Tate Modern

Chef VICKY LAU of the newly opened Tate Dining Room chats to christina ko about her own brand of culinary art

THERE’S AN OPEN kitchen at Tate Dining Room, so it’s fairly obvious from the get-go that the head chef is female, but even without that conspicuous visual clue, it would be clear from the dishes that this culinary tale has been woven by someone of the softer sex.

It’s evident in the restrained artistry of presentation, in the delicacy of portions and in the juxtaposition of ingredients. It’s all, as Chef Vicky Lau puts it, very “me”. And pretty much everything at Tate is tinged with touches of Lau, from the name (what she originally thought she would one day name her son, though this restaurant is her surrogate “baby” until that day comes), to the specially commissioned cartoonish Kristen Adams painting of a feasting duck, to cleverly designed slits in the gold-rimmed dining tables that keep the pressed white tablecloths from flapping about.

What some would term an unusual change in profession – Lau trained and worked as a graphic designer before taking classes at Le Cordon Bleu and then working at the Michelin-starred Cepage in Hong Kong – she argues is only a natural progression. “As a designer, I wanted to add another element or dimension to my design, and I chose food because it’s something that gives you instant gratification – you can eat it, and it incorporates a lot of senses, from the visual to the smell, so I loved the idea of it being interactive. For me, it’s combining two things, graphic arts and culinary arts, to do this,” she says.

That blend of disciplines manifests itself neatly in Tate’s philosophy of offering “Edible Stories”, a mantra that’s emblazoned on the exterior window in sprawling italics. And Lau’s voyage from drawing board to cutting board is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to riveting tales. Equally absorbing are dishes such as the first course in her Summer Gastronomy menu, Ice Cream on Hot Summer Days, a two-part creation served on slim, curving flatware, which contrasts a hot spherical potato croquette with cold caviar, smoked salmon, crème fraiche and potato ice cream – mashed starch reformed in an ice-cream machine. The execution is simple enough in theory, requiring no mastery of strange science, so it’s the idea that resonates here, the adaptation of a common dessert principle (hot against cold) as a starter, with a line of edible sand acting as visual cue to draw mind and palate to the remembered sensations of icy relief under scorching heat.

The beach theme continues with the Seaside Shack, a fun and girlishly indulgent deconstruction of scallops ceviche: fresh, raw scallops that act as a spring-roll wrapper to slivers of ginger and scallion, accompanied by dots of lemon cream, a smattering of corn kernels and popcorn. The spice from the ginger is certainly as refreshing as a splash of sea in the face, the sauce a milky twist on the typical citrus addition, the popcorn thoroughly unnecessary for the palate but artfully contributing calculated whimsy to the plate. “It’s drinking lemonade and eating scallops by the seaside in Maine, that’s one of my memories,” says Lau, effectively offering up pieces of her own nostalgia to customers of her restaurant.

She is mindful, though, not to take the concept to the extreme. Less abstract ideas provide colourful comparison. Foie gras terrine is a delicate example of Tate’s French-meets-Japanese influence points. Cubes of terrine are accompanied by a sesame crunch, grapes and Sauternes gelée for sweetness, and toasted brioche. A granite-hued, crescent-shaped vessel cradles the sculpture.
One of the more impactful displays from the menu, and what appears to be a brushed-on beige design element in the bowl, is actually sesame paste, a thoughtful edible adornment. The combination is far from revolutionary (in fact, it’s so classic, it’s almost mundane) but the fragility of flavours and presentation elevate the dish to a new, not to mention strongly feminine, standard.

A slow-cooked salmon seems equally typical, and definitely very trendy (try to find a menu nowadays that doesn’t feature this speciality) but the addition of apple jelly, pickled cucumber and smoked yogurt shows unexpected innovation. It’s one of the more technically inventive challenges of the menu – see if you can spot Lau behind the counter applying a smoking gun to vacuum-packaged yogurt – and is certainly showy, the lid over a bowl removed at the table so that mist dissipates like a genie leaving his lamp. The drama in presentation is matched by an attention to heady flavours that puts her signature stamp on the fatty fish: the sweet and sour of the cucumber is an initial assault on the taste buds, the apple jelly an understated freshness you have to concentrate on to realise, and the smoky yogurt a precious, lingering finale.

What best encapsulates everything Lau does is, interestingly, the dessert course, the Achilles heel in many a chef’s repertoire.
The Zen Garden is presented as it sounds, parallel lines of ground sesame bordered by black sesame panna cotta resembling pebbles. At the end of the slate sits a miniature plastic bonsai and a cup of layered matcha and white chocolate mousse.

“When you go for a tea ceremony, you usually walk through a Zen garden,” muses Lau. “The outcome is the matcha tea mousse.”

The idea of combining French and Japanese wasn’t an arbitrary one. Her love of French technique and detail, and the Japanese respect for ingredients and lightness of touch led her down this path, as well as the idea again that it was fundamentally very close to her heart. “Maybe it seems very ‘me’ because I’m Western and Eastern. I’m not completely either, so it also reflects how I was brought up.”

It will probably come as a surprise to guests that Lau left culinary school a mere two years ago, but despite a sophistication to her dishes that belies her experience, there’s still room to grow. That, of course, is part of Tate’s compelling ongoing story. What she lacks in longevity of knowledge she makes up for with something more interesting than just passion and drive: a curiosity and willingness to experiment, a brazen naivety, and an unerring sense of direction that has taught her to infuse everything with a hefty dollop of herself, to mine what’s personal to create something professional. It’s a winning move in a gastronomic scene that has long prized conformity – think celebrity chefs replicating their award-winning success at crowd-pleasing Hong Kong outposts – over individuality. And particularly on this scale, with a boutique Soho eatery packed with charm, Lau will convert many passionate eaters, even if her creations don’t reach the refined, formulaic success of greater chefs.

“I like experimenting with new things. A lot of times it fails,” she shrugs. “So what?” It’s all part of the story.