‘Miga in Hackney is every kind of cool’

Photographs by Sophia Evans

Still, it is cool in Miga. And I do quite neatly mean that in both senses: there is, I find, once every year or so, a new restaurant in London that is very whispered about. Why is this, that we share the knowledge of a buzzy new restaurant in a low shifty voice, looking both ways in public and leaning forward before muttering it? I found myself at a low humming party recently where Boiler Room sets were playing on a projector overhead and someone smoking on a balcony was talking loudly about homemade ketamine nasal sprays, and the conversational element people chose to be quiet about was telling me the beef tartare was good at Miga.

We should do the “what is Miga?” bit first: it’s a family-run Korean restaurant on the corner of Mare Street – the cool bit of Hackney – near to hip Broadway Market but without its more clamorous, fuck-I-just-stepped-on-and-killed-someone’s-Italian-greyhound energy. The space is sparse in an artful open-house way rather than a “We’re still moving in” way, with a stainless-steel exposed kitchen (recently, after a stay at a rather meticulous foodie friend’s house, I have been captivated with kitchens where “every tool has its place”, and could have gazed at Miga’s work surfaces for hours) and tables and chairs that, if I were picking faults, are actually very, deeply uncomfortable.

But, otherwise, the set-up is this: Dad performs miracles in the kitchen and the three adult siblings float ethereally around the dining room, pouring sparkling water with the grace of swans and laughing generously at any and all of the half-jokes I make. The welcome is warm and the lock on the door has a thing about it that has to be fixed. It’s brilliant.

We start with the japchae, a sweet-potato glass-noodle dish that almost didn’t make it to the table (my friend Jack having asked the perfect question after we ordered, which I will be stealing wholecloth – “Is there anything on the menu that it’s stupid we didn’t get?” – which led us to gently being nudged japchae’s way). If I were being smart, I would say this japchae is a perfectly balanced sweet–savoury triumph of a light noodle dish, and if I were being dumb would say, “This is the noodle I want to eat on every hangover I ever have for the rest of my life.” Next, three of the most enormous prawns I have ever torn apart came nestled on a buttery gochujang sauce that I asked to have left on the table so I could dip everything else into it, and the mung bean pancake bindaettock was so stupid-good that Jack and I got into an absurd comedy of manners about offering each other the final perfectly textured piece. (I ate it in the end, which I think means Jack won.)

Technically, I suppose this is a “small plates” place – we’re in east London, remember – but someone did forget to tell a lot of these portion sizes that. Go hungry, leave happy.

Another brief compliment: I noticed two identical-looking men – shaved heads, AirPods, lots of little tattoos – enjoying quiet solo lunches this Friday, which I think demonstrates what kind of restaurant and space Miga is: the type you would go to with friends for a two-bottles-and-some-cackling dinner, before realising it is quite near your house and returning the next week for a peacefully luxurious blowout just-for-you lunch. There’s an art to being a restaurant where people feel comfortable going to eat a solo lunch with a single beer, just you and your YouTube premium subscription, and Miga has it down. I’ll be there doing it again very soon.

Other Miga menu non-negotiables: you’re probably going to get the soy-braised beef short rib, which pulls apart perfectly with those silvery strands of fat just holding on for a second before – pluck! – breaking, but I would encourage you to try the courgette and lily-flower root bibimbap, too (I think the real move at Miga is: go with four people, order everything, share the lot). The ox-bone broth was sadly out when we visited, but I might just plan a run that ends there soon, so I can chug a cup in celebration. And from the drinks side of things, the tea-infused soju comes in a gorgeous glass jug I had to scold myself against stealing and, at £4, is my outside shout for one of the best-value drinks in London: the same strength as wine, but with all the good grownup notes of a top-shelf whisky. I gazed at the glass in wonder after every sip.

Afterwards, after negotiating the tricky door, we walked out into a blast of heat and found the mood outside had joyfully loosened. Traffic was quietly moving while making a lazy grazing sound and, a little past 3pm and with the weekend looming, everyone was delirious with sunlight: Magnums were being eaten, bikes were screeching to a halt so people could have laughing conversations, everyone on London Fields felt a little bit like they were on mushrooms. This city is not temperamentally designed for everyone to be hot at once – one of my great fears about climate change is how the broader British psyche might respond to 50 hot days in a row, the answer of course being “delirium” – but it is designed for having lunch in, and this was one of my better ones. I will be back, and back, again.

Miga, 1 Mare Street, Hackney, London E8 4RP (instagram.com/miga.restaurant). Small plates from £11, mains from £18, sides £5, soju £4