I’d like to begin this post by providing a disclaimer that all the photos are probably tagged incorrectly because I have no idea which dish is which. I mean, just Look At Them. To say that they all look exactly the same is an understatement.
I mean, could ya have added any more chilli??
Apparently the answer is actually yes.
So. Last Friday night saw me skadoodling out for dinner sans Panu, which was probably not such a bad thing, the self-declared chilli wimp that he is. I was heading towards Chilli Cool, a Sichuan restaurant tucked around the corner from Kings Cross which rides high on their reputation for making their own dynamic hot-damn finger lickin’ tongue burning brand of “red hot chilli oil”.
I have to admit, I was nervous.
As I approached the restaurant I started to eye out the closest deli/newsagent/ anywhere-I-can-get-a-carton-of-milk in anticipation of a mouth on fire, but was quickly distracted by the very odd reception I received. Arriving first, I stepped into the restaurant and said I’m here for the booking under Sung, for 10 people.
The waiters ushered me towards the back of the restaurant and pointed at a table of complete and utter strangers and old people and said “There. Mr Sung.”
“Uh, no that’s not Sung, those aren’t my friends…”
“Yes. Yes. This is Mr Sung, you sit down!”
Despite my protests, they started bustling me towards this table of strangers Who Were Not My Friends and for a moment I actually thought I was going a little mad and that maybe, just maybe, Sung had aged a great deal since I last saw him. And he also became Caucasian.
Somehow I managed to free myself from the double-waiter-bustle, muttered something about waiting outside for my friends and dashed back out into the cool evening breeze, feeling as though I’d just escaped a near admission into a stifflingly chilli hot insane asylum. As I stumbled out of the restaurant, Sung and the rest of the crew arrived.
Thank god I’m not mad. But ah-ha, it ain’t over yet.
Sung stepped into the restaurant, letting the waiters know that he had arrived for his booking. Hilariously they pointed to the same table, pointed Sung to the old white man and said “There. Mr Sung!”
Like seriously, LOL or WHAT.
So it turns out that these fogies had stolen our reservation. Confusion aside, the Chilli Cool staff set up another large table for us and the rest of the evening went swimmingly well in a sea of red hot chilli oil and beers.
Despite the overwhelming feeling of deja vu each time a new dish came out, we did manage to order a few that weren’t tainted by the colour red.
The stand out dishes for me were the hot & chilli crispy pork intestines, spicy aubergine, and dry fried green beans, but the dish of the night, and Sung’s favourite, had to be the fish cooked in fresh chilli and chilli powder which is served in regular or large. We had the regular:
My mouth is still burning!
15 Leigh Street
Kings Cross, WC1H 9EW
0207 383 3135