Wong Kei Review

Wong Kei, 41-43 Wardour Street, London

With its tatty lanterns, grubby floors, ancient Formica tables and miserable, miserable waiters, Wong Kei is like a restaurant in the Bognor Regis of Beijing.
Even so, this is the best restaurant in London for dining alone.

What other restaurant has a whole area set aside for this strange, lonely beast? As an ex-waiter myself, I can guarantee you, everyone suspects the solo diner. They’ll be scuttling about back-of-house gossiping about the loner on table twelve. No food critic worth their salt dines alone, so who is this myopic mystery? Just a billy-no-mates? A travelling businessman? A billy-no-mates-travelling-businessman? Who cares? They’ve come to a restaurant; for dinner; on their own.

“Yes, hello sir, how’s the bisque? Oh excellent. Another glass of wine? Great. I’ll be right back.”

Quick skip back of house.

“Yeah Salif, guess what? The geezer on twelve’s having another glass of wine. I know. On his own! Hah ah ah ahha hha.”

Unfortunately this is how it goes for the lone diner. And with that in mind, I can’t even go to the cinema alone. All those friends and couples looking at me, wondering why I’m on my own. A social pariah.

But not at Wong Kei. Here the lone diner is welcomed. The lone diner is a friend, a regular, a person to be respected. A person to be given their own area. And not out the back next to the loos. The best area. Right in the main drag where you come in. In this Temple of Chinese Gastronomy, the lone diner eats at the altar.

Even the billy-no-mates-travelling-businessman.

Until recently I had lunch here three times a week, on my own, and did so for three years. 450 visits. And never a new waiter.

I walk in and sit down. They resist the temptation to shout at me, as they do to all the other customers. “How many? Three? Upstairs!” “But we wanted…” “Downstairs closed. Upstairs!” I love these guys.

The waiter comes over and slams a (free) pot of jasmine tea on the table in front of me. “Wha’ you want?” He knows what I want, I always have the same. I blink at him. He wants to defenestrate me. Ever heard that you can’t out stare a pig? Pigs and Wong Kei waiters. Don’t even try.

It’s busy, he has other things to do. More customers to bully. “Usual I suppose!” I nod. Don’t speak. “Thanks” when they bring the food. Otherwise, keep your mouth shut.

He casually slinks away. Throwing disapproving looks at my fellow diners. This is what made Wong Kei famous. Rude waiters. Unbelievably rude waiters. My trendy friends hate it here. They say it’s a dump. They hate the waiters being rude to them. But why should the waiters be nice? You’re not going to leave them a tip are you? And do you know what? They don’t want one. Then they’d have to suck-up like there was an ‘Optional’ 12.5% tacked on.

They enjoy themselves because it’s not in their job description to be obsequious. Exactly why some people hate it.
They take the order, bring out the food, reluctantly get more tea, then they walk away and leave you to it.

They don’t top up your drink.

They don’t ask if everything’s alright.

They don’t even care if you’re alive or dead.

And do you know what? I love it.

Today's Hero.......Daniel Humm

Oooooohhhh... Please open a London restaurant.

If anyone wants to fly me over to New York and send me here I am available for any kind of favour you would like. ANY KIND OF FAVOUR.

http://www.elevenmadisonpark.com/ AND GO TO THE BIT SAYING FILM.

These are videos showcasing the best uses for the vacuum machine.

People bitch and moan about sous vide, personally i think it's brilliant. But only when it's used to enhance the flavour and texture of an already wonderful product. Not in order to make undiscerning people think that something is better than it is. People are bowled over by tender meat to such an extent that they often don't realise it tastes of NOTHING AT ALL.

Yes, all you fucking morons our there with your fillet steak. LONG LIVE THE RIB. Eye or short. Both wonderful.

And you know who I mean. You who I used to work with. With your deeply suspect meat.

Enjoy the videos

Dibble dibble, over and out.

A massive, honking piece of meat boys.....

...is what the butcher at the farmer's market said to me yesterday. It was early and yes, I still had my trousers on.

Moments before I had been on the sofa in my friend Will's house, nursing my hangover and waiting patiently for breakfast.

We were all up late.

Cider late.

Sturggling for effective hangover cures, I suggested meat at the earliest available opportunity.

William said there was a farmer's market nearby and we could get breakfast there too.

Score. He thought.

A complete misunderstanding of what I needed.

I know what breakfast at a farmer's market means. Organic this and that crap and cooked like this and like that, in a fucking whatever bun and blah blah blah. In that condition on a Sunday morning I WANT A GREASY SPOON. Not the S&M cafe. I'm talking Withnail & I greasy spoon. The 'balsamic vinegar is for gays' kind of greasy spoon. People who don't look at you funny when you say you want four poached eggs and six sausages, in a fucking sandwich, with hash browns in it too please.

But it wasn't happening. In the end we had Jerk Chicken. For breakfast. I know. I hadn't even had a coffee. I sat, choking on tiny chicken bones, in a car park, in Bristol. For breakfast.

But oh...the massive, honking piece of meat.

From the winking butcher. Six week aged rib of beef on the bone. A walking bacterial hootenanny! My friend's housemate thought there was something off in the fridge. But like Annabel Chong, it wasn't the fridge that smelt, it was the massive honking bit of meat in it.

Oh it didn't smell that bad. Just very, ripely, deeply meaty. I would imagine, not disimilar to Henry VIII's tightest pants.

I seasoned the hell out of it and browned it all over in a pan. I then slammed on a bed of already roasting onions and carrots into the oven for 45mins. Roasties, savoy cabbage et al too. Homemade horseradish. Thank you.

Two of the eaters didn't like it. They said it was too gamey, too strong and my favourite: "A bit rough." I thought it was great. Truth be told, it was a little bit much. In the future, even if given the option, I might well not go for meat that had been hung for that long. That honking. The flavour was very rich, very base. Earthy. Perhaps it was just miles away from most of the meat that I have eaten. Like a first mutton over lamb experience I imagine. Maybe I didn't cook it right. Method-wise I mean. It was Medium-rare and cooked to perfection biatch! Maybe I was scared.

But who wouldn't be scared? I was confronted with a 'Massive honking piece of meat' and a winking butcher. I had to buy it. And all I really wanted was a sausage sandwich and a nice cup of tea.