LUCKY & JOY
95 Lower Clapton Road,
London E5;
020 8617 8100,
luckyandjoy.co.uk
H
ere’s what I do before
trying to review
Karamay, the east
London restaurant I
originally planned to
visit this week:
immerse myself in
stories of the mainly
ethnically Muslim
Uighur diaspora from
China, the
infringement of their human
rights, the disinformation about
labour, sorry, “re-education”
camps designed, say the
Chinese, not to intern and
punish, but for “vocational
training” and to “combat
extremism”. Ditto its cuisine,
burrowing armpits-deep into
its history, keynote dishes and
techniques. Then checking out
every other Uighur restaurant
I can find for context: Etles in
Walthamstow, probably the best
known; Turpan in Bloomsbury;
Dilara in Finsbury Park; Tarim
in Holborn. (The only other one
I know of is what’s supposed
to be the UK’s first, in Leicester.
It is also the original Karamay,
opened in 2015. Its journey to
the capital was even more
circuitous than most.)
Tra la la, I think. Go me. Then
the wildly unexpected happens
and I can’t get a table for love
nor money. I try phoning and
phoning and they either simply
don’t answer or say no dice,
no, nuh-huh, none. Eventually
I resort to keeling up — and
believe me, Homerton High
Street is by no means local to
me — at 6pm on a Tuesday
evening, a slot guaranteed
to have availability almost
anywhere on the planet. But
the place is heaving with
laghmen, polo, samsa and da
pan ji-guzzling young thangs
who look as if they’ve just comefrom a Luo Yang photoshoot.
(If I ever get a table, I’ll expand
on all these things, promise.)
When is their next availability?
The charming young woman in
charge shakes her head: not for
weeks. Pals, I have a deadline.
I give up and, casting around for
something of interest in the
vicinity, go to Lucky & Joy.
This is not where I wanted
to end up. I wanted to tell the
story of plucky refugees from
a repressive regime rather than
nice middle-class Brits — one
of the owners is chef Ellen Parr,
daughter of the photographer
Martin Parr — cooking Chinese
food. But they let me in without
a reservation and this, right
now, is good enough for me.That, however, is damning
somewhere rather wonderful
with the faintest of praise. After
ticking our choices off a small
menu, dish after dish appears
from the grill-scented open
kitchen as it’s made. Each one
is a small revelation.
Here’s Typhoon Shelter
cauliflower, a play on the crab
dish made famous by the cult
Hong Kong seafood restaurant
Under Bridge Spicy Crab (yes,
I’ve made the pilgrimage —
and have the violently stained
clothing to show for it). The
vegetable comes crusted with
quantities of minced garlic,
pepper, chilli and a little sugar,
all deep-fried into the most
insanely delicious rubble and
sharpened with lime zest. Among
this are papery whole red chilliesTA B L E TA L K●Marina O'Loughlin
Chance encounter with
a Chinese firecracker
— Sichuan “facing heaven”
chillies — adding a thrum of
warmth rather than heat.
I already know the wonderful
things this treatment does to
crab — turns out it transforms
the humble brassica too. Into
something magnificent.
Then a series of items that
seem to be almost accidentally
vegetarian and are equally
exciting. Yunnan-style
aubergine, smoky and suave,
on silken tofu, scattered with
aromatics — coriander, crispy
shallots — and dressed with
makrut lime and chilli. And cold
ramen-style sesame noodles,
lavishly coated in a chamois-silky
sesame paste and a restrained
pool of scarlet, perfumed chilli
oil, made in house. Even familiar
numbers from the regionalGreen beans in pork mince
virtually has me face-planting.
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50 • The Sunday Times Magazine