China Town Noodle Bar

China Town Noodle Bar

2 Bath Passage

Birmingham

B5 4SZ

Meal for two with beers: £20

This cheap as chips cafe has been a favourite haunt for Birmingham's many students for more than a decade. Ten years ago, I was one of them. But it's more than just a cut-price feeding station for those rich in time but poor in money. With a voluminous menu spanning several regions of China, as well as a handful of other Asian cuisines (not recommended), there's a reason it also attracts well-heeled shoppers and Chinese customers of all ages. And with most dishes coming in well shy of a tenner, it has long been one of my favourite places for lunch. Yet somehow life has come between me and my first neighbourhood-restaurant-love. Last weekend, after an absence of nearly five years, I returned to rekindle my affair with their Big Plate Rice.

Four Seasons of meat

Four Seasons, 12 Gerrard Street, W1D 5PR

Poor old Chinatown. In some ways, it is a bit like the Aberdeen Angus steakhouses: one of those London institutions that the cognoscenti regard as the sole preserve of the hapless tourist. Unlike the Aberdeen Angus, which must surely be execrable, proponents of this view are probably giving Chinatown a bit of a raw deal. Yes, there might be countless crapholes serving up bright pink goo, but is it not home to the delightful Legends family, including its latest incarnation which showcases the food of Dongbei? What about Little Lamb with its clouds of steam and delicious fishballs? How about the dim sum at Chinatown stalwart, the Joy King Lau? I'd happily spend an afternoon attacking plate after plate of their squid cakes. The posher choices may be over the road in Soho, but the Baozi Inn, in the heart of Chinatown, is still one of my favourite places for a cheap and plentiful late night bunfest. Provided they haven't sold out. 

Shanghai: in search of comfort greens

Shanghai, 41 Kingsland Road, E8 2JS

Whenever I am feeling sad about something, Mr Fork knows that there is only one thing for it: steamed Chinese greens. Guiltlessly healthy, almost crunchy but slightly slimy and slick with garlic, they are the one of the few things that can make the world better. Pasta with tomato ketchup and melted cheese is the other but, when work drives me to real despair , Mr F knows that overdosing on Heinz just won't cut it. In these situations, we are both immensely grateful that we live near a good local Chinese restaurant.  

We have eaten at Shanghai dozens of times, several of them since I started this blog, but I have never written about it for some reason. Perhaps because going to Shanghai almost doesn't feel like eating out for us, the former pie and eel shop turned restaurant has become an extension of our living room by virtue of the amount of time we spend in it.

A fairly lengthy menu and the rare option of dim sum in the evening are overlooked - the latter is invariably disappointing, in favour of roast pork, steamed greens and rice. Unadventurous but always satisfying, Shanghai excels in getting these basic offerings right. The greens are crisp, fresh and cooked to perfection. The pork is sticky and rich or crispy and fatty, depending on our choice of pig dish. Sometimes roast duck graces the plate, sometimes we have fried rice rather than steamed, but the greens are the constant, drawing us back whenever the thought of cooking casts an unhappy shadow and marital strife looks imminent. 

We chose Shanghai to cater the London end of our wedding. I think we felt we owed them something because, but for steamed greens and comfort, we might never have lasted long enough to get married.

Fishballs and dreamboats

Little Lamb, 72 Shaftesbury Avenue, W1D 6NA

Meal for two with beers: £50

Falling in love as drunken student layabouts meant that Mr Fork and I never went on any proper dates. It wasn't until we moved in together and embarked upon the grown up task of making time for each other that we actually started dating; and, despite having been married for more than a year now, it's something we still love to do. I can only assume we are making up for lost time, as if a million good dates will permanently enhance our relationship, leaving behind its cider and balti-fuelled origins.

Typically, now that we are married, we have established certain routines. Date night invariably begins with cocktails and ends with whisky. However, between the boozings, there is always food; and for date night, we usually opt for something fun. When I stumbled across Little Lamb, a Chinese hotpot restaurant that had met with approval from two food bloggers whose judgement I respect, it seemed like the perfect place for our four hundred and sixteenth date. Having enjoyed the obligatory cocktail in a fabulously hip French bar, we made our way down into the basement to spend an evening waging chopstick wars over the choicest morsels left floating in the stock.

The reliability of dim sum

Joy King Lau, 3 Leicester Street, WC2H 7BL

Lunch for two: £20

There are many reasons to return to a restaurant: it may serve excellent food, be one of those undiscovered gems you feel smug about when the rest of the world starts to appreciate or it may be particularly convenient or reliable for you. The Joy King Lau falls into the latter category of places for me. It is reliable. Located as it is on the edge of Leicester Square, it is even convenient. Describing a restaurant I like as reliable or convenient feels like damnation by faint praise; and yet that is precisely how I would describe several oft-visited places that account for many of my happy food memories. Does that make me a bad person? Or even, and far worse, some sort of anti-foodie?

Our last visit was for a Saturday lunch of dim sum.  Mr F had to work so I offered to take him for lunch to offset the pain of working at the weekend. Starving and desperate after a morning of serious work: a quick, voluminous and low-risk lunch was required.

Lots of other people had conceived a similar plan so, even though Leicester Street was closed, enough people had climbed past the roadworks to make the queue for tables stretched down the stairs and out of the door. This didn't put us off; as seasoned pros, we knew that the man with the walkie talkie would usher us up to the top of the building when he heard there was only two of us.  In your face, polite people who joined the back of the queue!  

The menu is typical of an ordinary Cantonese restaurant. All the dishes you would expect are represented but nothing more. The main event is the dim sum; our one evening visit found the place empty and the food disappointing. However, the dim sum is reliably tasty.

We had roast pork cheung fun which were a bit low on pork but otherwise fine, slightly oversteamed and unremarkable Shanghai-style dumplings and a dish of rice, chicken and sausage that was perfectly pleasant aside from the disappointingly low sausage count (two small pieces - sigh).  The squid cakes were good though: golden and not quite crisp on the outside and chewy in a good way on the inside. Scallop dumplings were a highlight (of sorts) with a pleasantly crunchy texture to the filling. We washed it all down, as everyone does at the joy King Lau, with the simple Chinese tea that is presented unbidden on arrival.

It's not just about the food here though. I think people come back for its happy combination of reliably good dim sum, low prices, central location and lively atmosphere.  The Joy King Lau is typical of many Chinese restaurants in the area: it is located over several floors of an old house, perpetually noisy and fantastically cheap. However, unlike many other restaurants in the area, the service is pleasant at the same time as being brisk and the food is always good value. 

I am not alone in my fondness for the Joy King Lau. According to a civil servant friend who works on our relationship with China, it is the lunchtime restaurant of choice amongst staff at the Chinese Embassy in London.  That probably says enough. Vindication over.

Revolutionary fervour achieves desired result!

Ba Shan, 24 Romilly Street, W1D 5AH

Meal for two with a couple of beers: £50

Back from a week-long conference in tourist-trap-hell, I was overcome by the need to immerse myself in London.  What better way than trying a restaurant with a re-invigorated take on Chinese cooking, showcasing the cooking of Sichaun's less-renowned neighbour: Hunan?

Ba Shan is the middle sister of three. The newest of the family, it positions itself somewhere between the smart but pricey Sichuan at Bar Shu and the cheap, cheerful and plentiful street fare of the Baozi Inn. Fuchsia Dunlop, food writer and alumnus of the Sichuan Institute of Higher Cuisine in Chengdu, provides advice to all three. And in the case of Ba Shan, she has also played a role in the recent redefinition of the restaurant. Ba Shan originally specialised in "small-eats", which received a lukewarm reaction from critics and bloggers alike. This reputation for average food at above average prices effectively deterred me from visiting until I saw the news that Ba Shan was launching a new menu incorporating food from Hunan. I knew the time had come to give it a chance.

There was little evidence of tapas-style dishes on the menu, a page of dumplings at the back is all that remains of its former aspirations. Instead, they have developed an expansive menu drawing on the cuisines of Sichuan and Hunan, including some offerings from Dunlop's books on the subject. 

We started with Hunanese Four Treasures. Clean, crisp vegetables and peanuts with a lively dressing were a good way to prepare our palates for the spiciness that we knew would follow.  Alongside the treasures, a plate of crispy beef and onion was intriguing. Oddly reminiscent of old fashioned English cuisine, the beef was fabulously frazzled, the onions slightly softened and served in a light, spicy sauce that complemented rather than masked the flavours of the main ingredients.

After a short pause, the mains arrived. They were spectacular.  A giant platter of fish topped with chillies and submerged in broth and chilli oil was perfect: meltingly soft fish, lots of chillies and a spicy but somehow also quite subtle broth. Naturally, it was hot but done in a way so that the heat did not overpower the gentler flavours of fish and ginger. It was the sort of dish that makes you think about returning with all of your friends so that they too can experience its awesomeness.  

Hand-torn cabbage in vinegar was also nicely done with simple flavours which acted as a welcome accompaniment to the other, intensely flavoured, dishes on offer. We were flagging a little by the time the final dish arrived: Chairman Mao's red-braised pork. Full of treasures and fish, we lamented my tendency to over order. Not for long though. Coronary-inducing levels of fat in the chunks of pork belly, held together by a dark sauce flavoured with star anise. Comfort food of the highest order. Our inner-revolutionaries were sated.

We left trying to decide whether what we had just eaten was merely the best Chinese meal we had eaten recently or whether Ba Shan was already on the way to becoming our new all-time favourite Chinese restaurant. High praise indeed.

The food of Hunan has eluded London diners in recent years, so the redefined Ba Shan is a welcome addition to the city's restaurant scene. Ba Shan has also managed to do something quite rare in London. It serves excellent Chinese regional cuisine without the slightly aggressive service and dingy environment that we often accept as normal in this fair city. I am immensely fond of our dingy cafes - a price we often pay for authenticity - but at Ba Shan excellent authentic and reasonably-priced Chinese cooking is served in a stylish environment and in a way that has the potential to appeal to the mainstream, not just hardened foodies and Chinese students. That can only be a good thing.

Is it cool to be hot?

Chilli Cool, 15 Leigh St, Bloomsbury, WC1H 9EW

Meal for two with a few beers: £45 ish

It was Mr Noodles's review of Red 'N' Hot that finally made me visit Chilli Cool. I had read enough positive reviews to formulate a vague notion to visit for myself. But it was the possibility that it might out-cook Red 'N' Hot that made me call Mr Fork and inform him, in no uncertain terms, that we were dining out in Bloomsbury that night.

Chilli Cool was busy. Even quite late on a week night, they were pretty much full and a steady flow of people trickled into the restaurant well into the night.  As a result, the service was a little erratic. Not that this is necessarily a bad thing, mad service often adds to a restaurant's charm. However, on our visit, the service was perhaps a little too crazy and there was a palpable sense that staff were slightly panic-stricken as if they had lost control of that evening's service.  I felt sorry for the people who ordered the green beans that were abandoned next to the cutlery tray and languished there for the duration of our meal (if we hadn't ordered the same thing, we probably would have re-housed them to our table).

The fried pork ribs with chilli were outstanding. It was reminiscent of Chongqing chicken, only better because in place of chicken were juicy, crispy pieces of pork complete with bones for gnawing on.  The green beans with minced pork were good, the beans had a pleasantly charred taste which complemented the salty savoury sauce. So far so good.  

Unfortunately, the sliced beef Sichuan style lavishly topped with chilli and Sichuan pepper was disappointing.  Not much heat and only a hint of that unique head-rush pepper taste, as if the peppercorns had been hanging around in a cupboard a bit too long (I know this taste because my own spice cupboard stock control is poor).  It wasn't awful, the beef was nicely tender but the lack of heat and a heavy hand with the oil marred our enjoyment of it. 

So did it topple Red N Hot from its cherished position in the Fork household?  No, not quite. It was close and the pork ribs almost had us, even with the disappointing beef. But it just couldn't beat Red N Hot's dark, steamy mystique.  Yes, it does have a bizarre system of categorising guests according to preconceived ideas of spice tolerance but the chilli-loving Forks have never had a problem with this, we just ask them to make it hot (though hopefully not in a vindaloo-swilling way).  But maybe it's been too long for me to be sure.  I had better go back and check.