55 portions of roast duck, 47 of char siu, 49 of roast pork and 39 of chicken from 43 eateries. This isn’t your racist uncle’s Chinese takeaway.
While other regional Chinese cuisines from Sichuanese to Xi’an have proliferated across London, Cantonese food – especially as it’s eaten by Cantonese speakers rather than the heavily anglicised takeaway version – has gotten far less attention. In a place like London, where its restaurant botherers are perhaps overly fixated on the new, that can potentially undermine their commercial viability.
There has been a very modest boom in eateries serving siu mei, also known as Cantonese roasts and not to be confused with the dumpling siu mai, perhaps one of the most approachable parts of Cantonese cooking and certainly one that holds a permanent place in my affections.
Compared to the subjects of my other best and worst group tests, siu mei is a much more loosely defined and wide-ranging category of dishes. So much so that even the terminology in English isn’t standardised, with ‘barbecue’ (or variants thereof) sometimes used. Meats are marinated and then spit-roasted or, more commonly in the West, baked in an oven. Except a handful of dishes are steamed or poached instead. In Hong Kong, all are sold from the same genre of eateries and are incredibly popular as takeaway food.
Although the proteins and even the method of cooking may differ, the interplay and balance between the texture of the meat and the marinade atop it is perhaps the one element unifying them all. Here’s a brief summary of the main types of siu mei.
Roast duck/siu aap
Cantonese-style roast duck, distinct both from the prestige Beijing feasting duck and its distorted deep-fried relative the crispy aromatic duck, is the accessible blockbuster entryway into the world of siu mei.
The duck is immersed in a marinade that varies in its make-up, but often consists of star anise, cloves, salt and the like. The skin is then basted with the likes of sugar and vinegar. The result, ideally, should be flavoursome and supple skin atop plump, succulent meat. I prefer there to be some amount of fat remaining between skin and meat, rather than have all of it rendered away. Both because this helps avoid excessive greasiness and because it’s enjoyably flavoursome in its own right.
Even when done in a half-arsed fashion, siu aap can still be broadly edible and somewhat enjoyable due to all the fattiness involved.
’Barbecue’ pork/char siu
As anyone who’s had the familiar mainstay version in anglicised takeaways will know, char siu is a roast pork dish that’s incredibly easy to do badly. Pork shoulder, neck and/or loin is basted with a mix usually consisting of dark soy sauce, honey, hoisin sauce, fermented soy beans and – let’s face it – food colouring.
While all that can influence the colour – which can range from deep crimson to fleshy pink – I’d argue that is merely secondary. Whether the marinade can impart umami, sweetness or both is more important, as is the texture of the pork itself. Excessively puffy and airy pork feels unsatisfying to me – a firmer, slightly bouncy bite is much more preferable.
Crispy roast pork belly/siu yuk
While many favour char siu in the siu mei pantheon when they want to pig out, siu yuk is by far the superior porcine choice. When done right that is, which is easier said than done. Pork belly is rendered into a delicately tender ivory mass and topped with an extant layer of fat that can be more quiveringly succulent than a middle-aged debutante at a Robbie Williams concert. On top of all this is the gold-hued skin, which is an integral part of the whole affair. Rubbed with salt and rendered crispy in-part by the roasting (and also in-part, depending on who you ask anyway, by the pin-prick pattern of holes that puncture the skin prior to its sodium massage). The overall effect, when done right, is of a multilayered textural treat.
Soy sauce chicken; white cut chicken
The non-roasted dishes of the siu mei stable may seem not only semantically out-of-place, but also blandly unappetising. But to give into this misconceived notion would be a grievous error.
As its name suggests, soya chicken is poached in soy sauces. The type of soy sauce used (light or dark, for example) as well as other potential marinades, from sugar and salt to star anise and ginger, can all add unexpected complexity to the chicken. That subtle yet nuanced moreishness should seep down from the skin, with its TOWIE suntan hue, down to the pearlescent flesh underneath. That white meat should have a toothsome give to it, a touch of resistance with a tender follow-through.
White cut chicken is similar, but the chook is poached in chicken broth instead. Hainanese chicken rice, which isn’t really a constituent siu mei member and could easily be the subject of a whole Best and Worst group test in of itself, goes several steps further with rice that’s effectively double cooked – once by being fried in chicken fat and then again in chicken broth. I haven’t specifically sought out servings of Hainanese chicken rice as part of this group test, but I have ordered it when available.
While I’m of the opinion that all the other main siu mei dishes should be accomplished enough to be enjoyed without dipping sauces, that’s not the case with these chicken dishes. A mix of chopped ginger and green onion in vegetable oil adds flavour to white cut chicken, and arguably soya chicken too. Hainanese chicken rice, meanwhile, benefits from sauces based around that omnipresent chicken broth, chillified and not.
Others: marinated cuttlefish, braised duck wings, pig’s ears and intestines
This seemingly grab bag selection of dishes is known as lou mei, where the protein in question has been braised in stock. Although not part of siu mei, they’re often available alongside siu mei – or at least they are in Hong Kong and elsewhere.
From cuttlefish and moreish soy-braised duck wings to rumen, honeycomb and omasum/abomasum tripe, these ‘cheap’ cuts can punch well above their weight with their ability to deeply absorb the stocks they’ve been braised in, as well as their toothsome and grapply textures. They’re somewhat uncommon in London though, so any eatery that offers them gets a brownie point or two merely for trying.
An administrative note: although I find the exploitative ‘gig economy’ business models of delivery apps such as Deliveroo, Uber Eats and Fantuan to be highly distasteful, I also couldn’t have completed this group test without them – ordering direct and collecting wasn’t always possible. The way I attempted to square it with my conscience was by tipping the drivers generously – their precarious livelihoods depend on it.
In an effort to contain both the length of this group test, as well as the expansion of my waist line, I’ve excluded eateries that don’t serve at least three types of siu mei. For many of these takeaway meals, I provided my own carbohydrates with the aid of my trusty electric rice cooker. If you don’t fancy the carbs on offer by any of these takeaways, then the underappreciated rice cooker is your friend.
Table of Contents
General Chinese/Cantonese restaurants
Cafe TPT
Canton
China City (Holborn)
China City (Woolwich)
China Modern
Dragon Castle
Duck Duck Goose (Finchley)
The Eight
Gerrard’s Corner
Golden Dragon
Golden Phoenix
Haozhan
Imperial Treasure
Joy King Lau
London Chinatown (Leicester Square)
Lotus Garden
Mapo (Surrey Quays)
New China
New Fortune Cookie
New Loon Fung
New Young Cheng
Old Town ’97
Pearl Liang
Reindeer Cafe
Ruyi
Saikei
San Chiu Dim
Sanxia Renjia
Tai Tung
Tao Tao Ju
Tea House (Deptford)
Treasure of China (Bromley)
Wing Tai
Wong Kei
Dark kitchens and app-only brands
Canton Roasted
Hong Kong Kitchen
Shao Wei Fan
Yue To Heen
Cantonese roast specialists
Fan Hup
Four Seasons (Chinatown)
Gold Mine (Chinatown)
Mama Li
Three Uncles
The Winners
General Chinese/Cantonese restaurants
Cafe TPT
Cafe TPT came recommended by one of my dining companions, the Euro Hedgie.
The fatty and tender flanks of the roast duck were blessed with a light saltiness, all parcelled up with skin that was slick with moreishness.
Cafe TPT’s char siu had a light sugary sweetness to it. My portion was clearly divided between a fatty end and a much leaner end, with the latter half suffering from a bit of dryness. Still, a decent effort overall.
The golden mantle of the crispy roast pork had consistent ASMR-inducing levels of crunch and crackle. Squidgy fat gave way to reveal swine flesh that was dense yet tender, with occasional hints of gameyness.
The Hainanese chicken rice was the one duffer. The chook was – like far too many blind dates – bland, dry and diminutively puny. Perhaps the kitchen knew this, as the rice had been vajazzled with some kind of artificial saffron-esque flavouring that was overpoweringly and sickeningly floral, akin to being teargassed with Lynx Africa.
Cafe TPT should not be underestimated when it comes to siu yuk – its muscular taken on the classic oeuvre was one of the best in this group test.
Cost for half a roast duck: £14
Star rating: ★★★★☆
Canton
Canton’s serving choices are somewhat odd. While roast duck is available by itself, in case you’re supplying your own carbs, its other siu mei dishes are only available in single portions served with rice.
Like an alarmingly large number of roast ducks in this group test, Canton’s duck was an unbalanced and underwhelming affair. While moist and tender, it was lacking in both fat and a flavoursome skin marinade.
The char siu was similarly tough eating, its relative juiciness ultimately providing little comfort against the paucity of fat and the blandness of the bark.
Canton’s crispy pork was no such thing, with the skin softer and floppier than my last lover. This is a real shame as the swine flesh underneath was surprisingly and eminently scoffable, its moreishness and light sweetness matched by plenty of extant fat.
Canton’s soya chicken very nearly ended up in the bin. It was not only bland, but verged on tough and dry in places. Only the dipping sauces saved this waste of carbon emissions from the compost heap.
Canton is surprisingly tricky to judge, with its siu mei ranging from delectable to deeply objectionable. Which ultimately means it’s just not worth bothering with for your siu mei needs.
Cost for half a roast duck: £18
Star rating: ★★☆☆☆
China City (Holborn)
There are far too many Chinese restaurants in London named ‘China City’, with this one in Holborn bearing no relation (as far as I can tell) to the one in Woolwich.
Somewhat charmingly, especially if you’re a gweilo that can’t use chopsticks properly, you can opt to have your roast duck deboned. The half-bird was almost a winner from end-to-end. The supple, lightly moreish skin clung to chunks of plump, moist and toothsome meat. It was too moist in places though, with the grease threatening to stain my top.
The char siu had plenty to say for itself. Each slice was fatty and tender, with the sweetness balanced out by umami.
The skin of the crispy roast pork was far too soft. This is a real shame as this rendition was otherwise well executed, from the neatly caramelised meat to the delicately squidgy fat that was almost like connective tissue.
Although not perfect, Holborn’s China City small selection of siu mei was gut-pleasingly enjoyable.
Cost for half a roast duck: £29
Star rating: ★★★★☆
China City (Woolwich)
Names aside, there is no way any conscious person could confuse the siu mei from Woolwich’s China City with the meats from the Holborn restaurant above. And I’m not just talking about the Woolwich kitchen’s haphazardly crooked knife work.
The roast duck had no redeeming qualities whatsoever. It was not only heavy and leaden, there was barely any marinade, caramelisation or fat. I’m sceptical that any of these inedible concrete crutons count as ‘duck’, never mind a ‘roast’.
The kitchen attempted to hide the excruciating blandness and desert-like dryness of the char siu by waterboarding the dessicated pork slices in a sticky soy-based sauce. Futile.
Surprisingly, the crispy roast pork was the most edible of the unholy trinity here, not that it was either crispy or identifiably porcine. The skin was excessively chewy, while the swine flesh was morose in its dullness. The skin’s fatty undertow was the only enjoyable thing here.
I subject my body to loathsome indignities such as this, so you don’t have to.
Cost for one serving of duck: £9
Star rating: ★☆☆☆☆
China Modern
Originally known as Shanghai Modern, China Modern has since abandoned its attempt at regionalism and gone in for yet another one of the China-wide menus that the bulk of Chinatown ill-advisedly attempts.
While China Modern’s roast duck managed to stay moist without ever becoming excessively greasy, this came at the cost of not having enough extant fat. Perhaps not coincidentally, the skin was a touch too dry. The meat did have a subtle moreishness to it, but ‘subtle’ feels like a bug and not a feature in what should be a bold and forceful dish.
Despite being alarmingly lean, the char siu had a striking sour-sweetness to its bark that made up for the lack of fat in spades. Possibly cherry or sour plum, it certainly made for a distinctive bite compared to all the ‘honey’-based char siu in this group test.
Unusually, China Modern eschewed any other siu mei dishes in favour of not just a white cut chicken dish, but one I hadn’t encountered before. As if the tender chicken wasn’t juicy enough, it came dressed in a mix of soy, chilli, ginger, spring onion and what might possibly have been Shaoxing wine. Although the resulting umami was arguably overpowering, its lip-smackingly multilayered charms certainly stood out in this group test.
China Modern’s siu mei selection is small, which makes the flaws in its roast duck all the more glaring. Even so, the distinctive flourishes in its other siu mei make it well worth trying, at least once.
Cost for half a roast duck: £22.80
Star rating: ★★★★☆
Dragon Castle
While Dragon Castle is a dim sum stalwart, it’s much less red-blooded when it comes to siu mei.
While the roast duck was tender and reasonably moist, it was blander than the catering at a Tory party conference fringe event. This was due at least in part to the paltry amounts of fat. The skin didn’t help matters either – it was far too crispy and parched dry in places too. Unimpressive.
Although Dragon Castle’s char siu was predominantly sweet, it wasn’t too overpowering and was balanced out by the fattiness of the pork.
The skin of Dragon Castle’s crispy roast pork was an odd specimen. While crispy enough, its texture was more like that of a thin and lightly grainy batter. The swine flesh itself had hints of caramelised sweetness and umami, as well as occasional bursts of fat, but ultimately none of this was enough to fully banish the memory of the unappetising skin.
While Dragon Castle roars when it comes to dim sum, it merely whimpers (for the most part) when it comes to Cantonese roasts.
Cost for half a roast duck: £23.80
Star rating: ★★☆☆☆
Duck Duck Goose (Finchley)
Finchley’s Duck Duck Goose doesn’t appear to have any relation to the now-closed Brixton restaurant of the same name.
The lacquer-like skin of the roast duck had a subtle moreishness, while the meat underneath had sensible levels of slickness from all the rendered fat. It could’ve done with a more pronounced juiciness and plumpness – which it did in a subsequent portion, along with an occasional fruity sweetness in places.
There was largely a generous distribution of fat throughout the slices of char siu, with only the occasional spot of excessive leanness. The tender, airy slices had a light sweetness and umami.
The crispy roast pork was flawed from top to bottom. While moderately crispy, the crackling was also oddly greasy. While moist, the white meat was oddly and overly soft in places, with not enough extant fat sitting between skin and meat.
While Duck Duck Goose lists soya chicken on its menu, but it wasn’t actually available on any of my visits.
If it wasn’t for its flawed crispy roast pork and the modest inconsistencies in its roast duck, Duck Duck Goose would’ve have scored a higher star rating. It’s a decent-ish choice for Finchley locals.
Cost for half a roast duck: £23.80
Star rating: ★★★☆☆
The Eight
This glossy recent arrival on the edges of Chinatown serves up its siu mei both in large meat-only helpings and as single meals boxed with rice.
The Eight’s roast duck was tender and succulent, the latter quality helped along no doubt by the judicious quantities of fat. Both the meat and the supple skin were tinged with hints of salt and an aniseed-like taste, but never to an overpowering degree.
Although the char siu could’ve done with much more fat to keep each mouthful from veering too close to dryness, it was far from inedible. While much of the pork was sweet and tender, the best bits had to be the burnt ends-style tips, dense with a light smokiness to them.
The Eight’s roasted crispy pork was blighted by the inconsistent texture of its skin. Although crunchy in places, it was far too soft in others. This is a real shame as the pork underneath had much to recommend it, from the quivering fat to the tender, mildly gamey meat.
’Supreme stock chicken’ isn’t some kind of inscrutable clothing fad, but eminently scoffable poultry. The tender, moist and gamey chook had a subtle yet addictive garlic-like moreishness to it.
Although there were a few wobbles here and there, The Eight’s siu mei was still more than delectable enough to show up many of its more established neighbours.
Cost for half a roast duck: £29.90
Star rating: ★★★★☆
Gerrard’s Corner
The roast duck from Gerrard’s Corner was a bit too restrained for its own good. There was the muted moreishness of the otherwise supple skin. As well as the fine balance in the meat between salt and fat on the one hand and tender succulence on the other. While poised and elegant, this also meant it was lacking in the slap-in-your-chops boldness that should be the hallmark of roast duck.
The char siu oinked quietly but noticeably, its tender fattiness blessed with a gentle sweetness.
The crispy roasted pork was just as good as the char siu, if not better. The consistently milky, moist and fatty swine flesh came crowned with a crackling of remarkable consistency. Crisp and crunchy, but never to the point of brittleness.
The white cut chicken dishes from Gerrard’s Corner turned out to be an unexpected dichotomy. On the one hand there was the soya chicken, it occasionally gamey flesh spoilt by the sullen heaviness and excessive sweetness of the chosen soya sauce.
On the other hand, however, there was the ‘baked’ chicken which turned out to be far lighter and more characterful than that word would have me believe. The lush and gamey meat came in what can only be described as a tingly brine of ginger, chilli and vinegar. How unexpectedly remarkable.
Despite an unsatisfying start, I quickly became enamoured with the siu mei from Gerrard’s Corner. And so should you.
Cost for half a roast duck: £22.80
Star rating: ★★★★☆
Golden Dragon
The roast duck from this Chinatown stalwart looked and felt the part, as the deep red skin slid off the meat with ease, while the toothsome meat underneath had a gentle fattiness to it. But both skin and meat failed to leave much of an impression either on my tongue or in my memory. Perhaps more extant fat and a more aggressive basting would’ve helped.
Although the char siu had arguably been chopped too finely in places, with a few chunks tough on the ol’ tooth enamel, this portion of pig still had plenty going for it. The bark was not only dense and firm, but had touches of sweetness and moreishness to it, while seams of fat ensured the rest of the pork never became too dry.
The skin of the crispy roasted pork wavered a bit, wobbling along from thin and crisp in places to much harder and more uncomfortably brittle in others. The white meat underneath was reasonably moist and tender, with a reasonably persistent level of earthiness throughout. All that reasonableness is all well and dandy, but can feel like a bit of a letdown when you want something gutturally satisfying after a long day at the grindstone.
The moist and tender ivory expanse of the soya chicken had a fleeting gameiness to it. More persistent was the light umami of the dimpled skin.
If only all of Golden Dragon’s siu mei had been as enjoyable as the soya chicken and char siu, it’d be easier to recommend. For now, at least, it’s yet another second-best reserve option.
Cost for half a roast duck: £20.80
Star rating: ★★★☆☆
Golden Phoenix
Golden Phoenix has one of the more ornate interiors in Chinatown (relatively speaking), which you might appreciate glancing at while waiting to pick up your takeaway order.
Golden Phoenix’s roast duck came lacquered with a thin yet lightly moreish skin. The plump and succulent meat struck the right balance between fattiness and saltiness. Both contributed to the duck’s savoury charms, while never becoming overwhelming.
Despite its strident sweetness, the char siu never outstayed its welcome – due in large part to the dense bark, especially at the tips which bore a resemblance to burnt ends as a result.
The crispy roast pork came apart, and not in a good way. The skin was woefully inconsistent – uncomfortably brittle in places, far too soft in others. The swine flesh was little better. Apart from the occasional seam of milky fat, it was a deeply unmemorable affair.
While decent enough, the soya chicken wasn’t an exemplar of its kind. The best thing about the reasonably moist, tender and supple chook was the even-keeled sense of umami.
Like far too many of its Chinatown brethren, Golden Phoenix’s variable-quality efforts means it can’t be recommended unconditionally. It’s better than most though, with joy to be found in its roast duck, char siu and – to a lesser extent – its soya chicken.
Cost for half a roast duck: £19.80
Star rating: ★★★☆☆
Haozhan
Haozhan is one of the few eateries in this group test to serve lou mei alongside its siu mei, which is somewhat surprising given its current status as an otherwise generic do-it-all Cantonese restaurant.
The earthiness of the meat clinging to the duck wing was accentuated by the basting of soya sauce. Pig ears were firm and bouncy, while the pork tongue was thick and mildly coarse. The selection of pork tripe varied from tender to smooth to bouncy, with a few slices possessing a very gentle funkiness.
The ‘octopus’ looked and tasted suspiciously like cuttlefish. It had an unusual level of softness too, possibly indicating a botched defrosting, but the modest briney saltiness meant there was still some joy to be had from this assemblage of day-glo cephalopod.
Roast duck was mouth-coatingly corpulent, so much so that it drowned out both what meat there was and whatever qualities the skin might have possessed.
Despite being relatively fatty, Haozhan’s lifeless char siu was a chore to eat, with only fleeting glimpses of sweetness and a star anise-like taste to prevent me from nodding off mid-mouthful.
Although Haozhan’s crispy roast pork was advertised as ‘crackling belly pork’, that skin was the least impressive part of this dish. The levels of crispness were highly inconsistent, which the squishy, salty fat could only compensate for to an extent.
Both the soya chicken and the steamed chicken were dependent on their dipping oils and sauces for character. Both were reasonably sound texturally. The former had a modest layer of squidgy fat underneath its dimpled skin, while the latter was firm with not a spot of dryness.
Haozhan gets a star purely for serving up lou mei, most of which was surprisingly credible and enjoyable. Which is more than can be said for most of its siu mei.
Cost for half a roast duck: £20.70
Star rating: ★★★☆☆
Imperial Treasure
The London branch of Imperial Treasure, a spendy Cantonese restaurant mini-chain with locations across the world, seems to do takeaway rather half-heartedly. With only some of its dishes available for takeaway, and a few only available for collection at specific timeslots, it has the whiff of being a hangover from lockdown.
Cantonese roast duck isn’t available for takeaway, so you’ll have to slake your thirst for cartoned poultry with the boiled chicken instead. Underneath the supple skin were tender, occasionally gamey chunks of chook. The subtle hints of ginger were more of a sprightliness than the charged pepperiness one might expect from that spice. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing though, depending on how you feel about ginger and given the crisp, lightly sweet spring onions. While this dish was pleasing enough, it was bettered by the more adeptly prepared soya chickens in this group test and by the steamed chicken from Tai Tung.
Imperial Treasure’s char siu had a succulent fattiness that never became overwhelming. That crimson hued swineflesh had a remarkably consistent balance between subtle woody richness on the one hand and a gentle sweetness on the other.
The six cubes of crispy roast pork might seem meagre, especially given this dish’s £32 price tag (which is the same price you’d pay for the char siu). But if there’s one pork dish in this world fit for everyone from queens and presidents to oligarchical despots and trust fund kiddies, then it’s this one. The consistently, exquisitely crispy skin had just the right amount of snap, crackle and give – although perhaps the small portion size made this easier for the kitchen to achieve. Even the sweet, delicately milky and succulently tender meat underneath had a touch of crispness to it. Its juiciness was in no doubt due to the layer of fat which, while thin, was nonetheless puffy yet richly squidgy. Exquisite. Just exquisite.
Despite the sublime nature of its char siu and crispy roast pork, Imperial Treasure misses out on an unequivocal five-star recommendation. Not so much for its high cost, although that is a factor. But more for its lack of convenience which, after all, is pretty critical for a takeaway feast. Especially for one that costs this much.
Cost for half a chicken: £44
Star rating: ★★★★☆
Joy King Lau
Joy King Lau’s demise no longer seems to be on the cards, so this Chinatown institution continues to dish out siu mei, as well as other Cantonese staples.
Like so many of its immediate neighbours, the roast duck was texturally sound – moist and tender with some fat in evidence – but critically lacking in flavour.
The char siu, on the other hand, had too much flavour. Swinging from excessive sweetness to bloated fattiness depending on the mouthful, it all managed to drown out the occasional gammon-y nature of the swine flesh.
Surprisingly, the roast crispy pork was the most successful of Joy King Lau’s siu mei collection. The fatty pork had just the right balance between saltiness and sweetness, while the skin was consistently crispy. That crispness could’ve had a bit more depth and bite to it, but it was respectable enough.
Joy King Lau’s soya chicken had an unwholesome, unappealing pallor to its skin. The skin did bring some balanced umami to the proceedings, while the meat underneath was moist with a touch of gameyness.
Joy King Lau may no longer be facing closure, but it’s clear the kitchen needs to get a few things in order. With so many siu mei vendors to choose from, continuity – in this case – would be stagnation.
Cost for half a roast duck: £22
Star rating: ★★★☆☆
London Chinatown (Leicester Square)
‘London Chinatown’ has to be one of the most unimaginatively named restaurants in the entire capital, if not the whole country.
The roast duck made a bad first impression with its skin. Although respectable enough in a few places, it was for the most part far too hard and stodgy. The meat underneath fared better. Although occasionally too greasy, it generally maintained a restrained sense of moistness while maintaining a tasteful balance between sweetness and saltiness.
Although the char siu could’ve done with a bit more umami, its firm texture, bold sweetness and gammon-y character meant it still made for enjoyable scoffing.
While it was reasonably fatty, attempting to enjoy the crispy roasted pork was hard work. The skin veered wildly from a mild crispness to what can only be described as stodgy dimpled cardboard, like a sodden flatpacked cardboard box propped up against a rain-soaked storefront. The somewhat overcooked white meat underneath was only marginally less objectionable.
The unappetisingly bland soya chicken depended on its tenderness and on the moreishness of its dimpled skin for edibility.
The siu mei at this restaurant was wildly uneven. ‘London Chinatown’ clearly has a lot to fix, from its name through to whatever shenanigans are going on in its kitchen.
Cost for half a roast duck: £21.80
Star rating: ★★★☆☆
Lotus Garden
With its red-and-gold fronting, this Chinatown operation almost looks vaguely similar to its now closed neighbour, Wan Chai Corner.
Roast duck had supple skin with an aroma reminiscent of bay leaf. The plump meat underneath was well balanced – moist and fatty, but never excessively so.
Char siu, on the other hand, was bone dry which the occasional hints of sweetness and umami couldn’t hope to make up for.
Crispy roast pork was far better with skin that possessed a remarkably consistent level of snap, crackle and pop. The milky and fatty swineflesh was no less enjoyable, even if that fattiness was a tad excessive in places.
Lotus Garden’s soya chicken benefitted from intermittent submersion in the provided sauces. Although the moreish suppleness of the skins was somewhat faded in places, it mostly held up. Similarly, the meat was sometimes a touch too dry, standing out as arid patches amid pearlescent savannahs of succulence.
Lotus Garden’s octopus was probably actually cuttlefish, but was no less enjoyable for it. Firm at first, then tender with an occasional briney quality.
Lotus Garden’s siu mei was broadly respectable, held back from a higher star rating and stronger recommendation due to flaws in its char siu and soya chicken.
Cost for half a roast duck: £22
Star rating: ★★★☆☆
Mapo (Surrey Quays)
Surrey Quays restaurant Mapo is not only a Sichuanese restaurant trying its hand at Cantonese roasts, it also trades on some of the food delivery apps under the name of ‘Cantonese food restaurant’ (no, really). Somewhat predictably, Mapo’s attempts had all the appeal of red and itchy skin rash.
The roast duck was an embarrassment from top to bottom: the bland skin, the dry meat, the paucity of extant fat, the intermittently bitty knife work.
Char siu was dryer and blander than a catalogue for ordering shades of beige paint.
Crispy belly pork was much like a retired gangster living it up in the Costas: it gleamed and glistened in an unwholesomely unnatural manner, but with nothing under the surface other than an oozingly squidgy, heart-choking mass of fat.
Stop it. Just stop it.
Cost for half a roast duck: £19
Star rating: ★☆☆☆☆
New China
There are far too many Chinese eateries named ‘New China’, or some variant of it, in London. Despite its prime location on a corner in Chinatown, this New China seems to be taking its takeaway siu mei customers for a ride.
New China’s roast duck felt very old indeed – stodgy, bland and a touch too dry in places.
The char siu was the best of this trio. The tender and occasionally fatty pork had hints of sweetness and umami, but in a generic, fleeting manner that disappeared quickly.
Despite a suspicious glistening possibly indicative of a deep-fat fryer, the crispy belly pork was a dry and stodgy affair that occasionally grinded against the teeth akin to that of fingernails against chalkboard. It’s a bizarre crispy pork dish where the only part of the pork that was ever crispy was the swine flesh, and never the skin.
It was at this point during the group test that I started seriously regretting my choices in life.
Cost for half a roast duck: £19.80
Star rating: ★☆☆☆☆
New Fortune Cookie
New Fortune Cookie isn’t as well known as some of Bayswater’s other Cantonese restaurants, but it shouldn’t necessarily be overlooked.
Roast duck had a firm bite with a tender follow-through, while flavour was provided by copious but not overwhelming quantities of fat. The only flaw here was the somewhat leathery skin.
Char siu was fatty and sweet, but the majority of the pork slices had an oddly airy texture which was a tad offputting.
Crispy pork belly was easily the best of New Fortune Cookie’s siu mei. The browned mantle had generally consistent levels of crunch, which snapped apart to reveal swaggering quantities of fat. Snuggled underneath that fat was milky, salty swineflesh that provided a fine contrast to the squish of fat and the crunch of skin.
New Fortune Cookie’s soya chicken wasn’t especially exemplary, but managed not to embarass itself in any critical areas. The chicken was reasonably tender and moist, but not especially so. The8 skin was reasonably taut and umami, but not especially so.
The crispy pork belly and soya chicken were the best of New Fortune Cookie’s siu mei, making it a decent fallback option for Bayswater locals.
Cost for half a roast duck: £17
Star rating: ★★★☆☆
New Loon Fung
I’m not sure if there’s a relationship between this Chinatown restaurant and the similarly-named supermarket/cash-and-carry mini-chain.
While tender, the roast duck verged on dry in far too many places. The skin also had very little to say for itself.
Although the hunk of pig used for the portion of char siu was unusually and possibly unrepeatably fatty, it didn’t just rely on its corpulence for scoffability. An injection of sugar and possibly ginger made for a flavoursome and moist meaty treat.
While the char siu arguably had too much fat in places, the crispy roast pork didn’t have anywhere near enough. The misery didn’t end there, from the decidedly uncrispy skin to the dry and bland swineflesh. Poor.
Soy chicken was an unexpected delight. The skin was supple and lightly savoury. The modest gameiness of the moist and tender chook was bolstered by the sprightliness of the ginger and spring onion dipping oil.
New Loon Fung’s siu mei really was a game of two halves, with the dank depths of the duck and crispy pork matched by the heady highs of the char siu and soya chicken. It’s only good enough to meet some of your siu mei needs then, although that is better than being so bad that it’s unable to meet any of them at all.
Cost for half a roast duck: £18.50
Star rating: ★★★☆☆
New Young Cheng
The roast duck from Gerrard’s Corner was too restrained, to the detriment of its enjoyability. That doesn’t mean roast duck can’t be done in a balanced yet ultimately pleasing fashion, however. The duck from New Young Cheng shows that such an approach can work. It balanced hits of sweetness against a persistent sense of moreishness. The meat was also succulent from a bounty of rendered fat, but never to the point of greasiness.
Although billed as honey roasted, the char siu had vague hints of aniseed-like bittersweetness to my tongue. This would’ve been fine as a counterpoint to rivulets of fat, but this pork was a touch too lean to be truly enjoyable, despite its tenderness.
New Young Cheng’s crispy roast pork was a dish of two halves. The characterful pig was almost jerky-like in places, dense and salty yet also lightly earthy. The skin was far too inconsistent though, veering from just right in places to teeth-grindingly hard in others.
There are glimpses of greatness at New Young Cheng, based on the classiness of its roast duck. So it’s a shame that the rest of its siu mei team has let the side down.
Cost for half a roast duck: £23.50
Star rating: ★★★☆☆
Old Town ‘97
Although this Chinatown mainstay has had its name for quite some time, ‘Old Town ‘97’ now feels like a yearning for a Hong Kong that was, a time and place that’s increasingly no more than a bittersweet memory.
The roast duck was more like a damp squab. Although relatively supple, the skin was remarkably bland. This lack of character extended to the meat underneath, which suffered from large patches of dryness and a lack of fat.
Char siu (described on the menu as ‘barbecued roasted pork’ which is so much more British than they know) was more pleasing. Even though it had been inadvisibly chopped into bitty slices, making it much harder to appreciate the pork’s texture, the strong floral sweetness and hints of caramelisation and umami still made it enjoyable to eat.
The crispy pork failed to live up to its billing, with the wildly variable mantle ranging from adequately crunchy to inexcusably soft. Despite the occasional seam of fat and hints of caramelisation, the belly pork underneath made for dull eating.
Old Town ‘97 has a line of steamed, boiled and poached chicken dishes, but the results were haphazard. Despite the reasonably supple skin, the soya chicken verged on dry in places and tasted, at best, as if it had merely been in the same room as some soy sauce at some distant point in history.
The protein part of the Hainanese chicken rice was a juicy, slippy affair. Curiously though, the small grained rice had been vajazzled with ginger to such an overpowering degree that it bordered on the comical.
Curiously and unexpectedly, the soft boiled chicken turned out to be the best of Old Town ‘97’s white cut chicken dishes. Yieldingly firm, then tender, each mouthful of meat had a gamey character and the aroma of sesame seed oil.
Although there is some joy to be had among the siu mei at Old Town ‘97, the quality on show, more often than not, was slapdash and half-baked. Or half-roasted, if you will.
Cost for half a roast duck: £21.60
Star rating: ★★☆☆☆
Pearl Liang
I had high hopes for Pearl Liang, given their generally respectable dinnertime dim sum in the Before Times, but an evening of takeaway disappointment awaited me.
While Pearl Liang’s roast duck was moist enough, there wasn’t nearly enough extant fat to go around, while the supple skin was flavoursomely barren.
Whatever character the lean slices of char siu might have had were drowned out by the ill-advised sloshing of soy sauce inflicted upon them.
The crispy roast pork was arguably the best of Pearl Liang’s siu mei, in spite of its inconsistent skin. That mantle was crunchy in places, but too hard or brittle in others. The swineflesh, on the other hand, was consistently fatty, moist and tender.
The drunken chicken is arguably the closest thing Pearl Liang has to a white cut chicken dish, but I truly wish I had left it unordered. The chicken itself had been deftly steamed, the meat tender and the skin supple. The problem was that the chicken had been sozzled with an aggressively astringent booze. If I wanted to nauseate my nostrils with the aromas of paint stripper and WD40, I’d hit up my ex.
Pearl Liang’s siu mei isn’t a diamond in the rough, but a chunk of coal.
Cost for half a roast duck: £26
Star rating: ★★☆☆☆
Reindeer Cafe
This eatery in the same building as the Cricklewood branch of Wing Yip not only feels like a caff/canteen, it also has opening hours to match, closing at an early 19.30 each night. Regardless, denizens of Cricklewood and Brent Cross should consider themselves fortunate to have this resource on their doorsteps.
Char siu was not only fatty and tender. Each porcine slice also struck a well-judged balance between gentle sweetness on the one hand with fat and umami on the other.
The mantle of the crispy roast pork was somewhat inconsistent, but when the kitchen got it right, the snap and crackle of the dimpled carapace was positively melodious. Once again, a remarkably apt balance was struck in the meat, this time between sweetness, saltiness and fattiness.
Although the taut skin of the soya chicken only had a mild umami, it was enjoyable nonetheless, especially with the moist, tender chook underneath.
The least accomplished (relatively speaking) of Reindeer’s Cafe siu mei was, surprisingly, the roast duck. Although succulently corpulent with slick, supple skin, that skin tasted of remarkably little.
The only joy to be had from the duck wing was the grapply mouthfeel of extracting meat from bone. The only other lou mei on offer were slices of offal (probably omasum), the firm bite of each sliver and slice making way for a tender follow through. Perfect for dipping into sauces.
Reindeer Cafe came perilously to winning this group test outright, let down at the last hurdle by snagging issues with its poultry dishes.
Cost for half a roast duck: £16
Star rating: ★★★★☆
Ruyi
Despite being relatively new to Chinatown, Ruyi seems content to not only ape its do-it-all cookie cutter neighbours, but to do so in a displeasingly haphazard manner.
The roast duck was a tad too greasy – not unpleasantly so, but enough to be noticeable. The skin was similarly double-sided – reasonably supple, but lacking in taste.
Despite being moist and possessing mild levels of fattiness, the char siu was still remarkably bleak in its blandness.
Although not totally lacking in that crisply snappable pliability of the best crispy roast pork, the mantle of Ruyi’s rendition was still far too soft and chewy in far too many places. Similarly, the swine flesh had some browning and fat to its name, but not enough to stop it from becoming a chore to chew through.
Despite being new in town, Ruyi’s attempt at siu mei already feels like a faded part of the landscape.
Cost for half a roast duck: £20
Star rating: ★★☆☆☆
Saikei
Saikei is a North Greenwich institution, despite effectively being the in-house restaurant of the local Holiday Inn with which it shares a building. Or perhaps because of it.
Although the skin of the roast duck didn’t taste of much, it was texturally interesting, ranging from supple and soft to lacquer-like. The tender, occasionally salty chunks of meat had just the right amount of fat, both extant and rendered, to impart a balanced sense of unctuousness and succulence.
While Saikei’s char siu wasn’t totally devoid of either fat or moisture, it was still far too dry in more slices than it should’ve been. This, combined with the characterless bark, made for tedious eating.
Following the disappointment of the char siu, I wasn’t prepared for the sumptuous enjoyability of the crispy roasted pork. The consistently crunchy crackling stayed just on the right side of brittle, while the moist and tender swine flesh was unexpectedly characterful with touches of earthiness alongside a well-struck balance between saltiness and sweetness.
It’s not all grim south of the river, at least not when it comes to takeaway siu mei.
Cost for half a roast duck: £22.50
Star rating: ★★★★☆
San Chiu Dim
San Chiu Dim needs to reformulate the marinade for its roast ducks. While the fowl here was tender, moist and reasonably corpulent, the slick skin was surprisingly flavourless.
The kitchen struck a keen balance between sweetness, saltiness and umami in the char siu. The texture needed some work though. The swine flesh was only fatty in places, while the bark could’ve been more consistently toothsome and yielding, with some pieces oddly crispy.
Curiously, the kitchen had no such trouble in maintaining a consistent level of crunch in the mantle of the crispy roast pork. The gamey, moist fattiness of the swine flesh was a credit to pig and kitchen alike.
Although there are glimpses of vivid splendour in the siu mei from San Chiu Dim, there are also still plenty of snagging issues for the kitchen to sort out before it can truly rise above its competitors, both in Chinatown and beyond.
Cost for half a roast duck: £24.80
Star rating: ★★★☆☆
Sanxia Renjia
I wasn’t expecting exceptional siu mei from this Sichuanese restaurant in Fitzrovia, but I was still taken aback by this collection of atrocities tipped into a series of takeaway containers.
Roast duck, despite being served on the bone, was dry and overcooked. And this was inspite of the fact that the half-bird came flailing in a reservoir of its own grease.
When the char siu wasn’t parched and husk-like, it managed to rouse a feeble level of sweetness in its fat-free slices.
Surprisingly, it was the crispy roast pork that was the least embarrassing and most enjoyable – although that was largely because the kitchen seemed to have given up doing it properly half-way through. Although the skin was droopingly flaccid, the swineflesh was not only fatty but had also been neatly browned – to a crunch in many places. Although that crunch was a little suspicious (perhaps a blowtorch had been involved), it’s certainly better than not having any enjoyability at all.
Sanxia Renjia should really stick to Sichuanese food, as their versions of siu mei amount to a declaration of internecine warfare.
Cost for half a roast duck: £26.80
Star rating: ★☆☆☆☆
Tai Tung
Tai Tung is one of the restaurants next to the Purley Way branch of Wing Yip, so it’s more or less the Croydon equivalent of its Cricklewood counterparts Wing Tai and the Reindeer Cafe.
Tai Tung’s roast duck was both remarkably enjoyable and consistent in its execution. The supple and slightly sweet skin was only the tip of its appeal. Underneath was a remarkably consistent balance between succulent fattiness and plump, moist meat. A gentle saltiness bound the two together to eminently scoffable effect.
Char siu was winsome in every way, from the dense bark to the meat tinged with hints of aniseed-like flavour and sweetness alongside seams of flavoursome fat.
Although Tai Tung’s crispy roast pork was reasonably moist, fatty and salty, it was let down by the quality of its skin. That mantle was sporadically crunchy in places, but those spots of textural joy were few and far between in an expanse of dimpled softness.
While the soya chicken verged on dry in places, it generally managed to avoid embarrassment with sufficient levels of moisture and tenderness. The best part of this chook had to be the supple, bronzed skin and its gentle moreishness.
Although it’s debatable as to whether the steamed chicken with shallots in soya sauce counts as siu mei, even under a pantheon so broad, I’m reviewing it here anyway. The just-cooked chicken soaked up the umami and light sweetness of the soya sauce with ease, while the shallots added a crisp layer as well as another source of sweetness. Even if it doesn’t count as a white-cut chicken dish, it’s ultimately more enjoyable than its soya chicken stablemate.
I can kinda see what the kitchen was trying to accomplish with its intestines dish. By deep frying them, it presumably hoped to achieve a crispy exterior followed by a tender, funky interior. What I got instead were morsels with a leathery exterior and an interior that was admittedly soft, but also soulessly bland. The pickled vegetables would’ve been a nice touch as a palate cleanser to an alternate version of this dish that was actually worth bothering with.
Tai Tung’s siu mei proved to be unexpectedly enjoyable. While it just lost out on an unequivocal recommendation due to a few snagging issues and collection-only availability, Tai Tung is still a valuable resource for Croydon-ites.
Cost for half a roast duck: £22
Star rating: ★★★★☆
Tao Tao Ju
Tao Tao Ju is another easy-to-miss Chinatown restaurant with a menu longer than the Great Wall of China.
Tao Tao Ju’s roast duck wasn’t too bad. But with rather forgettable, characterless skin, it was overly reliant on its large quantities of rendered fat for richness.
Char siu was far too lean with only a transient sweetness to its name.
Like far too many of its ilk in this group test, the crispy roast pork was about as crispy as a sheet of Kleenex. The swineflesh underneath was lacking in extant fat, with far too much of it rendered into chin-staining grease.
When it comes to siu mei, Tao Tao Ju is one of those restaurants where you’ll have a good time only if you go in with rock bottom expectations.
Cost for half a roast duck: £27.80
Star rating: ★★☆☆☆
Tea House (Deptford)
Deptford is better known for its Vietnamese restaurants, but that hasn’t stopped Tea House from punting its mixed menu of Cantonese, Sichuanese and anglicised takeaway dishes.
Although Tea House’s roast duck could’ve done with more extant fat, it was still juicy enough. The tender and reasonably plump meat was topped with skin that ranged from supple to lacquer-like, with tantalising aniseed-like hints coming along for the ride.
Those same hints of aniseed, along a touch of sweetness, tinged the slices of char siu. Like the roast duck, the char siu could’ve done with more fat, although this relative leanness didn’t detract too heavily from this pork’s enjoyability.
Crispy pork belly was let down by its skin which was far too chewy and hard. The swine flesh, on the other hand, was competent enough with reasonable levels of moisture and milky fattiness.
Soya chicken was never dry and had a light touch of gameiness to it. The umami from the soy was about as evenly distributed as a drunk’s piddle stream, with the moreishness much stronger in the pieces of chicken at the bottom of the carton.
The siu mei from Tea House wasn’t bad, but it’s hardly the definitive article either.
Cost for half a roast duck: £20
Star rating: ★★★☆☆
Treasure of China (Bromley)
Denizens of Bromley hoping that an eatery in their borough will once again top the charts, as it did so unexpectedly in my best and worst gelato group test, will be disappointed.
Bromley’s Treasure of China is somewhat unusual in that it offers it roast duck both with and without bones. The bird came dangerously close to being too dry, perhaps due in part to the lack of fat. The modestly supple and moreish skin couldn’t really compensate for this.
Although tender, the char siu came inexplicably bathed in a sticky sauce that drowned out the sweetness and caramelisation that only became evident after decanting the unwelcome condiment off a slice or two. Even more intrusive was the layer of filler bean sprouts lurking at the bottom of the carton.
The crispy roast pork had plenty of salty, fatty charms. The suspiciously extracurricular browning raised an eyebrow, but it was the skin that was the real problem here. It ranged in texture from excessively chewy to soft.
If this is the treasure of China, then I’d hate to see what the poverty of China looks like.
Cost for half a roast duck: £28.80
Star rating: ★★☆☆☆
Wing Tai
Wing Tai is the other restaurant living cheek-by-jowl with the Cricklewood branch of Wing Yip, the other being the Reindeer Cafe. While I can’t completely rule out the possibility that the two share a kitchen, that seems unlikely given the divergent nature of their siu mei.
Wing Tai’s roast duck was a relentlessly dry affair, from bland skin through to the joylessly lean meat.
Char siu was far more pleasurable, and not just because of its periodically stout fattiness. Sweetness and umami alternated with a gentle aniseed-like tang. The occasional bit of bark provided more intense hits of sweetness and moreishness.
Although the dimpled mantle of the crispy roast pork was blighted by a pervasive dryness, the swine flesh underneath was a different matter altogether. Fatty and salty with a plump thickness, it imparted oral pleasure that bordered on the obscene.
Soya chicken, on the other hand, was far too demure for its own good. The skin had, at best, a fleetingly mild umami. But at least the chook underneath was moist and relatively gamey.
Wing Tai’s Cantonese roasts were a succession of highs and lows – sometimes within the same dish, as the crispy roast pork and soya chicken can attest. The roast duck was embarrassing, especially when taken in the same meal as the superlative char siu. Oh, if only everything from Wing Tai’s roasts menu had been as exquisite as their char siu.
Cost for half a roast duck: £23.10
Star rating: ★★★☆☆
Wong Kei
This infamous Chinatown stalwart has plenty of genuine, unironic supporters. Given the quality of its siu mei, I’m currently not one of them.
Although the roast duck had skin that was sweet and lightly moreish, the meat underneath dragged this bird down. It was all a tad too dry due to a paucity of extant fat, which made for an ultimately dull, grey chew.
In a somewhat similar vein, char siu was also a bit too dry for its own good. But this dish had more going for it, even if only a tiny bit more, from the fattiness and sweetness to the fleeting sense of umami.
Although there was an occasional bit of crunchy skin to be found in the ‘crispy’ belly pork, most of it was really just excessively chewy cardboard. Which is about as appetising as it sounds. There was some fat and gaminess to the swine flesh, but not enough to wash away the dreariness of that subpar skin.
Soya chicken failed to live up to its name with skin that – at best – only managed to present a meek, transient umami. The white meat itself was at least moist and tender. Ultimately though, so-so poached chicken is a poor substitute for worthwhile poached chicken.
I dithered for a while as to which star rating should be awarded to Wong Kei for its siu mei – two or three stars. While it’s not quite as derisory as some of the other two star recipients here, it’s also generally less tolerable than the other three star recipients here which could be categorised as last-resort takeaway options. Perhaps there is something worth having more than once from Wong Kei – but their siu mei certainly isn’t.
Cost for half a roast duck: £26
Star rating: ★★☆☆☆
Dark kitchens and app-only brands
Canton Roasted
It’s not clear whether Canton Roasted is an app-only version of Canton or a dark kitchen operated by one of its neighbours. I suspect the latter as the siu mei was a bit different, although not necessarily in a good way.
The roast duck was less fowl and more the lifelessly grey atrocity that usually only inhabits the fevered nightmares of militant vegans.
Canton Roasted’s char siu managed to muster reasonable levels of fattiness and sweetness, in spite of being sliced wafer thin.
Excessively soft and floppy roast pork wasn’t crispy in the slightest. It was also dependent on saltiness for edibility.
The soya chicken had been waterboarded with the eponymous condiment, possibly indicating an attempt to cover-up sloppy marinading. While this heavy-handed umami didn’t completely overwhelm the chicken’s tenderness and moisture, it was ultimately the thing that stuck in my craw the most – to the dish’s detriment.
Although Canton Roasted is one of the cheaper options in this group test, it’s also a clarion example of how – sometimes, at least – you get what you pay for. With Canton Roasted, you don’t get very much at all.
Cost for one serving of roast duck: £12.80
Star rating: ★★☆☆☆
Hong Kong Kitchen
This app-only dark kitchen appears to operate from the premises of a Japanese restaurant in the City which initially gave me cause for concern.
Although worryingly advertised as ‘crispy’, the skin of the roast duck was thankfully slickly supple and moreish, as is right and proper. Although both skin and meat were a tad too subtle in places when it came to taste, the hints of umami in both were bolstered by plenty of fat, while the meat never suffered from dryness or toughness.
Char siu was predominately smoky, with subtle hints of sweetness every now and again. Although there was a reasonably consistent level of fattiness throughout all the slices, a touch more would’ve bolstered the flavour of the pork even further.
The skin of the crispy roast pork wasn’t crispy in the slightest, with levels of softness that would make a half-century old mattress blush. This is a shame as the pork was otherwise highly commendable with each tender, gammony slice striking the right balance between saltiness and fattiness.
Although there was some extant soy sauce present, the soya chicken largely stood on its own two legs (so to speak). As well as possessing a strident level of umami, the chicken was tender with an almost gamey quality despite its lightness.
Hong Kong Kitchen only sells its siu mei as single-portion meals with rice. The quality of its small-grained rice could be surprisingly variable though, sometimes possessing too much firmness, rather than being consistently soft and fluffy. In any case, Hong Kong Kitchen’s siu mei was largely enjoyable despite the imperfections in their rice. In a similar vein, the siu mei itself was – despite some notable flaws – largely worth ordering, which is especially notable for the efforts of a dark kitchen.
Cost for one serving of roast duck: £13.74
Star rating: ★★★★☆
Shao Wei Fan
Shao Wei Fan (which apparently translates as ‘roasted rice’) appears to be the delivery app-only version of Chinatown stalwart Lido.
Despite being relatively moist and fatty, the roast duck somehow managed to be obtusely deviant in its blandness. The somewhat waxy skin added to this duck’s unappetising nature.
Shao Wei Fan’s char siu could’ve done with more fat, but this lean yet mean hunk of pig still managed to impart reasonable levels of fatty moreishness and the occasional, very mild hits of sweetness. Acceptable.
There was some notable variation in the crispy roasted pork. In one portion, the mantle was consistently crisp, cracking apart to reveal wee porcine pillars standing to attention, riven with succulent fat. But, in a subsequent portion, the skin was much harder, while the swine flesh was noticeably saltier, albeit with even more fat to balance that out. While the first portion was far better, the kitchen did seem at least somewhat adept in ironing out some of the inevitable variations that come from a natural product.
While Shao Wei Fan managed to put in a broadly respectable showing, consistency issues and their milquetoast roast duck means they’re a second-best reserve option for takeaway siu mei.
Cost for half a roast duck: £25.50
Star rating: ★★★☆☆
Yue To Heen
It’s unclear as to who really owns and operates this app-only dark kitchen. While its siu mei is only available in individual-sized portions with rice, it was much less worse than I expected.
Although my portion of roast duck was scrawny and bony, the meat still managed confident levels of fatty, salty succulence, while the lacquer-like skin was moreish.
While the char siu was far too sweet, it wasn’t totally lacking in charm. There was plenty of fat, as well as the odd patch of dense bark here and there.
The excessively soft skin on the crispy roast pork was a real shame, doing a disservice to the meat underneath. The swine flesh struck a remarkably good balance between squidgy fattiness and bold saltiness.
The heavy, stodgy marinade of the soya chicken couldn’t disguise the wild variances in the meat’s moistness, with some chunks displaying levels of dryness that would make a desert blush with envy.
Yue To Heen’s siu mei shows plenty of potential, but the kitchen needs to push themselves further if they really want to make truly scoffable Cantonese roasts.
Cost for one serving of roast duck: £9.80
Star rating: ★★★☆☆
Cantonese roast specialists
Fan Hup
Fan Hup, near London’s new City Hall on the banks of the Royal Victoria docks, is – at the time of writing – on some kind of hiatus. While this looks to be increasingly permanent, I certainly hope it isn’t, as Fan Hup can knock out some of the best siu mei in London.
Although it could’ve done with more extant fat for extra lusciousness, Fan Hup’s roast duck was a masterful effort, time after time. The supple skin was also remarkably well balanced between savoury and sweet, while the meat underneath was tender and moist.
Fan Hup’s char siu was a far cry from the phoned-in mediocrities served elsewhere. Each mouthful was a model of poised technique in every way. Neither extravagantly fatty nor monastically lean, each succulent slice of pig also struck just the right balance between sweetness and moreishness. However, the kitchen had trouble maintaining such porcine equilibrium as a subsequent portion went too far in one way, favouring the savoury and the lean at the expense of sweetness and fattiness.
The crackling-like mantle of the crispy roast pork was consistently crisp. The skin’s fatty undertow blended neatly into the the tender, occasionally earthy swineflesh. The kitchen’s issues with consistency became apparent in some subsequent portions though, from softer skin to blander meat.
Soya chicken was exceptionally smooth. With each successive mouthful of glossy, milky and moist chicken, a cumulative moreishness and gentle sweetness coated the mouth. But never in an overwhelming, palate-soddening fashion.
Unlike many of the other eateries in this group test, Fan Hup served its siu mei as boxed meals with a helping of either white rice or egg noodles, rather than as large meat-only portions (or as half- or whole-birds in the case of poultry). Fan Hup’s egg noodles deserve a special mention – thin, narrow, supple and served in a sweet soy sauce, these light yet filling carbs were the perfect accompaniment to the meats.
Despite some issues with consistency, Fan Hup could still have easily romped home as one of the winners of this group test if they were still open – their siu mei was that exemplary. Wherever they’ve gone, I hope they return.
Cost for one serving of roast duck: £15
Star rating: Unrated
Four Seasons (Chinatown)
The Chinatown branches of Four Seasons had previously long been my go-to choice for siu mei, but their technique has been slipping.
While tender, Four Seasons’ roast duck had excessive amounts of extant fat – something I never thought I’d say. In some portions, this greasiness was positively clammy. This is a shame as the fat’s palate-coating effect was a distraction from the gentle sweetness of the supple, dimpled skin.
A somewhat similar issue affected the crispy roast pork. An abundance of fat over meat overwhelmed the latter, but at least the crackling was crisp to the bite.
Four Seasons’ char siu was sodden by grease and fat, partially obscuring the pork’s lightly smoky and sweet charms.
Four Seasons’ soya chicken was occasionally too bony in places, although that’s down to an occasional slip in cleaver technique by the chef more than anything else. Sweet, supple skin lay atop tender, moist and reasonably gamey white meat. All of this was spoilt in a subsequent meal, however, by an overly liberal application of fat.
Four Seasons need to lay off the fat. While it may be crowd pleasing, it stands in the way of a more wholehearted recommendation.
Cost for half a roast duck: £22.80
Star rating: ★★★☆☆
Gold Mine (Chinatown)
The Bayswater branch of Gold Mine is arguably more well-known than its Chinatown outpost, but you’re getting a review of the latter as it’s much closer to one of my safe houses.
Gold Mine’s roast duck was squishily tender and fatty, almost excessively so and to the detriment of the already characterless skin.
Slices of char siu were moist, sweet and modestly woody, with the occasional one also presenting a firm and bouncy bite. The candied bits of bark were almost like burnt ends in their dense, succulent chewiness.
Despite the generous amounts of melted fat, the crispy pork belly wasn’t wallowing in tallow. The skin was crunchy and crisp, while the often puffy extant fat complimented the reasonably tender meat.
Although sometimes gamey with a light moreishness, the soya chicken here was more about its tender, moist lightness acting as conveyor for the dipping oil.
There are glimpses of greatness in the siu mei from Gold Mine and, with some concerted effort, its potential could be unleashed for all to enjoy. Until then, Gold Mine is more of a silvermine.
Cost for half a roast duck: £23.30
Star rating: ★★★★☆
Mama Li
While Mama Li has plenty of tables in its diner-like premises near the Tower of London, the various green spaces within easy walking distance make for more atmospheric dining, weather permitting of course.
Like some of the other roast ducks here, Mama Li’s effort went overboard with the fat. The excessive greasiness was a distraction from both the tender meat and the supple skin. Although given that the latter was on the bland side, perhaps this was intentional.
Mama Li’s char siu was a delicate yet eminently satisfying affair. Each tender slice conveyed both a light moreishness and a subtle sweetness.
The crispy roast pork was an unsatisfying dish to eat, in large part due to the inconsistent mantle. Although crisp in some places, it was a bit too soft in others. There wasn’t enough fat either, but at least the tender meat spoke up with belches of moreishness.
Somewhat surprisingly, Mama Li’s soy chicken had little need for the chopped ginger and spring onion dipping oil. The moist white meat was almost gamey. Perched up top was lightly moreish and supple skin.
Mama Li’s siu mei is surprisingly difficult to summarise as a whole, with some dishes possessing notable flaws. All of which inevitably makes Mama Li a fallback option rather than a prime source of regular siu mei takeaways.
Cost for half a roast duck: £24.30
Star rating: ★★★☆☆
Three Uncles
Three Uncles has been spawning branches across London, with the dishes reviewed here coming from their Liverpool Street restaurant.
The Uncles’ roast duck didn’t have enough extant fat, as most of it had been rendered. Although this meant that every patch of duck was moist, some mouthfuls were excessively greasy, while the skin was prone to flabbiness and sogginess.
Although the chilli sauce supplied with the char siu had about as much heat as a Shetlands summer, the pork hardly needed it. Thinly sliced, the char siu was consistently tender, fatty and lightly sweet.
The Uncles’ crispy roast pork had been cut too thin to fully appreciate the texture, which seems like a schoolboy error to me. Some tenderness and fattiness was apparent though, while the skin did have some crunch and chew to it.
The Hainanese chicken rice was surprisingly scoffable. Moist and lightly earthy chicken came atop a bed of soft small-grained rice with an aroma that was almost like saffron. The dipping sauce of ginger and spring onion added some snap and crackle to the proceedings.
Like Fan Hup, Three Uncles serves its siu mei as boxed meals with your choice of either white rice or egg noodles. Sadly, the noodles were underwhelming. While reasonably supple, they were not only a tad too dry but were also cursed by a leaden heaviness that was as unwelcome as it was unexpected.
For having such highs and lows in such a small menu, Three Uncles only gets three stars.
Cost for one serving of roast duck: £14
Star rating: ★★★☆☆
The Winners
If Fan Hup were still open, then it would easily have been the undisputed winner of this best and worst group test. Even if it remains closed, it’s still the standard by which I judge siu mei in London – it really was heads and shoulders above everyone else. So much so that when it closed, I briefly abandoned this group test when it closed, only to resurrect it due to a combination of hunger and stubborn curiosity into which restaurants and eateries really do serve up the best and worst Cantonese siu mei in London.
As it stands, Cafe TPT, Gerrard’s Corner, Tai Tung and Holborn’s China City are, on balance, my favoured places for takeaway Cantonese siu mei in London. Honourable mentions go to China Modern, The Eight, Saikei, Reindeer Cafe and Imperial Treasure.
The recent arrival of political refugees from Hong Kong in the UK has sparked speculation as to whether we’ll see a resurgence in restaurants serving Cantonese food worthy of the name. Assuming that any of them even want to get into the perilously tough food trade and that they succeed, then perhaps that’ll mark a small step forwards in our collective relationship with Chinese food. That we’re finally accepting it on the terms of the people who make it and how they make it for themselves, rather than demanding that they twist it beyond all recognition into a form acceptable to us. Here’s hoping.