On a quiet residential street in a hillside neighborhood in South Pasadena, Dr. Hong Pham roasts Cantonese duck in his backyard, sending the sweet and smoky smell of poultry fat wafting into the streets and across lawns of the surrounding houses.
“My next-door neighbor had no idea that we were roasting duck this whole time until we invited him over for my birthday party,” says Pham, who works as a radiologist at Kaiser by day and as a professional duck roaster the rest of the time, noting that no one seems to mind the occasional aroma.
The scent leads to a gate marked with his signature orange duck logo, a piece of art his eldest daughter sketched that now serves as the emblem of Pham’s increasingly popular duck pop-up known as “That Peking Duck Guy.” After more than a year of roasting duck for his friends and family, Pham’s hobby-turned-business has ballooned in the last six months into a full-fledged sensation with a growing waitlist of over 300 would-be customers and catering clients thanks to Pham’s unique 10-day dry-aging process and live cooking presentation that set his ducks apart.
Inside the fence, Pham’s dry-aged Peking ducks dangle in their roasters, nearing a glossy deep-golden-brown readiness while he and his assistant, Scott Lem, meticulously organize the accompanying sides for meal kits designed to feed four people: shredded scallions, sliced cucumber, neatly packed containers of duck bone broth, duck fat noodles, stacked mu shu pancakes and hoisin sauce. Pham’s growing following of customers, who have eagerly preordered one of the limited number of ducks, are set to begin arriving to collect their dinners in the next hour.
“This is called a Chinese duck roaster, specifically for roasting Cantonese barbecue,” says Pham of the silver pod-shaped roaster that has become the centerpiece of his patio. He credits the YouTube algorithm for bringing it to his attention via videos of street food stalls throughout Asia.
“Colloquially, I’ve heard it called the Apollo oven because it looks like an Apollo space capsule,” which it does. After obsessive research, Pham tracked down the oven in Riverside, where he drove to collect his own.
He then dove deep into Cantonese barbecue, cooking everything from char siu to pork belly and chicken. Duck, however, would take longer.
“Peking duck is the pinnacle of Cantonese barbecue. It took me a lot of time to even muster up the courage to do it,” says Pham. But one day, without any introduction, he reached out to chef Mei Lin for guidance.
“‘Mei Lin, I got this roaster.’ I just sent it because I know she’s a big Cantonese barbecue advocate,” he said of the unsolicited text sent to the famous chef known for restaurants like the now-closed Nightshade and 88 Club.
“She messaged me back, and the next week I went and got a duck, did pretty much exactly what she told me to do, and it came out great.”
The duck was so perfect, Pham went from cooking for his family and friends to larger groups of “food friends” including television producer Phil Rosenthal, star chef Roy Choi and others, to having professional pop-ups and eventually catering huge events for hundreds of people. And Mei Lin has since experienced Pham’s duck for herself.
“Hong is incredibly passionate and dedicated to his craft, and you can really see that in the way he approaches his Peking duck,” says Lin. “When he first reached out about my duck-roasting process, it was clear he was willing to put in the time and effort to understand every detail. Peking duck is a dish that requires so much patience, precision and repetition, and I really admire how committed he has been to learning and refining his technique.
“It’s exciting to see someone bringing that level of care and respect to such an iconic dish and sharing it with a new audience.”
This, however, is not Pham’s first foray into the food industry. Pham and his wife, Kim, who met each other at the University of Michigan, launched a blog called the Ravenous Couple in the early aughts as a way to document their families’ Vietnamese recipes. Archiving the food they loved to cook and eat led to a lifestyle of constant cooking, hosting and eventually teaching Vietnamese cooking classes in their home.
Pham’s Peking duck business is a continuation of a lifetime of feeding people en masse. It is both familiar and second nature to Pham, who as a child helped his mom cook for hundreds.
“I grew up helping her cook these huge meals at her Vietnamese church in Michigan. In college, I was part of the Vietnamese Student Assn., and we would organize big pho nights where we hosted 50 to 60 students to make pho,” says Pham of his time as a history major, which he says plays into his fascination with traditional cooking techniques. “I really love history and the foodways of a culture.”
With 30 minutes to go, Lem begins lowering another variation of Cantonese roast duck, the deboned pipa — or “guitar” duck, named for its shape like the Chinese pipa guitar or lute — splayed around a wire rack, into the roaster. The process for pipa duck, Pham explains, is completely different and takes half as long to roast. “Essentially, it’s a spatchcocked duck,” says Pham, explaining that while Peking duck is famous for its delicate crispy skin, the focus of pipa duck is its tender, seasoned meat.
“Peking duck is very traditional. I insufflate the skin. I scald the skin and then I season the inside and dry-age it for roughly seven to 10 days,” say Pham of the dry brine of salt, white pepper, galangal and five spice.
This dry-aging process is one of the things that makes Pham’s ducks unique. For catering events, Pham brings his roasters and prepares the duck on site, providing not just a meal but a spectacle as guests watch the process.
“Within an hour and a half, it’s ready to feed their guests. I usually get the host to pull out the ducks, and so it’s an event.”
Sometimes the pop-ups provide the same show. Not long after Pham and Lem have placed the pipa ducks in the oven, one of their regulars arrives early, in time to watch as Lem begins carving. He first chops off the long neck before slicing and offering a bite-size piece of meat.
“Try that. It’s as fresh as the neck skin can be.”
The post A Kaiser doctor turned his backyard Peking duck into a celebrity sensation appeared first on Los Angeles Times.
