When Mai Ho Kim Khanh – who goes by the nickname of Kay – went on a date with her Tinder match Lewis Dai in Ho Chi Minh back in 2018, she never thought she'd be running a second restaurant with him in the span of seven years.

"I swiped right because he was wearing a chef jacket," Kay laughs.

A visual effects designer who spent most of her career abroad in London, Athens and Warsaw – where she contributed to Netflix series The Witcher – she always longed for food back home. So when Lewis, an ambitious, 28-year-old chef from Hong Kong, suggested opening their own restaurant in her country within half a year of dating, she didn't hesitate to say yes.

"In 2018, Ho Chi Minh was thought to be the up-and-coming culinary destination. We served fusion food that Lewis had learned during his time working in Hong Kong; our restaurant was tiny," says Kay, gesturing an ambiguous circle with her arms. "Fusion was hip in Hong Kong back then, but not in Vietnam. We barely survived for three months."

With almost no experience in restaurant operations, they fell, hard. The business left them nearly bankrupt but also with a pocketful of difficult lessons learned: these were lessons that became the fuel to their current brainchild, Ăn Chơi, a Michelin-recommended, two-storied Vietnamese restaurant in Sheung Wan that enjoys coils of queuing customers despite a struggling dining scene in the city.

Translating to "small bites" or "enjoyment" in Vietnamese, Ăn Chơi is Kay and Lewis' fruit of love, whether for their little family that now includes two cats and two dogs, for cultural authenticity or for every culinary marvel in Vietnam.

Learning Curve

In 2019 – just a year after matching on Tinder – the duo said their I-dos and relocated to Hong Kong. Lewis took on a position as executive chef at a restaurant group while Kay led its social media team. During the pandemic, they helped the group open six restaurants, soaking up all the operational know-how like hungry sponges while Kay, confined to her home office, perfected her Vietnamese recipes with the help of YouTube. Admittedly, she's had no professional culinary training aside from the girls-exclusive summer camps during her pre-teen years.

"We learned to make cakes and stir fry, but that's about it. Everything else was learned through experience or my mom passing down her kitchen knowledge," she says.

Three years later, Lewis' executive-chef position concluded in what he deems "the call of the universe": it was finally time to reignite the once fallen dream of opening their own restaurant. So in June 2022, they turned their month-long holiday in Vietnam into a mission of food research, tasting everything from Gà Nướng Hun Khói (or barbecue chicken) and Chả Cá Lã Vọng fried fish to rice vermicelli and Kem Bơ Đà Lạt – or avocado mousse with gelato and peanuts.

Humble Beginnings

Vietnamese characters – complete with squiggly lines and dots of its diacritics – are prominent in Ăn Chơi's menu. Aside from customer-favorites like summer rolls and Banh Mi (or Vietnamese baguette sandwiches), Kay and Lewis aren't afraid of highlighting authentic dishes like the Bún Mắm, or "Vietnamese gumbo" of vermicelli soup made from fermented fish that, for some, may be off-putting.

"We've seen customers leave entire bowls of soup noodles, untouched, on the table," laments Kay. "When we first started, I remember a day when we only made HK$3000 and had to throw away a whole vat of soup. It was heartbreaking."

Still, they stayed true to their roots; and unlike Vietnamese restaurants that'd distort tradition to fit local palettes, Kay and Lewis wouldn't be caught dead serving Phở with cold cuts or mistakenly referring to Bún – or a rice vermicelli noodle – as Phở, which has a flatter shape; even their version of the ubiquitous summer roll takes two days to learn to wrap.

In October 2023, only six months after grand opening, An Chơi was recommended by The Michelin Guide Hong Kong and Macau and was included in its Bib Gourmand list five months later. Towards the end of 2024, it was chosen by the Hong Kong Tourism Board as the only Vietnamese restaurant in the Hong Kong Wine & Dine Festival. Soon, queues began to form even before opening hours, bringing in more than 200 customers daily. An Chơi's rise to stardom was a welcoming phenomenon amidst a dining scene punctured with depressing news of bankrupt restaurant groups and doors closing for good.

But despite the good tidings, the duo was most excited about the growing number of fans after the traditional dishes once thought to be "too hard to accept by non-Vietnamese crowds". An Chơi, adds Kay, also became a favorite amongst Vietnamese cabin crews hungry for a taste of home, found in her heartfelt dishes or in the restaurant's yellow and red interiors helmed with paraphernalia she's collected from her birthplace over the years.

High-Octane Love

Even after six years of marriage, maintaining romance in a high-octane workplace is not an easy feat. Kay laughs and says their relationship is "a battle every day" while Lewis jokingly calls it one filled with both love and hate. For one, since the restaurant doesn't have a proper meeting space after the top floor gave way to more customer seating a few months ago, Lewis voices his business ideas at home, where Kay hopes to relax. Dinner dates can also sometimes turn into market research.

Still, Kay admits she'd never imagined becoming a restauranteur had it not been for Lewis, who wouldn't be enjoying a thriving career in Vietnamese food had he not swiped right on Tinder six years ago. To date, Kay doesn't think An Chơi's success garners her the title of entrepreneur but says that running a restaurant with her husband has given her a sense of self and has honed her communication skills – lessons otherwise difficult to pick up had she continued her career in the male-dominated, visual effects industry.

"I am still the same helpful person who lent a hand when Lewis opened a restaurant back in Ho Chi Minh; now I just help the entire restaurant – a place where I've earned my worth," she says.