Khao Bird: Top Thai restaurant takes over Soho’s last dirty cinema
What could be a greater sign of the times than a hip pop-up restaurant opening on the site of Soho’s last adult cinema?
It’s over! Soho’s dead! First they closed the late night drinking dens and then they pushed out the brothels and now there’s nowhere to watch grubby movies. The final remnants of seedy Soho are a smattering of places you can buy a dildo and a few sad leather shops – gagged and pierced shrines to a bygone era. Now it’s all private-equity backed chains and Australian coffee shops and pubs that will soon close because they’re being taxed into the ground.
At least there are loads of good restaurants though, right? Quo Vadis, The French House, Berenjak, Kiln, Pastaio, Blanchette… Er… Mountain, Govinda’s, Boca di Lupa… Give me a sec… Bubala… Moi? I haven’t actually been but it sounds nice. Lina Stores I guess, although they keep trying to make me tip twice so I’ve stopped going. Huh, I guess there aren’t that many. Not compared with Fitzrovia or Shoreditch and not even in the same ballpark as Mayfair. Anyway, now there’s another to add to the list: Khao Bird.
I meant to visit Khao Bird when it was still stationed above The Globe Tavern in Borough Market but you know how it is – time gets away from you. I’m in my mid-forties now and months fly off the calendar like grey confetti. One minute it was the middle of 2024 and Khao Bird was getting rave write-ups, the next it had already packed up. Now it’s open again. Who can keep up?
On a Friday evening, Khao Bird has a naughty glint in its eye. It feels squirrelled away despite being on Brewer Street and having a massive pink sign in the window. Inside, people in their twenties lean in close to see each other in the dim, neon lighting. It has the air of a Dalston nightclub. I’m not sure it feels like the Soho of old but it definitely feels like Soho before I got old.
As I take my seat, I wonder what row this would have been in the cinema. How many sweaty men in long coats have occupied this space? How many evenings have reached their sad, inevitable conclusion in this very spot? I instinctively avoid ordering the white curry.
This Northern Thai restaurant, founded by Mike Palmer and head chef Luke Larsson, started life in Brighton as Lucky Khao (“Khao” means rice). Is it problematic that a Northern Thai restaurant is headed up by a pair of white blokes? No. No it’s not. I’ve written about this before and the thought of doing so again makes me want to lie down and go to sleep for a very long time so you’ll just have to trust me (see also: Kricket).
Khao Bird has one of those menus where it’s impossible to really know how much you’re ordering from the selection of small and large plates, all designed to share, forcing you to put yourself in the hands of the waiting staff, which is fine because the waiting staff are very good. Too good, probably: they make everything sound fantastic. I basically end up with everything I’d read about from the pop-up, half hoping it wouldn’t live up to the hype because that would make a more interesting article. Imagine my disappointment when I enjoyed it all.
There’s the cola-glazed shan meatballs wrapped in caul – stomach membrane! – and barbecued with crispy garlic and ginger. They’re insanely flavourful, coated with such a greasy sheen you can almost see your distorted reflection as you pop them into your mouth. And there are the mutton chips “fried many times”, which might be a dig at the proliferation of triple cooked chips now de rigeur everywhere from your local pub to The Fat Duck. I expected lashings of spicy mutton curry on a big portion of chips and that’s exactly what I got. They’re not messing around with the chilli: the skin on my scalp is beginning to prickle.
Next came beef and campari larb, a kind of steak tartare made with mah kwan, a spice native to the mountains of Northern Thailand, related to China’s mouth-numbing Sichuan pepper.
“You have to try this,” said our waiter. “It’s so spicy. Are you sure though? It’s very hot. You must, though. Really? Well okay, I warned you.”
I refrain from telling her that, actually, I hold a record – a stupid, stupid record – for eating really spicy food. I have a trophy and everything. So I order it and take a massive mouthful to prove what a champ I am and oh god yeah, this is hot isn’t it? I’m properly sweating now and my shirt’s sticking to my back and I can’t feel my tongue. It’s wonderful. Can I get another beer here, please. No, yeah, it’s lovely. Yeah I’m fine. Honestly. Just give me a minute.
I’m tempted to order the “sam-rod whole sea bass”, purely because Sam Rod sounds like he might have once starred in a movie here but I figure I can cram the joke in anyway and instead opt for the barbecue chicken. It’s marinated in so much lemongrass you can smell it over the rest of the spices, the skin perfectly crisped over the charcoal grill. It’s fabulous and mercifully mild. I pair it with bone marrow rice because there are few things that bone marrow doesn’t improve. It’s rich and moreish and delicious.
Khao Bird is a hell of a restaurant. It manages to feel both exciting and comforting, its Northern Thai flavours clearly a labour of love from a team who aren’t afraid to take risks. We may have been robbed of an irreplaceable part of our intangible cultural heritage when the dirty cinema closed (a shame Unesco never came knocking, really) but on reflection I feel like I’ll get more use out of Khao Bird. Your priorities may differ, of course.