For much of my youth hot drinks were really just a delivery system for sugar. At least two mounded teaspoons would go into a cup of tea and a “milky coffee” from the local caff would not be ready until multiple sprinkled sachets of the white stuff had been lobbed in. Obviously, I eventually grew out of all this.
Or, at least, I was socially shamed to the degree that my culturally inherited sweet tooth — it’s telling that the Yoruba words for “delicious” and “sweet” are one and the same — became something that I recognised as a sign of unsophisticated infantilism.
Anyway, I thought of all this again as I sat in Brick Lane’s Hoko, nursing a glass of their Hong Kong milk tea: a chilled, proprietary blend of Ceylon leaves, evaporated milk, sugar and water that has a creamy, rounded sweetness that lands like a time traveller from a more innocent (and, yes, OK, probably more cavity-ridden) age. Though it is a drink rather than food, the milk tea is an important gateway to understanding precisely what is happening with this all-new, instantly mobbed, Cantonese- inspired cafe.
Not just because it was these teas, presented in slickly designed, clear pouches like lactic Capri-Suns, that were the original basis of founder Nicole Ma’s business. But, also, because they encapsulate so much of what makes this place such a nostalgic, deeply unsubtle joy. Hoko is a true-believer riff on the pleasures of the cha chaan teng (essentially, a Hong Kong greasy spoon); a scuffed, egalitarian temple to inexpensiveness, efficiency and the comforting whump of sugar, salt and deep-fried carbs. It is a place where the only thing resembling a nutrient-rich green vegetable is an occasional chopped scattering of spring onion, and the implicit off-menu special is a possible side order of Type 2 diabetes. Nonetheless, I absolutely loved the bones of it.
Much of this flows out from the artful simplicity of the decor, branding and format. Set in a prominent spot at the Shoreditch end of Brick Lane (there was a pop-up on the same site last autumn), Hoko is a long, narrow space with wood-panelling, mismatched linoleum tile on the floor, Canto-pop on the stereo, and an aesthetic consciously pitched somewhere between a diner and a dishevelled cab office. Cha chaan tengs are fascinating, historical curios; Sixties-era, Canto- European caffs that absorbed and then reinvented dishes from Hong Kong’s Western expatriate community. The upshot of this cultural scrambling is that Hoko’s experience and menu feels at once both highly specific and oddly universal.
Hoko only really has one culinary move, and that it is a move that generally involves the turning on of a deep fat fryer
Hong Kong borscht soup was an early case in point: a steaming cup of tomato- based broth, clogged with softened hunks of beef and vegetables, and powered by a sweet, thrumming tang. Squares of deep-fried, salt and pepper tofu had molten, creamy centres and the inspired addition of crispy hot dog onions. The pork chop rice with egg, meanwhile — an ugly delicious mound punctuated by a ringing, ginger-forward marvel of a black bean sauce — may, at a swoop, be one of the most diabolically effective, circa-£10 plates of food in the capital.
You will be sensing, at this point, that Hoko only really has one culinary move, and that it is a move that generally involves the turning on of a deep fat fryer. There is a deliberate kind of arrested development to the food. And if I had a small criticism then it would be that some of the more intriguing dishes in the broader cha chaan teng repertoire — the fish chowders or satay beef noodles — are currently conspicuous by their absence. But, then, I like the fact that Ma and her team are not seeking to “improve” working-class dining culture through needless artisanal refinement. I like that the hallucinatory, Vegas-era Elvis sweetness of their HK French toast is balanced by a melting pat of pointedly salty butter. And, ultimately, I really like that — a few doors down from the East End’s beigel shops and Bangla curry houses — we have an all-new, affordable institution, built upon principles of soulfulness, succour and the timeless appeal of something sweet.
