Sky Kong Kong at The Gallimaufry, 26-28 Gloucester Rd, Bishopston, Bristol BS7 8AL
I hope Wizzy knows just how much she’s been missed.
Following a severely unsuccessful attempt to make something of myself in Brighton, I moved back to Bristol in 2014 with a balance just as negative. Falling into another impressively dead-end job two years later, the only upside was eventually cobbling enough together to treat myself to meals outside of tinned tuna and rice.
Suddenly, rumours of takeaway bento boxes brimming with satsuma peel-spritzed purple rice, chicken satay and homemade ferments began to circulate among us inmates – all, somehow, for £3.50.
A shoebox of a unit, Sky Kong Kong, owned by chef Wizzy Chung with a Michelin star background, was a gastronomic outpost; its walls fortified with Kilners of her pickles and ferments, before doing any of that was cool. Long benches not only maximised covers, but fostered that thing city-dwellers dread—to actually sit next to strangers and, heaven forefend, talk.
Even more remarkable was that Wizzy, among everything required of her as a businesswoman and cook, tended an allotment from which she sourced all her vegetables. All of this, on top of making her own soy sauce? Who does that?
Tucked into an arterial enclave of The Bear Pit, Sky Kong Kong epitomised what it is to build something through the kind of back-breaking labour only true love affords. These little bento boxes were affection and purpose distilled, at a time when I felt little of either; transforming my lunch hour into a weekly, scheduled escape.
Without kink-shaming myself, as someone who spent much of his service industry career despising entitled punters, I appreciate being told ‘no’ in restaurants. It’s what endeared me to Thelma, the matriarch of Leytonstone’s Singburi, as I attempted to order dessert with still three dishes to go. I was refused point-blank and told to ‘stop being so greedy’. Sorry, Thelma.
But my first vivid recollection of getting my privilege checked, at least in a restaurant anyway, was in 2020 at Sky Kong Kong whilst ordering pickles at dinner. “Wizzy wants to ask if you’ll finish the plate as she hates waste” I’m told in hushed tones.
Typically, you might resent this sort of micromanagement but as I looked around at the Kilners, like Thelma, it was prompted by a sense of worth for herself and ultimately, the staff. Wasting food is always a waste of time and money, but with Wizzy, it felt like robbery. Then, in 2022 Sky Kong Kong was gone—levelled for redevelopment, eliciting feelings of guilt brought about by learning of a friend’s death who you’ve failed to keep in touch with.
That is until October this year, when Sky Kong Kong pulled a Jesus and came back into our lives, to do a pop-up at The Gallimaufry. The kitchen had previously been run by the nourishing talents of Maddie Crombie who, incidentally, features among the good memories I have of Brighton. Wizzy seemed like an ideal candidate.
The Gallimaufry itself has undergone a colossal shift for the better over the years thanks to founders James Koch and James Smailes. A sprawling, breezy hangout in the summer before battening down the hatches in the colder months like these, mastering the art of hygge.
Constellated with fairy lights, the bottom floor fades into a low-lit series of snugs—ideal for what’s to come. Wizzy’s menu represents a departure from the Old Days, instead featuring a largely beige-tinted muscularity, bridging the gap between restaurant and bar food.
A hellish log flume, my beloved tteokbokki arrives, the steam tracing its path from the pass. A satin broth bloodied with gochujang and deep with anchovy-imparted umami pools toothsome pillars of rice cakes, among slips of wood ear mushroom, bamboo and cabbage. It’s not so much a hug as a smooching, ‘welcome home’ full-bodied squeeze.
‘Sizzling cured salmon’ comes strewn with chunklets of avocado, onion, ginger, garlic and soy—but the taste is faint, diluted by the sheer amount of oil. Pan-fried vegetable dumplings have been taken pretty far; their base just teetering on ‘whoops, forgot I was cooking those’. Nonetheless, they’re utterly serviceable, particularly after some drinks which seems to be the intention behind the majority of dishes.
Swaddled in flaxen puffa jackets, the tempura prawns are unfortunately soft; chamois-like, even. But having gone twice again in the same week, this was an anomaly, I can assure you. Charcoal-cooked chicken thigh satay is properly gnarled and just cooked within, enough to make you briefly check, before slinking the pieces clean off.
With only three sticks instead of the promised four, apparently unable to count and having deleted one to myself, it’s not just my pals I succeeded in annoying but Thelma, appearing in my mind’s eye, finger wagging, head shaking. I am a greedy boy.
The Korean-style hot dog is a beast. Laced with ketchup and yellow mustard, hedgehog’d with panko and sugared like a fairground doughnut, the first bite produces an oozing cheese pull just inside the watershed rating, revealing the weiner within. The kimchi is exactly what you want—all those textures of supple crunch and chilled squelch, dissipating into smouldering funk. As if you’d expect anything less from our Wizzy.
The fried chicken is—and I mean this—exemplary. A heaping bowl of craggy, thoroughly seasoned nuggets resembling burnished amber basalt, the batter staying put with every bite, all glimmering in the requisite Gangnam sauce. Like an unsupervised child, I ate a bowl to myself with a spoon on the subsequent two visits. Strike two—sorry, Thelma.
Fried rice glows with the varnishing of kimchi, also available with sliced hot dog and ham, all in a jumble of satisfying clumps, ready to be shovelled unceremoniously, to which we oblige. With so many fried dishes, they’re exactly the sort of thing you fantasise about whilst half-cut at your mates – if only a single one of you possessed the skills, were trusted enough to own a deep fat fryer or had a Korean auntie.
Consigning the mishaps to anomalies most likely due to freak accidents, new staff or settling into a new kitchen, the return of Sky Kong Kong is a resounding success. Many Bristolians seem to have sighed with collective relief to hear Wizzy was returning to feed them; their inextricable love for Wizzy and her food lying dormant—a testament to Sky Kong Kong’s origin story. My only hope is that Wizzy knows just how much she’s been missed.