No other cuisine in the UK has evolved or proliferated as much as Chinese food has in the past five years. Cantonese, once the dominant dialect and cuisine, has gradually faded into the background, overtaken by the rising popularity of Mandarin and regional flavours from Sichuan, Hunan, and Shaanxi. These days, it’s almost a badge of honour to rattle off how many provinces you’ve eaten your way through, much like the frenzied hunt for the viral fluffy monster-like Labubu dolls that end up proudly clipped to bags like trophies. But now, the tide is starting to turn. Cantonese food, specifically Hong Kong food, is quietly making a comeback.
Despite recent statistics pointing to a decline in Cantonese food, which is largely centred around Anglo-Cantonese takeaway and restaurant fare, the drop can be attributed to generational shifts, the overall decline of the high street, changing tastes, and the growing variety of food options now available. But that doesn’t mean demand has dissipated; in fact, the appetite for Cantonese food is still very much alive. Chinese food remains Britain’s favourite takeaway, with 26% of people surveyed last year naming it as their top choice.
Since 2021, London has seen a steady rise in Hong Kong food businesses, driven by a wave of new arrivals to the city. This movement was largely fuelled by the UK government’s introduction of the British National (Overseas) visa scheme – a special immigration route for Hongkongers holding BN(O) status. In 2022 alone, around 52,000 Hongkongers relocated to the UK under the scheme, bringing their stories, culture, and, of course, food. The most recent UK census reflected this shift, recording over 117,000 Hong Kong-born residents in England, with smaller but growing communities emerging in Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland.
Roast meat at The Eight
Uprooting your life and starting from scratch is no mean feat. Many new arrivals face challenges in finding work, often switching careers due to language barriers and different qualification requirements. As a result, many turn to jobs in supermarkets, hospitality, sales, or warehousing. That was the case for Michele Lam, who packed her life into two suitcases and moved from Hong Kong to London four years ago on a BN(O) visa. After working in retail at Harrods, she decided to carve out her path by setting up Riz Garden, a tong sui traditional Cantonese dessert and tea stall in Queensway Market.
“Being in Hong Kong felt quite hopeless. It felt like there was no future, and I was frustrated,” she explains of her decision to move and describes the first year living in the UK as incredibly hard. “The biggest challenge was not having the connections or knowing anyone to help. Even simple tasks, like finding someone to fix a broken oven or opening a bank account with limited English, were difficult.”
Still, Lam persisted. She has now found a supportive network of fellow BN(O) Hongkongers working across different creative industries from retail to food, drink, and design. “It’s comforting knowing I’m not alone,” she says. “Thousands of others are in the same boat.”
From tong sui dessert spots to cha chaan teng-style diners, Hong Kong eateries are opening faster than anyone can keep track
Lam’s tong sui stall might be new, but the recipes are anything but. Passed down from her mum, who used to cook in a school canteen, she follows them to a tee, using red dates, snow fungus, lily bulbs, and aged tangerine peel brought over from Hong Kong. “Tong sui sits somewhere between soup and dessert,” she says of the dish. “People think Cantonese food is unhealthy, but these warming sweet dessert soups can nourish the body, boost energy, ease joints, calm the mind, and even help with collagen production.”
It’s no surprise, then, that London’s food scene is starting to mirror these regional differences and changes. From tong sui dessert spots to cha chaan teng-style diners, Hong Kong eateries are opening faster than anyone can keep track. Dishes like beef brisket noodles, pork chop bolo bao, cheung fun, Cantonese roast meats and stocking milk tea are appearing in corners of the city that never existed before. Aquila in Leytonstone and Hoko Cafe on Brick Lane bring that familiar cha chaan teng comfort. The list of new spots keeps growing: The Eight in Chinatown, Hong Kong Restaurant on Upper Street, Happy Dim Sum in Junction Market, Yun Gui Chuan on Brick Lane, Blue Sheep in Norbury, Sutton’s Little Nyonya, Wamimichi in Hendon and Come Back In on Caledonian Road. Each one adds something of its own, feeding London’s growing appetite for Hong Kong-style food.
That’s not to say any of this is new. Cantonese food from Hong Kong has long reflected the migration patterns to the UK, shaped by history, politics, and necessity. In the aftermath of World War II, Chinese seamen, many from Guangdong province, including Hong Kong, took on essential roles in Britain’s shipping industry. At the time, Hong Kong was still a British colony and recovering from the devastation of Japanese occupation during the war. Political instability and economic hardship pushed many to seek work abroad.
Noodles at Yun Gui Chuan
By the 1950s and 60s, a new wave of migrants arrived, mostly labourers from the rural New Territories. They came on work permits and settled in cities across the UK, opening and working in laundrettes, slowly building a life in a country that was often unfamiliar and unwelcoming. Over time, they transitioned into food, opening takeaways and restaurants that served Cantonese dishes adapted to suit British tastes. Places like Maxim’s in Soho, one of the first mainstream Chinese restaurants in London, and the iconic Michelin-starred Poon’s in Covent Garden became household names and the British-Chinese identity started to take shape on a plate.
Over the years, many Hong Kong restaurants in London have come and gone. Cha chaan tengs, dumpling shops, and roast meat specialists like Cafe de Hong Kong, HK Diner, Hung’s, Jen Cafe and Little Hong Kong have all closed their doors. Others, such as Cha Chaan Teng in Holborn, a modern all-day Hong Kong diner started by chef and School of Wok founder Jeremy Pang, tried to make their mark but never quite caught on. Now, old Chinatown stalwarts like Wong Kei and Lido feel like time capsules. They have been serving excellent wonton noodle soup, roast meat on rice and crispy aromatic duck since the 1960s and 70s. These places are reminders of an earlier Chinatown that has been part of its development from the very beginning. That first generation laid the groundwork for what became Britain’s beloved version of Chinese food: succulent, saucy, and unapologetically deep-fried.
“This wave of migration has created a safe and supportive customer base for newly opened Hong Kong food establishments in London,” Nicole Ma, co-founder of Hoko Cafe, explains. “It has given food business owners a certain level of confidence to serve menus that feel familiar to Hongkongers, rather than having to fully adapt to a completely different market from the start.”
It’s a kind of freedom that earlier generations of immigrants never experienced. Many arrived with very little: no money, no connections, and no English. Whatever they earned, they sent back to their families in Hong Kong. Back then, cooking was a means of survival. Dishes were people-pleasing and catered to British tastes because that was what would sell. Today, as more people move to the UK from Hong Kong, the food has followed, but this wave feels different. Many new arrivals are more educated, more business-minded, and more comfortable with technology than before. Instead of cooking for others, they’re cooking for themselves.
There’s an air of determination to preserve what made Hong Kong food so meaningful
Cantonese food is one of the oldest and most influential regional cuisines in the world – yet most people in the UK have a surface-level understanding of it that’s often based on a skewed anglicised version of it. Take dim sum, for example, a hallmark of Cantonese cuisine. It’s widely available at dim sum parlours, Chinese takeaways and restaurants across the UK, but few know that it has roots tracing back to tea houses along the ancient Silk Road. A lot of Hong Kong’s food culture draws on influences from colonial legacies, Southeast Asian spice trails, an adoration for British teatime traditions, and the unique fusion comfort of cha chaan teng cafés.
“The real question moving forward is: how do we collectively use these resources and this momentum to help Hong Kong cuisine tell a story that lasts?” Ma asks. “It’s now reaching a broader, international audience. I’m excited to experiment and see how the UK market helps shape what Hong Kong cuisine could become.”
For Hayden Wong, who grew up working at his parents’ Chinese takeaway in Devon and later cut his teeth at London restaurants Bao and Dumpling Shack, it’s also about creativity and play. Now the chef-owner of Cantoast, a Hong Kong-style French toast street food pop-up at Victoria Park Market, he saw the popular brick toast as a blank canvas, a way to have fun with flavours and serve something uniquely delicious.
Dishes at CanToast
“They were always popular as brunch and dessert weekend specials at Dumpling Shack, and the owners and I spoke about opening a Hong Kong-style French toast speciality shop together,” he says. He believes Hong Kong food is no longer only for Hongkongers. Instead, he sees his pop-up as an easy introduction for non-Hongkongers to start to become familiar with Hong Kong food.
There’s a wider audience that is starting to explore, reinterpret, and shape what it means, asking what needs to happen for it to grow into its next chapter. “Cantoast certainly benefits from this uptick, but I wouldn’t claim Cantoast to be authentic at all. It’s a non-traditional take on Hong Kong French toast, imparting elements that I think would appeal to the masses and do well in terms of business.”
There’s an air of determination in this new generation of expats to preserve what made Hong Kong food culture so meaningful and special – cha chaan tengs, wonton noodles, egg waffles – not just for nostalgia’s sake, but to carry it forward in a way that feels both familiar and newly rooted in a different city. It’s about reimagining these everyday staples in ways that speak to the present, finding space for tradition while adapting dishes, flavours and plating to fit into today’s world, context, new rhythm and place.
Ma reflects on the future: “Will people here crave the most authentic, traditional versions?” She asks. “Or will there be room, and even demand, for something new that reflects a cultural adaptation? I think it’s still too early to tell. But I don’t think it’s just about looking back. Our identity is evolving with our surroundings. Over time, I believe Hong Kong identity here will begin to merge with British identity in a natural, meaningful way.”
