Archie Eats

Tag: london

  • Saikei: The number 1 Dim Sum Restaurant in London

    Saikei: The number 1 Dim Sum Restaurant in London

    Taste – 6.9
    Atmosphere – 7.0
    Service – 6.1
    Value – 9.1 (£20 pp)

    Before I head back off to university, my parents always ask, “Final meal, where do you want to go?” Ah, the power of choice. Not having to worry about what others want. My sister can’t complain about the cuisine; my mother can’t whine about how far the journey is. And this time, it was the comfort of Saikei. Serving my family for the past 20 years, it’s a cult favourite for gatherings and classic dim sum.

    Saikei directly translates to ‘planted scenery’. But set below a Holiday Inn, ringed by a car park, with busy motorways racing past and a massive IKEA next door, it definitely does not fall into the bracket of ‘planted scenery’. More like planted concrete.

    Inside, this carries over. The place feels frozen in an older era, with the remnants of an obsolete ticketing system and walls drowning in white. The greeny beige carpet lies dusty as though it hasn’t been touched since opening day. A mirror at the far end makes the room look endless, which is a bit redundant when there are enough tables to seat a wedding twice over. I always smirk when I walk in: it’s messy, but neatly messy, with piles of certain products placed perfectly but always in the wrong place, like Tsingtao beers stacked in the toilets. The air smells of Peking duck and herbal tea, and the aircon blasts straight into your face, which is a rarity in the UK.

    Seated at one of the only tables for four in the place, we’re handed a pencil and a piece of paper straight away. The good old DIY. Mostly from the pictures and the questionable English translations, you tick your way through. The menu has about 70 items, but you can’t forget the secret menu, which mostly works by saying what you feel like and trusting they’ll have it. We reckon it’s another 100 dishes on top. Just don’t mistake it for your typical Chinese takeaway. No goddamn ordering of chips or pork balls.

    Servers come at you from left and right, plates landing wherever there’s space on the table: crispy seaweed, hot and sour soup, char siu buns, and the steaming dim sum baskets stacked high with har gow, siu mai and xiaolongbao, all giving off that woody smell of bamboo that always seems to lure me back.

    The hot and sour soup was a bit disappointing. I always assume the thick, gloopy soup will be pretty consistent wherever you go. But with the Din Tai Fung one in mind, this was nowhere near as good. It was too sweet, the prawns were overcooked, and it didn’t warm the throat the way it usually does. The Vietnamese rolls didn’t help either; they had a strong mushroom taste that was off-putting for me, as I am wary of mushrooms.

    But the crispy prawn wontons made up for it, with an amazing crunch, and when you can find the prawn, it melts at the touch of your tongue. The ratio is always weird, though: about a fifth prawn and the rest wrapper.

    The xiaolongbao always scorch you, the soup leaking out and filling your mouth so you taste every second they spent brewing that rich, herbaceous broth. The har gow tastes slightly artificial, giving you a firm chew instead of the soft bite you should get.

    But the star of the show, as always at dim sum in the UK, is the Peking duck. It always feels like comfort food. The assembly line of grabbing your pancake, smearing sweet, glutinous hoisin over it, layering shredded, tender duck, piling on the necessary spring onion and cucumber, then wrapping it up and swallowing it in two bites.

    I could go on and on about what I have had in the past and what I’m having now. The menu is vast, and you never have the same meal here, which I love. From whole fish, charring claypots, to cheung fun and congee, there’s always something new being chucked onto the table to try.

    Coming in at about £20 a head in London, with most dim sum coming in at £6.30 to £8.00, it’s insanely reasonable. You’re getting comfort and honest food, and the proof is in the room: Chinese families who’ve clearly been coming as long as mine have. And if you really want to push the boat out, you can even book a karaoke room!

    Location – Saikei, Holiday Inn Express, 85 Bugsby’s Way, London, England SE10 0GD

  • Discover the Charm of The Ninth: A Unique Dining Experience in London

    Discover the Charm of The Ninth: A Unique Dining Experience in London

    Taste – 8.4
    Atmosphere – 8.8
    Service – 8.8
    Value – N/A
    Address: 22 Charlotte St., London W1T 2NB, United Kingdom

    Now and then, you should treat yourself to something a little bit special. That is why, here and there, I might throw a fancier, more expensive restaurant in the mix to spice this blog page up a bit.

    When someone says “French restaurant,” I don’t get excited. I picture stiff service, high prices and food trying too hard. The Ninth, though, felt different: Mediterranean flavours, small plates and a proper sharing vibe.
    Any place that tells you to pass things around wins me over. You get to taste everything, argue over the last bite and not sulk because someone else’s dish looks better.

    Tucked away on Charlotte Street, the façade is delightfully shy, easy to miss unless you’re the sort who walks London with nerves on high alert. Catch it, and you’ll think, “Ooooh, that looks fancy.” 
    Inside feels warm and cosy like a restaurant in the mountains; just the right number of tables, a handful of bar seats for hopeful walk‑ins, and a romantic wash of gloomy green that somehow reads as intimate rather than moody. We claimed the back booth, which offers perfect acoustics, a full view of the room, and maximum privacy, making it ideal for conspiratorial bites and whispered compliments. The place leans upscale without shouting: sleek lines, no background music, and cutlery arranged with military precision on spotless marble.

    The staff, sharply dressed and armed with attentive smiles, make you feel less like a customer and more like a guest in their home. They hover just enough, appearing at precisely the right moment to top up your wine or whisk away a plate, never rushed, never intrusive. Each dish is carefully introduced, complete with guidance on how best to eat it. That said, these explanations are delivered in such hushed tones that they resemble a game of Chinese whispers, leaving you nodding along while only half-sure of what you’re about to eat.

    Snacks are always a promising way to start, and the opening lineup came swinging: crab and seaweed tartlet, sardine with marinated aubergine and cod roe on focaccia, and a crispy artichoke with leek aioli.

    The tartlet was… fine. Not offensive, not memorable. It had a faint freezer-aisle energy, though the texture behaved itself and the crab tasted fresh enough to avoid embarrassment.

    The sardine on focaccia, however, stole the show. It landed looking like it had defected from Scandinavia: a hulking sardine sprawled across pillowy bread, aubergine smeared generously underneath, pickles scattered on top. The flavours were a knockout; oily fish with a sharp acidity hit, softened by bread and grounded by deep, smoky aubergine. The kind of bite that makes your eyes roll back and your brain whisper, “You could make this at home”.
    The artichoke kept the momentum going: shatteringly crisp leaves, a soft, silky heart, and a leek aioli so good it encouraged double-dipping.

    Next came salted beef cheek and tongue with green meat radish and watercress mayonnaise, either your worst nightmare or your personal heaven. The meat melted away effortlessly, rich and indulgent, while the radish sliced through it all with a peppery snap that stopped things tipping into excess.

    Then pasta, mercifully served for sharing. A concept Italy understands deeply, and the UK continues to fumble. The pumpkin risotto arrived crisped top and bottom, texturally spot-on but flavour-wise a wildcard. Confusing, and oddly compelling, like culinary liquorice. The conchiglie with truffle and Parmesan was a safer pleasure, landing neatly between comfort and indulgence. Scallop and red prawn cappelletti followed in a tomato sauce with heirloom tomatoes: fresh, briny, slightly chewy, and gone far too quickly.

    Every plate left the table suspiciously clean.

    Mains kept the drama alive. The seabass arrived filleted like a Viking offering: crispy skin, minimal bone anxiety, easy to share, and a head left on to remind you this was once a living thing. The Iberico pork pluma tasted like it had been cooked by someone who worships meat properly: so well executed it barely registered as pork. The jus was packed with flavour, though a touch thin, but it still played nicely.

    Triple-cooked potatoes did exactly what triple-cooked potatoes should. The Hispanic cabbage divided the table; sharp and tart, a love-it-or-hate-it side.

    Overall, this was a good time. Ideal for date nights or occasions that call for something a bit special without veering into stiff, touristy nonsense. Strong atmosphere and confident cooking. A restaurant that knows what it’s doing, and enjoys doing it.

  • Bao Bao

    Bao Bao

    China Town’s Hidden Gem: A Must-Try Hole-in-the-Wall Delight – London

    Taste – 8.0/10
    Atmosphere – 6.2/10
    Service – 6.8/10
    Value – 8.5/10

    Once a bustling haven of sizzling woks and dumplings, Chinatown has now gone the way of all good things: straight into the gaping maw of tourism. The charm’s been traded for convenience, the flavours dulled, and the old-timers-the ones who knew their way around a cleaver—have mostly packed up and gone. It’s a letdown for proper food obsessives on the hunt for a gloriously greasy, no-nonsense Chinese feast.

    However, enter Bao Bao! Or rather, try to. It’s tucked away like a guilty secret, signage obscured by scaffolding (which, frankly, feels like part of the experience), and offers a menu so minimalist it borders on cryptic. No seats, no frills, and no clue if it’s genius or just another Instagram trap.

    Pancakes and buns. That’s the whole show—take it or leave it. But don’t expect a stack of fluffy Americana here. These “pancakes” are craggy, golden boulders that wouldn’t look out of place in a tray of rock cakes. The fillings—oyster, pork, or chicken—are slapped onto a ladle like dumpling mix, then unceremoniously dunked in batter and deep-fried until golden. This performance is all done right in front of you by an elderly Chinese woman with the kind of no-nonsense efficiency that makes you feel like you’ve stumbled into a back alley in Beijing.
    Burning hot from the combination of grease and juices seeping from the boulder, it makes for a slow-burner to nibble on. The pork, combined with its mystery copartners, was juicy, packed with numerous flavours of herbs and spices. What set it apart were the rough, uneven cuts of ingredients—like a leafy green that tasted vaguely of spinach, generous chunks of cabbage, and mushrooms in all shapes and sizes. These gave the pancake a rustic texture and a bit of unpredictability with each bite. It felt genuinely homemade, like something thrown together with care rather than precision, which added to its charm.

    If you’re a seasoned foodie, you probably don’t need me to explain bao buns—they’re hardly a revelation. A staple across much of East and Southeast Asia, they’re the go-to snack: soft, pillowy buns with a hint of sweetness, wrapped around a variety of savoury and sweet fillings. Reliable, comforting, and easy. Bao Bao’s buns were unexpectedly massive—easily the size of my head—and filled with combinations even a seasoned bao enthusiast like myself hadn’t come across before. The pork filling came with a rich, almost gravy-like sauce made from its own juices, coating the mouth in deep, savoury flavour. Paired with the gentle sweetness of the bun, it made for a surprisingly well-balanced and satisfying bite.

    It’s definitely an experience worth remembering—and at £7.50, it’s a bit of a bargain. Cash only, which is mildly annoying (but let’s be honest, it’s Chinatown—what did you expect?). If you find yourself wandering through the area, a bit peckish and unsure where to land, this little spot is perfect for a quick bite while you gather your thoughts and plan your next move.