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Noodles are one of life’s great pleasures. They promise respite from their forgotten position at the back of a cupboard, from a pot or a shiny packet, offering near-instant satiation. They offer entertainment, both in seeing them be hand-pulled, twisted and braided behind a pass, and then watching someone attempt to eat the non-uniform, slippery mass armed only with a set of chopsticks and a perilously thin napkin. Noodles provide the canvas for many a globe-trotting, universally-beloved dish: pad Thai, Singapore vermicelli, ramen, chow mein, pho, laksa. Noodles have conquered the Earth; almost everywhere they go, countries and cuisines quickly fall for their bouncy, chewy, slurpable delights.
Now tell me, have you ever heard of Henan? Henan is a province in central China, and it is Henan you have to thank if you have ever enjoyed a bowl of noodles in any form. Henan is considered the core region of ancient Chinese cultural history, and though noodles originated in north western China, the wheat came from Henan. During the Tang Dynasty, Henan became the definitive birthplace of traditional pulled noodles.
I had never heard of Henan, because I am a cultural ludite and haven’t been to China. Yet. I’m such a ludite, that, when I was happily chatting away to co-owner Lucy in Uncle Lee Kitchen on Friday night, I asked if Henan was the same place as Hunan. In my defence, in the UK we have Dalston and Dalston, Clapham, Clapham and Clapham, Kingston upon Thames and Kingston upon Hull, Gillingham and Gillingham, Clapton and Clacton-on-Sea, Twickenham and Ickenham. I mean, come on. But geography has never been my strong point — ask any of my friends and they’ll gleefully recount the time I drove Chris and I up to Aberdeen because I thought it was in Wales.
One of the great joys of more Chinese restaurants opening in Bristol, largely due to the influx of Chinese students, is that we can now eat regional Chinese food that is actually Chinese, rather than just the British-Cantonese stuff from takeaways. Your Kitchen is great for Hunanese, Nice Spice for Cantonese roast meats, Great Chongqing for Sichuanese, Uyghur noodles at Gulnar on Park Row and Gansu noodles at Lanzhou on Park Street. Uncle Lee Kitchen opened seven days ago serving Henan cuisine, making it the first in Bristol.
We ordered at the counter, behind which Lucy and Lee’s daughter Millie was watching Peppa Pig on an iPad, and then headed upstairs for a panoramic view of Bond Street.
Don’t tell Millie, but the golden crisp fried pork bites ( £8) were incredibly moreish and disappeared very quickly, interspersed with chopstick mouthfuls of blanched shredded potato salad (£2.50), shredded cucumber salad and a lone pickled garlic clove.
Further pork came in the form of ribs with potato, cooked in a savoury broth, which in a blind taste test I’d struggle to discern from stews my granny cooked. And, I know my geography is bad, but I’m pretty sure we weren’t driving to China every time we visited. It’s no bad thing though — food at granny’s was always hearty and deeply comforting, cooked low and slow with time and attention.
Peppa had also been minced to a fine grain with ample chives, wrapped in just-translucent skins and fried to form very good, crisp-bottomed dumplings. Much to Millie’s distress, we then moved onto Shaun in the form of Henan hand-pulled noodles in a clear lamb broth (£14.50). While the broth was very light in colour and in flavour, the chunks of fatty, cumin-laced lamb were masterful. Henan’s millenia of noodle prowess were evident in the gloriously tangled noodles; though I still think those I’ve had at Authentic Hot Pot and Lagman remain atop the charts round here.
Uncle Lee Kitchen kitchen certainly has its own distinct brand of interior design — in most restaurants you’d find candles on the tables rather than making up for the lack of electricity in the bathroom — but it has warmth to it that can’t be purchased in the aisles of IKEA or John Lewis. After the half hour chatting to Lucy and Uncle Lee himself after our meal, we felt more as if we’d stumbled into a family home than a restaurant. Lucy impressed upon us that we must return for the langpi, or cold noodles, that Henan is famed for, which weren’t yet on the menu due to the same electrical challenges that were plaguing the bathroom.
Returning really won’t be an issue. On our way out, Lucy asked if we’d leave a Google review. They’d only been open five days and a review would really help. I told her to leave it with me.
All words and photos by Meg Houghton-Gilmour
Uncle Lee Kitchen, 22 Bond Street, BS1 3LU
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