Tempo, E2
Eric Wan is keeping his own time
It feels fitting enough to start the new year with a review of one of the best meals I ate over the last 12 months, at Eric Wan’s new restaurant Tempo, his first after a string of pop-ups across London.
When I reviewed Budgie Montoya’s Alpas pop-up at Albers last year, I expressed a little surprise that a two-week residency could produce cooking quite so competent. In truth, by that point I’d been burned a few times too many by short-term residencies, pop-ups, and special one-night-only FOMO-powered collabs — too often you’re paying restaurant prices for not-quite-restaurant food, funding a chef while they’re still finding their feet. It’s a great way to support people as they try and break into the industry, but not always the best bang for your buck as a paying punter.
Alpas was the rare exception that felt unequivocally worth it. But before that, Eric Wan’s modern Vietnamese food at La Lot — which I first tried while squeezed into the cramped quarters of People’s Wine in Dalston, while Wan slaved over what I’m pretty sure was a portable electric stove — had been my standard bearer for pop-ups I’d pay for again. Sod’s law, now there’s no need to, as Wan has found a permanent home in Bethnal Green’s Tempo, where the cooking is just as good — and with the benefit of a consistent kitchen, will hopefully only get better.
The compact menu is divided into snacks, small plates, large plates, and sides, with a single must-order dessert. Flavours are Vietnamese-ish, but that’s more of a starting point than a hard limit — not that many Vietnamese restaurants serve house-baked sourdough bread, though the soft, seeded version here is excellent, lightly toasted and only let down by a slightly miserly smear of spring onion-laced butter.
The single dessert is even less Vietnamese: honey butter madeleines, served in a trio with a splodge of Chantilly cream. These aren’t baked to order — Wan’s kitchen team is still only two-strong, counting himself, and the menu’s clearly been designed around that limitation — but the judicial application of the honey butter glaze before reheating does a wonderful job of keeping the cakes fluffy and moist, while adding a salty-sweet depth to the whole affair.
Other parts of the menu play it more straight, like a smacked cucumber salad or a herb-piled plate of pork and lemongrass skewers that prove well made, but a touch uninspiring. I prefer Wan’s cooking when it’s a little more adventurous: think braised aubergine, reduced with tomato until it becomes a smokey jam, then dolloped judiciously onto a bed of whipped tofu, waiting for you to scoop and smear onto crisp-fried wonton skins. It’s chips and dip, but not as we know it.
Don’t miss the prawn toast, either, which has the feeling of a dish destined to become a Tempo trademark. Shrimp is packed into briquettes before deep frying, then served with wafer thin pickled daikon, shiso, and a tart green chilli sauce. It should by all rights be dense and heavy, instead it somehow feels effervescently light and fluffy, crisp but not greasy, and impeccably moreish. Order at least one plate, and be ready to want more.
Tempo’s larger plates seem straightforward by comparison, with a simple choice between steak, shrimp, and veg. The latter was the only real dud of our order, a plain pairing of tenderstem broccoli and oyster mushrooms, boosted by an umami hit of fuyu butter and pecorino. This would make for an admirable side dish; as a vegetarian main it falls a little flat. Far better are the XL grilled prawns, which leave us repeatedly muttering that they might be among the best we’ve had in London as we rip through shells and slurp down the sauce, a punchy chilli-citrus glaze complemented by the mild napa cabbage salad that lies beneath.
One of the bigger surprises about Tempo is that for all its aspirations, and the quality and craft of its cooking, it’s less expensive than you might fear. We spent £175 between two, but that included excessive ordering at nearly every opportunity, including a couple of glasses of dessert wine that we didn’t exactly need. Luckily the wine itself need not be a trap — Tempo is a collaboration between Wan and the team behind Dalston wine bar Dan’s, and a few of the options by the glass are excellent value. An £8 orange was one of the best I’ve drunk all year, and the £7 house riesling wasn’t much worse. Bottles start from £40 and climb slowly, giving the price-conscious wino plenty to choose from.
I always suspected Wan would do great things once he found his own kitchen to cook from; I didn’t expect him to come out of the gates quite so fast. It makes for a fitting name then — Wan is cooking to his own tempo, and if he keeps it up then his restaurant could become one of London’s best — it’s on the way already.