Pot Pot Malatang, College Green: 'I finally managed a spoonful, to be hit with pure nothingness'
Does the new hot pot joint live up to its 'hot fun & love' slogan?
It wasn’t the questionably erotic “Hot Fun & Love” slogan of Pot Pot Malatang that first caught my attention. Though, as we all know, sex sells.
Rather, it was an astonishing score of 4.9 on Google from over 500+ reviews, placing it comfortably above some of Bristol’s most acclaimed restaurants, including Michelin-starred Wilsons and its streetmate Dongnae, recently ranked the 46th best restaurant in the UK.
Of course, it’s entirely possible Pot Pot is the best restaurant in Bristol. But, given how recently it opened, the deluge of near-perfect reviews raises questions. As my colleague Caitlin Johnson-Bowring noted in her review of Nala Not Just Noodles, suspiciously sourced ratings and influencer-driven hype are increasingly clouding the restaurant scene. There was only one way to tell if Pot Pot had employed the use of bot bots, and that was by going to try it for myself.
For those who haven’t been to College Green recently, Pot Pot Malatang, an import from London’s Chinatown, offers “authentic individual hot pot with a rich, traditional broth” — a statement I’ll be revisiting according to “anything you say can and will be used against you”.
Following a comical game of musical chairs in which our five-strong party was led a merry dance from one table to another, none quite the right shape or size to fit us all, we ended up awkwardly wedged between the kitchen and “sauce station”. The staff must have heard our silent prayers not to be splashed with steaming broth or marinated in soy as branded bibs arrived shortly after.
Against a white noise backdrop of slurps, we attempted to order via QR code linked to an online checkout. Sounds simple. It wasn’t. Pot Pot Malatang’s website is one of the most bizarre and poorly designed I’ve come across. It looks like something I might’ve cobbled together myself (and that’s not a compliment).
Evidently their tech skills also failed them with spell check. “Noddles”, “miscellaneous food” and my personal favourite “SelfProcessed Meats” were menu highlights, the latter giving me visions of being hauled into a back room to stand over a meat grinder, churning out prawn toast or stuffed fried aubergine. Hot pot does usually involve some cooking yourself, but that might be a stretch.
Undoubtedly the worst part of the ordering ordeal was the sheer number of choices to navigate. Which of the six broths do you want? Which of the 53 additional items? And, of the eleven types of noodle, which suits your mood? This is all before you consider the spicy black fungus or more daring beef aorta, pork chitterlings and duck blood. Indecisive diners will be as stuffed as the aubergines.
After hangry deliberation — signature Spicy Golden Soup (£3) with udon “noddles” (£3.90), wontons (£3.10), minced prawn-stuffed aubergine (£3.90), and a prawn-stuffed fried dough skewer (£3.90). Vegetable pancake rolls, honey black pepper chicken wings, and, pushing the boat out, chicken gizzards and hearts on a stick for the table.
Unlike traditional family-style hot pot where you cook your ingredients at the table, Pot Pot offers individual portions with pre-cooked ingredients lobbed in, each served in a large cast iron bowl over what looked like a mini camping stove. Herein lies the first issue: with no control over cooking time, some ingredients inevitably suffer. The prawn-stuffed aubergine and wontons over osmos-ified, while the udon overcooked, becoming soggy and difficult to manage.
Next, the much-hyped broth — which, judging by the temperature, had been brewed in a nuclear reactor. Hot hot. Eight agonising minutes of blowing and fanning later, I finally managed a spoonful, to be hit with pure nothingness. It might as well have come straight from the kettle. Only a desperate trip to the “sauce” station — armed with Lao Gan Ma chilli oil, soy sauce, and sugar — injected some much-needed oomph.
To say there were no highlights would be unfair, but the most enjoyable dishes were those not hot pot. Chicken gizzards and hearts were rich, deeply flavoured, and surprisingly moreish. Prawn-stuffed deep-fried “hotdog” was a standout — prawn toast reconfigured around a stick — and chicken wings came delightfully crunchy with a sweet, peppery kick. Even generously-filled vegetable spring rolls impressed.
Last time I wore a bib I was still alternating between a highchair and a cot cot, but here I was some twenty years later, still wearing several missed slurps, contemplating. Perhaps this place is aimed at entry-level hot potters. Family-style hot pot is surely superior: you control the cooking time, and enjoy a communal experience.
Maybe we picked the wrong combination, and perhaps you, dear reader, might strike gold among the cornucopia of possible variations. For me, the individual bowl hot pot concept didn’t quite work. I’d stick with Beijing Cooking Pot or Authentic Hot Pot & Hand Pulled Noodles.
It was certainly hot, but ‘hot fun & love’? I think not. And I’m still none the wise regarding their Google achievements. Perhaps they’re not quite so tech-phobic after all.
All words and photos by Harry Hughes
Pot Pot Malatang, 38 College Green, BS1 5SP
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Looks right up my alley