Hon’s BBQ
Queen’s Yard, E9
A meal for two is about £140
The first thing I notice at Hon’s new permanent site in Hackney Wick is that it has bins. A fairly standard feature of a restaurant, you’d think? But Hon’s predecessor in this hallowed space was Silo, a zero-waste restaurant which had none. Legend of the liner notwithstanding, you’ll now find black sacks brimming with bones, because Hon’s does barbecue.
Owner Man Hon Luk’s route to the pit reads like an A24 logline. Tipped off about Interstellar BBQ at 3am over a poker table in Austin, Texas, he made the pilgrimage, fell hard, and returned the following year, in 2022, to train under pitmaster John Bates at the now-Michelin-starred smokehouse. The concept of Hon’s that emerged — Texan technique with Chinese flavours — takes shape in a custom 500-gallon smoker sourced, like a divorced dad’s road bike, from eBay. At the hour when the CrossFit warriors stir, Luk is up at 5am, smoking low and slow. He crowdfunded a mighty £36,000 to secure the site, so I get the sense he has much skin in the game.
The room hasn’t changed much since Silo. The light-filled industrial shell needed little doing to it, and the chief additions are red accents, a projector screen taped to the wall and a set of decks where Uncle Hon and a rotating roster play on occasional evenings. Tonight’s show is the Bad Times Rodeo.
This place doesn’t feel like a rib-wrenching, release-your-inner-labrador kind of barbecue spot. Unlike in the residency days, dishes arrive not on trays but on gently patinated metal plates, with knives and forks. I giddy-up and order the Taiwanese pork belly — only to learn they’ve already sold out (Sad Times Rodeo?). It isn’t my first Hon’s rebuff. In a former life, when the restaurant, then called Uncle Hon’s, took the form of a two-year residency at All My Friends, I once rang ahead with what amounted to a carnivorous booty call: was there any meat going spare for a hungry woman? The answer, then as now, was no. A predictable outcome at a barbecue spot open only five days a week — making enough until you sell out is how it works. Happily, it’s the kind of menu where I’d hoover up every item, so falling on the survivors is no hardship.
The duck pancakes are a triumph. The brined and smoked bird is blush-pink beneath a rendered skin, carrying an almost frankfurter note from the smoke that marries with a fruity lick of home-made hoisin. These slices are so plump that more hoisin, spring onion and cucumber wouldn’t go amiss. Five is also an awkward number to share, unless you fancy seeing off the final one Lady and the Tramp style. A tomato and melon salad topped with crispy onions follows, which is tart and delicate. It’s tempting to slurp in one fell swoop, but reserve a few spoonfuls for the onslaught of muscle fibre to come.
Tender ox cheek falls apart like a New Year’s resolution
On to the ox cheek, the lamb breast and the beef rib. The eight-hour cheek is tender and yielding, falling apart like a New Year’s resolution, with the few pickled slices of onion barely denting the meatiness. The lamb breast is also excellent. Every bit as soft, its abundant fat lifted by Xi’an-style seasoning and the snap of cucumber. The beef rib is dark-barked and slick with a Sichuan-peppercorn sauce (although it’s perhaps more of an oil). This is a Harley Street collagen kind of affair, so the sides really earn their place for balance. Each mouthful of short rib is quelled by a scoop of beef-dripping scallion rice and the typhoon-shelter green beans. I enjoy the latter as much as the barbecue itself — blistered green tridents strewn with a rubble of crispy garlic and chilli. If the orphaned fifth pancake is still going, it makes a fine mop for the last of it.
When I leave, the dining room is still thrumming at 4pm on a Sunday, walk-ins turned away, barely a rib left to gnaw. I’m sure a Texan pitmaster would love to split hairs with me over fat marbling, bark or the exact friction of bone against beef. And you know what? I couldn’t care less, Hank! Hon’s feels like a restaurant that serves barbecue, not a barbecue joint. The machismo and meat sweats are left at the door, and all the more welcoming for it. It demands neither the widest arteries nor the deepest pockets. For that, I’m all in.
What you say
Liln1: “Went to Hon’s BBQ yesterday. It was absolutely delicious. Chinese Texan fusion. Lovely spot in Hackney Wick.”
Foodwmel: “The ibérico ribs were the collective favourite — they were so juicy and we loved the addictively sweet glaze on them.”
Mr Dalvin: “The whole dining experience at this Asian-inspired yet authentic BBQ smokehouse was outstanding and completely exceeded my already high expectations.”
