After finishing his meal, he paid the bill, then calmly walked up to Lam and shot him in the head.

While bloody shoot outs would hamper the future of lesser restaurants, Luk Yu never felt a setback from the events of November 30, 2002, with loyal customers returning as usual and new diners dying to taste their delicate dumplings.

Intrigued by the legends of both the food and the Hong Kong-cinema style execution, I walk uphill to Luk Yu, prepared to taste food that is, well, to die for.

The first and second floors already packed by noon, I scale the stairs to the top floor and order a round of xiajiao (steamed shrimp purse dumpling, pronounced shya-jyao, 虾饺), shaomai (steamed shrimp and mushroom dumpling, pronounced shyao-my, 烧卖, also called shumai), nuomiji (rice stuffed with braised, chopped mushrooms, steamed in a lotus leaf, pronounced noo-aw me jee, 糯米鸡) and chaozhou fenguo (steamed, slippery-skin dumplings stuffed with pork, peanuts, mushrooms and bamboo shoots, pronounced chow-joe phen-gwo, 潮州粉果).

The moment finally arrives to eat my first xiajiao, and, as soon as I swallow that delicate shrimp purse, at least for a split second, I think that if this divine taste was the last thing Harry Lam had in his mind, heart and stomach at the time of his murder, well, it could have been worse. This is not meant to poke fun at a very serious moment in contemporary Hong Kong history, it's just, the food really is that delicious.

After I take down the xiajiao I do the same to the shaomai, nuomiji and fenguo, all equally as good, a fatal attraction indeed.

Cautious not to overload on dim sum goodies while carefully surveying the dining room for any possible assailants, I decide it's time to bail before my luck runs out, so I pay the bill and move on to my next destination . . .

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