Wong Kei is a mad Chinese restaurant on Wardour Street, Chinatown. Until recently it was considered the rudest restaurant in London and, because human stupidity is without end, it became a tourist attraction in its own right, a destination for masochists too frightened to visit an actual dominatrix who would hit them with a stick.
The owner decided this notoriety upset him so he instructed the staff — no more deliberate or casual or accidental rudeness. This was considered so notable that it was reported in national newspapers.
I never thought Wong Kei was particularly rude, but then I am Jewish. I had an interesting reaction to a meal there once, and spent eleven hours carefully composing one fart — a fart by degrees, the world’s most timid fart, a maiden fart etcetera — but that had nothing to do with the service. China is a communist country which does not do passive–aggressive service, because everyone is theoretically equal in hell. I think the rude restaurants are the ones that try to prevent you eating the food; so the rudest restaurant in London is Trullo in Islington, where the waitress tried to withhold potatoes (anorexia), and also L’Escargot in Greek Street, where the waiter tried to withhold the bread (manorexia plus misogyny equals minus one bread rolls).
The exterior is lovely, but this is surely an accident. It is an Edwardian red-brick monster with strange and glorious ornamentation: latticed windows, green tiling, a sculpture of a man’s face, which I wish I could say looked hungry, or terribly rude, but is actually just numb. Too much Chinatown? Inevitably.
The facade is ruined by the international symbol of bad food, which is menus in the windows in sick, sad, brightly lit boxes.
Comments
Join the debate for just £1 a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just £1 a monthAlready a subscriber? Log in