Wangs X Tomo No Ramen, Montpelier: 'If this is what they’re capable of in the midst of building their restaurant, imagine what they’ll do when it’s finished'
There’s a new noodle in town.
Renovating is bloody hard work. At times it is looking into the fiery depths of hell and still picking yourself up by the bootstraps and asking if anyone wants a cup of tea. It’s running out of money, uncovering fresh problems, fitting something only to stand back and realise it’s wonky and losing the will to live. Imagine doing that, day in day out, and then still being able to orchestrate an ambrosial bowl of noodles.
Thus, the team behind Wangs earned my approval before I even stepped foot into their restaurant. Not only did they take a vaguely euphemistic name and run with it, but they’ve also been running a series of pop-ups and collaborations while still being in the midst of renovating their site from a fruit and veg shop into a noodle bar. Bold.
The latest guest chef to grace the kitchen-cum-building site was James, also known as Mr Tomo No Ramen. I’ve eaten James’ food in his own restaurant many times, as Tomo holds the affirming title of probably the best ramen in Bristol.*
So on a recent Saturday night with two hungry Londoners in tow we donned our hard hats and paid a visit.
I was surprised that on the ground floor at least, the list of outstanding building jobs looks easily as short as the menu. Fear not noodle lovers, Wangs nears completion. The subterranean level may well tell a different story but the door was locked to prevent nosy customers from taking a peek.
‘House pickles’ are the it menu item for 2024. In fact if there are any chefs out there that aren’t hurriedly stuffing vegetables in jars, then they themselves may be in a pickle. If to pickle or not to pickle was a question on anyone’s lips, the small crunchy bowl of vegetables at Wangs would give you a definitive answer. Despite having been served house pickles at more restaurants than I can count in the last few months, these stand out in my memory as being texturally elevated and sharp on the tongue. Should’ve ordered a plate to myself.
Now, story time. Settle in kids. I’m about to trauma-dump about celeriac.
Have you ever come across the term gaslighting? Gaslighting is when you’re fed mashed celeriac but you’re told it’s mashed potato. As I was, for eighteen years. I believed, for almost two decades, that you could do anything to a potato - fry it, bake it, roast it - and it would be delicious. But as soon as you mashed it, it became disgusting. In some ways I was very privileged to have someone so intent on me getting my five a day that they were prepared to swap out potato for its more nutritious cousin at every opportunity (thanks mum), but it meant that when I discovered the deception, I swore off celeriac for good.
Despite that, I’ve eaten my fair share of celeriac since then. But it was the celeriac skewer at Wangs that finally redeemed the aneamic bowling ball for me. Julienned and packed tighter onto a skewer than the contents of my hand-luggage on a recent jaunt to Berlin, there was plenty of edge to catch the flame of the grill. Blackened umbellifer with fermented bean paste and maple syrup; straightforward, unexpected bliss.
If the celeriac was Beyoncé, the other three Shaokao skewers - lamb, chicken and oyster mushroom - were Kelly Rowland and Michelle Williams. Good, but not likely to be lauded as royalty.
When I finally meet my end at the hands of an angry restaurateur, I expect the police will commission a post mortem. Cause of death: Too many inflammatory reviews. But upon cutting me open they will also find my internal ramen alarm clock, which is constantly ticking away and goes off about once a month, urging me to partake in the soonest available bowl of noodles. It’s a craving that must be satiated. Sometimes you just need to lose yourself in slurps of ramen broth, knowingly dribbling soup into your lap and struggling to summon the will to care.
The tantanmen, courtesy of Tomo and having apparently come to the streets of Montpelier via Chengdu, did a marvellous job of appeasing my inner ramen monster.
Spicy enough to show off its Sichuan influence but still velvety from a generous injection of sesame. If I wasn’t scared that Andy Lynes would come for me with an axe I’d say it was eminently slurpable.
The mizudori-kei shoyu has apparently been on a detour to Hong Kong but still manages to arrive at the table beautifully presented and piping hot. The antithesis of its creamy table-mate, it’s clear and punchy with chicken. The tender pork collar and tenderloin had a blush to rival your grandma when she hears you’re taking her to Wangs.
The composition was slightly less endearing than the tantanmen but still drew a contented quietness from every member of our party.
When Wangs opens permanently - ‘soon-ish’ their Instagram states - there will still be noodles on the menu but the inspiration will hail from China instead of Tomo’s Japanese wares. Still, if this is what they’re capable of cooking in the midst of building their restaurant, imagine what they’ll be able to do when it’s finished.
I never thought I’d catch myself writing this, but as long as that celeriac is still on the menu, I’ll be making a beeline for their new front door when it opens. And in the meantime, may Wangs keep showing that renovation who’s boss.
*according to me.**
**which is the only endorsement you need.
All words and photos by Meg Houghton-Gilmour
Wangs, 66 Bath Buildings, Montpelier, BS6 5PU
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