Restaurants in England . Uncategorized

Tonka, Hastings: review

On August 21, 2024 by The Plate Licked Clean

Sometimes, you meet someone who just really loves feeding you.

Tonka: on the face of it, a little Hastings seafront cafe. The sort of place you might happen across as you walk the promenade, instantly feeling at home in this little room with its fourteen seats and windows picked out in plum, deep green and gold, the tall shelves a burst of canary yellow. A place to linger with good coffee or something sweet, pastel de nata blondies, perhaps; to watch seagulls swoop and skirl before picking up some sausage rolls (have the chicken satay, or the pork with apple and black treacle) for later.

It’s the promise of the ‘other’ menu which draws me, though. At times, Tonka becomes even more intriguing: for this is where Kim Duke draws on her fascinatingly diverse career in food, adds inspiration from partner San’s Mauritian roots, and makes memorable things happen.

It’s not an easy menu to narrow down. On our first visit, B wants to bypass the fried chicken, on the pretext of ‘not wanting to over-order’ (an unfamiliar concept, granted).

I’m glad we don’t. That light, well-seasoned tapioca coating is a standout- common in Mauritius, but owing more here to Kim’s time at London’s BAO- and slathered in salty-sweet miso honey, with the pickled watermelon an inspired addition.

Tapioca has a handy habit of staying crisp, of course, but I think there’s more to its use here than that. It is also, in common with much here, gluten free: this is an inclusive menu, strong with vegetarian and vegan options. Papaya bhuna, perhaps, with garlic achard pickle and ginger steamed rice; or fried cauliflower with cardamom-infused tomatoes and jalapeño chutney. Or a tangle of snake beans, full of snap and bite, dressed with coconut and peanut.

Food for everyone, then. But you’d expect no less here, because for Kim, making sure everyone can enjoy food is…what? A hobby. No, more than that: a calling. I suppose that’s what you’d expect from the co-founder of Life Kitchen.

After both Kim and her friend Ryan Riley lost parents to cancer, they set themselves to do something truly remarkable. Knowing that treatment can have brutal side effects and leave many with another indignity- an impaired sense of taste or smell- they resolved to do something to help. The result: Life Kitchen, a not-for-profit cookery school in Sunderland.

Crucially, their approach was not to ‘eat yourself better’, but ‘how to enjoy again’; to give people back something you and I take for granted- the everyday pleasure of eating.

Working with Professor Barry C Smith, founder of the University of London’s Centre for the Study of the Senses, they took a research-based approach to writing their recipes, such as including ingredients which stimulate the trigeminal nerve. Covering much of the face, and connecting the nose, eyes, and mouth, it has a crucial role in chewing and swallowing, and can still trigger sensory feedback in those with a loss of taste. Ginger, wasabi and horseradish, for example, can provide sensation to afflicted diners. The dishes also avoided ingredients which can taste off putting to people with an impaired sense of smell. In what must have seemed a surreal moment, Nigella Lawson posted her admiration and Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall hosted their book launch at River Cottage.

Then, a pandemic: and many suddenly stricken by their inability to enjoy food, and a new focus for their skills. Their next recipe collection, Taste and Flavour, was again rooted in Professor Smith’s ongoing research, which had found that many former pleasures (coffee, chocolate) were now unpalatable, and that commonplace recipe bases such as onions and garlic were markedly unpleasant for many with long COVID, while umami-rich foods seemed to be particularly enjoyable.

News spread, and the collection was hugely successful, making headlines globally: that led to The Life Kitchen range of condiments, designed to enhance each of our five basic tastes- sweet, sour, salt, bitter and umami being sold by Holland and Barratt.

Kim followed that with Weekly Provisions, an ingenious collection of twelve complete four-course menus bolstered by scores of suggestions for repurposing any leftovers into new meals during the week. Nigella Lawson called it ‘inspired’.

And now, Hastings.

What fertile ground for any culinary magpie this town is, with dayboats landing nearby and Sonny Elliott’s fish smokehouse at Rock A Nore less than five minutes’ walk away. Hastings is a gift to any kitchen serious about making seasonality more than just a marketing buzzword, and you see it in the creativity of local menus. (It’s the sort of town you might find yourself sitting with a ‘Negrosky’-a Polish twist on a Negroni- at the fascinating Wavey Bar, (reviewed here) even as chef Kaçper walks happily swinging a carrier bag with that day’s catch, bought moments before from fishermen on the Stade.)

Here, an end-of-season whim, prompted by limited availability, means finger-thick strips of panko cuttlefish, meaty and crisp on a hot mess of black beans and brightened with lime juice. Soft shell crab, the flesh sweet and delicate, comes with a punchy coriander chutney familiar from San’s Mauritian family mealtimes.

There’s macaroni cheese with a green chilli parmesan crust, so heavy with crab you can virtually hear the clack of claws on the shingle outside.

Here’s a bowl of rice, full of good things, nuttily aromatic with fried garlic and topped with crisp prawn heads, and prepared with a nod to the classic velveting technique: mixed with egg whites and cornflour, cooked at a low temperature until just done, then stir-fried over fierce heat for service. More to the point, it is the kind of bowl you mean to linger over, but which only polite company stops me planting my face into like some sort of truffling hog.

‘Melted lamb rice’ are words to comfort and thrill, and if there’s ever a day I can read them without ordering, I’ll know my life has taken some strange, sad turn. What arrives is effectively a biryani, a sumptuous sharer: a whole shank, cooked for twelve hours, the bone standing proud, and with a cursory tug, cleanly unmeated. This version- a nod to the Indian influence in Mauritius’ intersection of Chinese, African and European French food traditions- might not necessarily be traditional, Kim tells me later, as she describes how she builds those flavours: but it is the sort of thing conversation stops for.

She starts with cooking the meat slowly in a thick, aromatic paste of onions, garlic, ginger, cloves and cumin, before adding wine and tomatoes and reducing. Then, the rice: onions sweated to sweetness with garlic, ginger and the Mauritian spice blend Lazzat’s busy cocktail of red chilli, coriander, aniseed, cumin, green cardamom, clove, black pepper, cinnamon and more, before mixing and baking for service. Then, a handful of turmeric-pickled garlic cloves and a smattering of crisped onions.

And no, we don’t finish it. It turns out B was right about that over-ordering thing- who knew? – so we take it home for a languorous Sunday evening on the sofa, when if anything it is even better and the spicing has ramped up overnight.

Charred hispi is lavishly buttery, loaded with XO sauce, and has me double checking the menu- really? all vegan? surely not? The usual trio of scallops, dry-cured ham and prawns has been swapped for an umami-rich confection of mushrooms, both dried and fresh, confit garlic and spices. It’s impressive stuff and I can only wonder how time-consuming this must be to make, how this sleight of hand must be a labour of love.

But that’s what Tonka feels like. You get a sense of a talented chef free to explore her creativity.

There are crisply frilled wontons, the chicken filling beautifully seasoned and just fatty enough thanks to having the skin spun through the mix, which turn up topped with crispy onions, garlic, and pandan leaves: then, a week or two later, with pickled baby cucumbers, both plates dappled with a dressing of peanuts, palm sugar and coconut milk and the house chilli oil.

There’s a skewer of early potatoes, flecked with crisp garlic, in a pool of punchy romesco-alike red pepper sauce and (yet more) confit garlic. Planning a beach day? In a hurry? Drop in for a takeaway box of these egg noodles, mahogany with caramel sauce, ketjap manis and a touch of five spice, with these darkly sticky little pieces of chicken thigh and pak choi waiting to be discovered.

It feels impossible to order badly here. Every plate has some detail which elevates it into the compelling, something which shows you how clever but unshowy Kim’s cooking is. Take the way bread and cheese is presented: lightly pickled cherry tomatoes and spritely mint chutney topping labneh, thick and rich, with fresh kumquats and green chilli lending honey a subtle and stealthy heat. Your quick workday working from home lunch never tasted so good.

An aubergine skewer is glazed with black garlic and maple syrup soaking into sticky jasmine rice, laced with spring onion, ginger and garlic oil. The artful grill ‘catch’ of that glaze lends the aubergine an unexpectedly opulent feel. It’s a vegetable whose charms often escape me- I’m expecting it to be much more B’s thing- yet in Kim’s hands it has become something instantly compelling, something I find myself recalling time and again in the weeks which follow. Tonka does that to you.

Sticky, rich, sweet, umami-rich: clever cooking which seduces, the sort of thing which in less enlightened times might have seen Kim hauled off to the nearest ducking stool. It’s a revelation. And yes, when I abandon all hope in the written word and start doing shouty Instagram Reels I’ll be sure to rhyme ‘aubergine’ and ‘Damascene’.

There’s something naggingly lovely about Tonka. Something irresistible. It’s clearly not just me: you sense it from the other tables in this small room, from the people who arrive looking for a table and are happy to wait. I see it at a late Friday morning breakfast- I refuse to acknowledge the existence of brunch- with my ‘Full Mauritian’ (bhuna tomatoes, XO mushrooms, black garlic glazed sausage, green chilli-buttered faratha flatbread and more- no beans, obviously), in her obvious excitement at serving a room where every seat is taken by a returning customer, where there’s a palpable sense of a growing community of people who can see and feel why Tonka is special.

The longer I do this, the more it’s that elusive emotional impact which matters most. How many restaurants have I reviewed, now? Four hundred? Five? Many, I have liked. A few, I have loved. But rarest of all: some you fall in love with, those places which sink the most tender of hooks into you. I’ve sat in front of plates which dazzle with technique but which, somehow, have left me cold with their sterile gleam. You admire the virtuosity, but you feel no connection to the restaurant as a whole.

Not here, though. Kim Duke’s food, quite apart from its obvious skill, is all heart.

And now Tonka has mine, too.

Tonka 3 Marine Parade, Hastings TN34 3AG

Tonka on Instagram