Like a lot of other people, I have been feeling a bit under the weather this past week – a bit of minor illness, a bit of the natural malaise brought on by these weird parts of the year where you feel like you’re waiting for something to happen. Obviously I don’t necessarily welcome the onset of the properly cold weather and the “I love autumn” smugness of people who won’t stop telling you they’re an introvert, but I do have some quite sick coats and jackets I’d like to be able to wear, and honestly, a bit of transitional decisiveness would be better than this horrible, humid dithering between the summer and the autumn proper.
Anyway, via some combination of a minor seasonal affective disorder type beat and this weird cold I’ve apparently picked up, I knew that there was only one thing that would do the trick and put me on the path to recovery: a visit to the doctor.
Obviously in my particular predicament, however, there’s very little a medical professional would do for me, so inevitably, the doctor at hand was required to be a healer of a different sort. I needed warmth; I needed invigoration; I needed copious amounts of chilli crisp. I needed Dr. Noodle.
I’ve been meaning to go to Dr. Noodle on Lewisham Way – kind of between Brockley and New Cross – for ages, and the necessity for a quick pre-cinema meal with my friend Seán* presented a very good opportunity. It’s a very chilled Chinese restaurant with a few tables for sitting down and pictures of dishes you can order on the walls. The place has gained a steady reputation among south east London heads over the last year or so, in large part because of their (unsurprising) speciality, a soup consisting of tender chunks of beef atop a tangle of noodles, the broth itself much more delicate and fragrant than its deep colour would have you expect, though there are other noodle dishes, plus a rice section, on offer too.
I arrived just after 6:30PM, when it was already starting to get dark and a little bit chilly. I joined Seán at one of the restaurant’s eat-in tables, and got ready to have my prescription well and truly administered**. When it came to choosing from the menu, I’d planned on going with the noodle soup for maximum curative potential, and because it comes recommended. But if I have learned one thing in my time as a professional restaurant orderer, it’s that you should always get the thing that actually compels you when you actually look at the menu, not what you think you *should* get. And when I glanced over the selection, my eyes were drawn to a rice dish, featuring a combination of two of the world’s greatest textures: aubergine and minced pork.
Aubergine speaks for itself – when it’s oily and slick and shiny there are few things I love to eat more on the planet, and that’s exactly how it’s cooked at Dr. Noodle. My thing about minced pork, however, might take a bit more explaining. I have been sort of obsessed by mince recently***, since I saw on a pizza menu the words “ground beef” and was immediately transported to the grossest and most delicious Domino’s orders of my adolescence – specifically the moreish, grainy texture of the chilli beef you’d get on the Meat Feast pizza (I believe its given name is the “Mighty Meaty”, for better or worse). It was a sideshow to the main event of the pepperoni, but for me it always made the pizza, adding depth and grounding, to the extent that an ingredient can deepen and ground a Domino’s.
Obviously minced pork is a different thing – a little lighter, and in a much different context here, paired classically with its frequent bedfellow in Chinese cooking, aubergine – but I’m just trying to describe the particular alarm bells that seeing it on the menu set off in my brain: the ones that value texture and chewiness and the way flavour can cling when applied just right. I was right to follow my gut and order it – the pork added grit and richness where the aubergine gave slip and sweetness, both of them right at home in a slightly spicy, very glossy chilli and soy sauce.
The dish on the whole gave the exact nourished-from-the-inside out effect I had sought, my instincts correct. I particularly loved how it came to the table, served – alongside a similarly remedial tomato egg drop soup that the server surprised me with – hot in a little bowl over white rice, and livened up no end with a drizzle of the kick-up-the-arse chilli crisp on each table in the good Doctor’s fair establishment.
Altogether, it was a simple meal that we were welcomed to linger over – me with my rice, and Seán with a big bowl of that beef soup that I was graciously allowed to sample, and can’t wait to order for myself next time. A few other groups of two came and went during our 90 minutes or so there, while we chatted, with no pressure applied to finish up our food quickly (the ultimate luxury).
When it did come time to leave, we each merrily paid about £12, with the types of full, satisfied bellies that always make you feel snug and happy on a cold evening, setting you right. So if you are, like me, feeling a bit restless or low-key poorly or otherwise depleted, I’d suggest making an appointment with Dr. Noodle – I know that noodles and fragrant soups and minced pork probably won’t cure all your ills (minced pork might to be fair), but they will certainly help.
* If you’re interested we went to see the Joker sequel. My review: it’s not as bad as everyone is saying. Thanks!
** Do we like the continued doctor metaphor? Does it feel a bit Carry On? I think it might but I’m kind of entertaining myself here I must say. Sound off in the comments if you want.
*** Insane thing to say objectively
I paid for this visit.
Dining Out is written by Lauren O’Neill and illustrated by Lucy Letherland. Weekly reviews are free to read every Thursday, and you can follow us on Instagram here, but if you’d like to see more, you can subscribe for £5 a month or £50 a year, to get extra content every second Sunday.
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You can't understand modern cuisine if you haven't eaten a Domino's 'Meateor' pizza (which comes with bbq sauce instead of tomato) baked to the point of feeling at one with the crumbly crumbly meat.