Three o'clock in the morning, hardworking fishermen standing on top of the fishing boat, arm holding the fishing net, the eyes and the lights of Hong Kong at night, the fishing net spread to the sea to startle the sleeping sea's low call.

Slow drag, slow pull up, pick off less than the escape of small fish gently thrown in the sea, the wisdom of the fishermen always have a grateful heart.

The right-sized fish are placed in tanks to keep them alive, and two hours later, they will appear in Hong Kong's morning markets, where they will be taken home by housewives who specialize in cooking delicious fish congee or sweet fish balls.

The housewives buy the fish to their liking, and then return home to butcher it in a kind of violent aesthetics, where the life of the fish is not their concern, but the nutrition of the family is more important.

To make good fishballs, the treatment of the fish is crucial, with the snow-white flesh placed piece by piece in a pot and a rounded wooden stick to begin the tedious process of hammering.

The rhythmic sound of the hammering, coupled with the morning news presenter's staccato Cantonese tones, makes for a vibrant scene full of life.

After the fish has been pounded, a fine sieve is taken out to sift the fish, a step that keeps the meat delicate.

The sifted fish is again placed in a pot and seasoned with your personal flavors, salt, and other spices. The fish is now extremely white and fine, and after the seasoning has been put in, the fish is stirred clockwise to increase the toughness and viscosity of the fish, which is also an important task that requires a great deal of patience as well as physical effort.

But their quest for good food gives them patience.

After the fish has been stirred, it is time to steam it. Squeezing the meatballs is aesthetically pleasing, and a skilled housewife always produces round and lovely meatballs of average size.

The steamed fishballs are placed in the curry pot and lightly boiled to taste, and the soup is placed in a bowl, handing you a spoon, gently scooping up the snow-white fishballs, instantly the teeth of the fish and the sweetness of the curry aroma of the separation and fusion of the mouth, enough to soothe the sadness of the time brought about.

PS: The above is all nonsense, I will not cook, anonymous!