Tiger Mum is one of the places you visit because it’s so wonderfully whacky, and not strictly to be blown away by the food. It’s the kind of place that you factor in a half hour chat with Wizzy, and make sure you don’t have anywhere to be immediately after. It’s healthy, unique and amazingly cheap —and though our reviewer Kate didn’t find the food to be top notch, I’d still recommend a visit, for all those reasons.
In the food world, as elsewhere, the superficiality of social media has worked up an appetite for authenticity. And of course cool, confident Bristol leads the way, unbothered by expectation, setting the trend. My Instagram feed is busy with local food influencers and adventurers from London, clad in Tom’s Trunks and Birkenstocks, questing after the most unlikely shack or scruffiest scribbled menu. But what constitutes ‘authentic’?
The atmosphere is informal in Gloucester Road’s patchwork food boulevard of Thai next to tapas, a Lebanese grill facing fish and chips. Even so, I felt a tinge of apprehension as I arrived in what appeared to be a small business retail park, with Deliveroo drivers coming and going like worker bees. But Tiger Mum finds itself in good company. The open shuttered units contain the pizza ovens of Laura’s, fairy-light adorned bars packed with punters, and Omar’s, known for one of the best kebabs around.
And suddenly there it was: brightly lit, the kitchen partially obscured by higgledy-piggledy piles of pots and pans, dumpling steamers and coffee grinders. I’d arrived at Tiger Mum, the latest venture of enterprising Korean chef Wizzy Chung, previously of Sky Kong Kong, an organic spot which first found its home in the bearpit, and later as a pop-up in the Gallimaufry. Her aim, she now writes on Facebook, is ‘to create a space where community comes first — offering high-quality Korean meals at affordable prices’.
After being led past walls lined with jars of kimchi and other vegetables all gently pickling away, I was seated at a communal wooden table where a few other diners were already getting stuck in, amongst tins of chopsticks and cans of Wiper and True.
Describing the vibe as ‘Asian grandmother’s garage’ may not help you picture the scene, but Tiger Mum’s decor is hard to categorise. A couple of Wizzy’s recipe books were within reach, and I flipped through her eclectic repertoire of electric blue soups and roasted scallops, from the pottage of British monarchs to contemporary Korean influences.
Wizzy herself, living up to her name, was dancing briskly and nimbly around the confined space, juggling trays of sizzling stuffed peppers and a mobile phone, while processing a steady stream of walk-ins. Delicious smells wafted over from the kitchen, and the buzz of conversation was building. A warm, inclusive atmosphere.
Soon enough I was presented with my tray, or ‘bapsang’: a traditional Korean array of small dishes — surely the authenticity everyone seems to be after. However, it was a bit of a let-down. Fried chicken was cold, its spicy sauce cloyed, the dominant taste that of day-old oil. Determined to try it at its best I sent it back and got hot-and-crunchy, but still burned-tasting. Pork fillet with rice, the bapsang centrepiece, had a soapy tinge, and what should have been steaming rice was lukewarm, cowering in a shelter of chopped mint.
The surrounding small dishes were better, but not stand-out. Fig and ricotta with honey was more a composition than cooking, as was a slice of tomato seasoned with pomegranate seeds, which felt like an afterthought. Dishes of fried aubergine with mushrooms were just that: vegetables, fried, without the depth of umami or char. There was also a sliver of Japanese omelette on the tray, true to the ethos of Tiger Mum in mixing and matching cuisines, authentic to Wizzy, and no one else. But what could have been a bold statement just fell short in the execution.
I’d been expecting more fragrance, more spice. The kimchi I’d been eager to try was fruity and fresh but lacked the mouth-tingling zing its neon orange-and-pink coloration promises. Perhaps I was unlucky and caught them on a bad night. And what I had might be on the slight side if you’re hungry for dinner. Yet for £12 the value is brilliant.
In the end, I got to meet Wizzy and just loved her. She’s passionate, authoritative, and all about the details: the 33 ingredients in her kimchi, for instance, as well as the six-year-old pickled wild garlic that was one of the highlights of the meal. Soapiness aside, this struck flavour into the pork and rice like lightning, and made wonderfully creative sense. I forgave her the fried chicken. She admitted she didn’t much care for it herself, although she accepts her customers do. She’s more about nutrition and healthy-eating, alternating different proteins every day and forever inspired by the changing seasons.
However disappointing, the off-notes on my visit to Tiger Mum didn’t dent my faith in Wizzy and her mission. She knows and cares about authentic Korean food, but doesn’t let that stop her being creative and playful. That alone makes her a great person to have around. And with only one other person in the kitchen doubling as front-of-house, this is a seriously impressive operation. Above all, Wizzy is the tiger mum, wanting to have you round at hers, comfortably seated and properly fed, homely and happy. It’s not often you get to feel that.
All words and photos by Kate Gaskill
Tiger Mum, 25 E Merton Road, BS7 8TL
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So would you go back?