If you’ve wandered the capital lately and felt an increasing likelihood of being thwacked in the face by a length of dough mid-stretch, you’re not alone. London is deep in a noodle moment. Specifically, the Chinese ‘pulled’ variety – flung, twisted and coaxed into life behind steamed-up windows, in corners of pubs, and, occasionally, in places that used to serve nothing more adventurous than a tepid pint and a packet of crisps.
Okay, we’re bending the brief a touch for National Ramen Day – straying from Japan into the altogether more elastic world of hand-pulled wheat and spice-laced broths – but it feels only right. These are the bowls currently setting tongues tingling and queues snaking.
Photo by Mae Mu (courtesy of Unsplash)
We’ve also side-stepped the obvious (with apologies to Soho and Chinatown at large), instead opting for spots that feel a little more…curious. Places where noodles come with a story, a sense of theatre, or perhaps just a particularly good beer pairing.
From cult pop-ups tucked behind bars to ateliers with a penchant for foam (yes, really), here are five of London’s most interesting noodle destinations – not necessarily the “best” (who could ever decide?), but certainly the ones worth loosening your belt for.
Liu Xiaomian, The Stranded
There’s something delightfully rogue about ordering a bowl of Chongqing noodles at the back of a Czech-style draught house. It feels faintly illicit, like discovering a secret menu that involves both chilli oil and pilsner. Liu Xiaomian – once a humble pop-up at The Jackalope – has become something of a pub-hopping fixture, slipping into drinking dens across London (with the confidence of someone who knows their broth is better than your average bar snack.
At The Stranded, it’s all very neatly done: a dedicated nook within a cavernous new pub, where frothy beers meet beautiful bowls that hum with spice. The menu is mercifully concise. No dithering required – you’re here for the Chongqing xiaomian, all slick wheat noodles and a broth that doesn’t so much simmer as swagger. It’s rich in that deeply savoury, almost primal way; less delicate consommé, more the glossy, sticky aftermath of a Sunday roast tray – if that tray had taken a gap year in Sichuan. The point of difference here is the ground pork and chickpea – yes, chickpeas – which warrants a visit alone.
Everything is cooked to order, which means you can loiter (beer in hand) and watch the choreography of it all: ladles dipping, noodles blanching, chilli oil glistening like liquid ruby. There are wontons too – silky and dangerously moreish – and a cucumber salad that cuts through the heat like a well-timed joke.
Founded by two friends from Chongqing (China’s self-declared spice capital), Liu Xiaomian has always been about comfort with a kick. Here, that comfort comes with a pint and a buzz. Not a bad way to get deliciously stranded. For more information, and locations, visit www.liu-xiaomian.com.
San Hao, Chinatown
On the ever-bustling corner of Gerrard Street, where culinary hyperbole goes to stretch its legs, San Hao has the audacity to call itself a “noodle atelier”. Which might sound a touch grand until your bowl arrives looking like it’s been whipped up by a particularly ambitious barista.
Enter the viral dish of the moment, the ‘cappuccino’ noodle. Yes, really. A cloud of foam crowns the bowl, prompting a moment of mild alarm before giving way to something rather ingenious: a slow-extracted pork broth, simmered for twelve hours with Chinese herbs, then blitzed into a creamy, almost latte-like consistency. It’s finished with sesame oil and a whisper of milk, resulting in something that straddles the line between comfort food and culinary wizardry.
Beneath the froth, things are reassuringly grounded. Handmade noodles with just the right chew, char-grilled corn-fed chicken, and a marinated egg that delivers a tang of soy and vinegar. It’s all balanced, thoughtful, and – crucially – not just a gimmick.
San Hao is the brainchild of serious culinary pedigree – namely, Daren Liew of Hakkasan and Nanyang Blossom renown – but it wears its credentials lightly. The room is large, the prices (relatively) kind, and the menu broad enough to reward repeat visits. There are dumplings that deserve their own fan club, and an overarching sense that someone, somewhere, has thought very carefully about texture.
“From London, for London,” they say. Which, in this case, translates to: come for the foam, stay for the finesse. San Hao, 3 Gerrard St, London W1D 5PD. www.sanhaolondon.com.
Noodle and Beer, Spitalfields
A name like Noodle and Beer suggests a certain charming bluntness – the culinary equivalent of “does what it says on the tin.” In reality, it’s rather more nuanced than that, though no less hedonistic for it.
Born in Spitalfields and doing well enough to go large in Chinatown, this is Sichuan cooking in full technicolour. The signature beef noodle soup arrives looking deceptively modest: a clear(ish) broth, a few herbs bobbing about, nothing too showy. Then you taste it. Suddenly, there’s depth – layers of star anise, warming spice, a slow-building heat that creeps up rather than clobbers. It’s less gravy, more great novel: complex, evolving and faintly addictive.
The “chilli-ometer” is not for the faint-hearted. Dishes range from a polite one chilli to a full five-chilli face-melter, and they are not exaggerating. Noodles aside, we tried dumplings at a modest two chillies already flirt with recklessness; one shudders to think what five might do to the uninitiated.
It’s not all fire and brimstone, though. There’s a playfulness to the menu – cold chicken slicked in red chilli oil, delicate dumplings, even the occasional gentler dish for those who’d rather not sweat through their shirt. And, yes, beer flows freely, doing sterling work as both companion and extinguisher.
Founder Xiaoxiao Wang has bottled (figuratively, not literally) the spirit of Sichuan: bold, unapologetic, and just a little bit wild. Come thirsty. Leave slightly dazed.
Noodle & Beer, 31 Bell Lane, London E1 7LA. For more information, please visit www.noodleandbeer.com.
Noodle Nova, Holborn
Opposite the Royal Courts of Justice, in what was once a 400-year-old pub, Noodle Nova delivers a different kind of judgement: namely, that hand-pulled Lanzhou noodles might just be one of life’s great pleasures.
You’ll spot it by the queue – always a promising sign – and, inside, by the managed chaos. Tables are packed, voices bounce off the stained glass windows, and somewhere in the middle of it all, dough is being stretched into improbable lengths. It’s noisy, cramped, and entirely the point.
The ordering system has a certain charm. Choose your noodle thickness – thin, thinner, thinnest? – aided by a helpful wall display that feels faintly like a museum of carbohydrates. Then sit back and let the magic happen.
The broth is the star: a slow-simmered radioactive red affair, deeply flavoured, the kind traditionally slurped in northwest China. Into it go your freshly pulled noodles, springy and alive in a way pre-cut pasta can only dream of. It’s simple, honest, and deeply satisfying.
Before that, there are cold nibbles worth your time. Chilli-smashed cucumber with just the right crunch, tofu ribbons with carrot and seaweed, and a chilli cabbage that lingers pleasantly. Even the tea gets a moment to shine – smoky, slightly sweet, a paddling pool for whole camellia pods.
Opened by homesick students missing Lanzhou cooking, Noodle Nova feels like a love letter written in broth. Slightly chaotic, thoroughly heartfelt, and best enjoyed with elbows tucked in.
Noodle Nova, 229 Strand, Temple, London WC2R 1BF. For more information, visit www.noodlenova.co.uk.
Ivan Ramen, Farringdon
Okay, that’s a nice Chinese round-up, but what about the ramen, you ask? If there’s such a thing as a noodle statesman, Ivan Orkin might be it. An American who made his name in Tokyo before conquering New York, he now lands in Farringdon with the authority of someone who’s spent a lifetime perfecting the slurp.
The space is intimate – just 26 seats – and hums with a kind of curated nostalgia. Japanese minimalism meets downtown ramen joint, with flashes of manga and a front-row view of the kitchen. It’s part theatre, part shrine to the craft.
The bowls themselves are, predictably, excellent. Tonkotsu arrives rich and velvety; tori paitan all silky depth; spicy miso bringing a controlled, confident heat. This is ramen that understands balance – fat, salt, umami, all playing nicely together rather than competing for attention.
Then there are the curveballs, which deserve a mention. A salt beef bun, for instance, nodding to East End bagels with pickles and mustard mayo – a playful, slightly irreverent addition that somehow makes perfect sense in Orkin’s cross-cultural universe. Karaage, too, deserves a mention: crisp, juicy, and dangerously snackable.
Orkin’s journey – from outsider in Tokyo to global ramen authority – is woven into the space, but never in a heavy-handed way. It’s there if you want it, much like the story behind any good bowl.
In a city awash with noodles, Ivan Ramen offers something a little more reassuring: a reminder that, sometimes, mastery still matters. And that a very good bowl of soup can travel quite a long way.
Ivan Ramen, 98 Farringdon Road, London EC1R 3EA. For more information, please visit www.ivanramen.co.uk.
So, that’s five. In fairness, we could have done fifty, and noodles of all origins and executions, so perhaps consider this less a ‘best of’, more a starting point. More’s the point, everyone has their favourite – there are several we’ve omitted, we know – so if you’ve any recommendations, please drop us a line in the comments…
