Justin Tsang paints a vivid picture of his upbringing: shuffling between busy Chinese restaurants in central London, homework sidelined by impromptu cooking tutorials, annual trips to Hong Kong, where his parents are from.
They met at university in London and discovered they shared a hometown, a small fishing village on the other side of the world. Justin came along early in their relationship, and his father left his degree to begin working. Over the years, they would open multiple takeaways and buffet-style restaurants in bustling corners of the city.
“I was in two minds about it, because at the time, the anglicised version of Chinese food was viewed as cheap and unhealthy,” he reflects. “But at home, we ate my mom's traditional Cantonese food.” Summer trips to visit family in Hong Kong similarly exposed him to authentic cuisine, though it also raised some confusing questions about identity. “People in London would ask me where I was from, even though I was born there, and then I would go to Hong Kong and be seen as a foreigner,” Justin says. “I think I started cooking to form an identity; to feel like I was a part of my culture and heritage.”
As a “hungry kid”, Justin was always interested in food, but he didn’t imagine building a career around it until he started down another path. “I was studying property planning and development at university in Bristol, and I just thought to myself, ‘What am I doing?’” The long hours and fast-paced nature of hospitality hadn’t particularly appealed to him, but the creativity of cooking did. “I was a bit lost, and my parents were understaffed – I already knew the restaurant inside an out.” Here was an opportunity to anchor him in a time of uncertainty, but it turned from a temporary stepping stone to a seven-year stint as a chef. “That's where I really found my love for cooking.”
Today, Justin's innovative cooking style has garnered a large online following. His approach brings together “the best of both worlds”, infused with flavours from London and Hong Kong, alongside other cultures he resonates with. “I also identify with other East Asian and Southeast Asian food – anything that's spicy and served with rice. I feel really at home in a Thai restaurant.” His influences might be traditional, but Justin isn’t afraid to let familiar dishes drift into uncharted territory. “There is a lot of rule-breaking in my cooking,” he laughs. “But if it works, it works.”
Though delighted by his choice of career, his mother remains unconvinced by his culinary experiments. “She always thinks there’s too much salt, oil or sauce. My Western side likes full-on flavours and lots of sauce – an indulgent meal. But Cantonese cuisine is very delicate and subtle.” Yet for all his professional leanings towards bold flavours, Justin still finds comfort in his mother’s Hainanese chicken.
The traditional dish involves poaching chicken in a fragrant stock with ginger, spring onion and garlic, then plunging it into ice water to tenderise the meat and create its signature silky texture. It is a deeply nostalgic meal for Justin that embodies the resourcefulness of East Asian cooking: chicken fat is used to fry garlic and toast the rice, while the poaching broth cooks it, ensuring every element is put to good use. “It sits in my subconscious while I'm cooking. I'm always asking myself how I'm going to use each element.”
Developing new recipes is a process of fixation and persistence for Justin. “I usually become focused on one ingredient and cook with it, tweaking it each time.” But even when a recipe is considered complete and folded into one of his cookbooks, he encourages his audience to build their confidence and imagination in the kitchen; trusting their own palates rather than interpreting his suggestions as strict instructions. “They’re guides more than recipes, and a lot of them have come about after nights out when my friends and I are chatting as we cook, and they’re having input as well. Those experiences are what drive me.”
Sea Bass Truffle Ponzu Crudo
One morning, I woke up after a late night and found a leftover sea bass fillet in my fridge. I decided to cure it in sugar and salt, because I didn’t want to take any risks eating raw fish. Then I started slicing it up and pulling out ingredients that I found in the fridge, following my cravings for something really tangy and light. I made the same dish five times that week, adjusting it slightly until I ended up with this recipe.
Serves 2
Ingredients
2 seabass fillets
1 tbsp yuzu juice
2 tbsp mirin
1 tbsp light soy sauce
1 lemon
2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
1 tsp truffle oil
Handful of cress
1/2 tsp yuzu kosho
1 tbsp white sugar
1 tbsp salt
For the trout roe:
85g jar of trout roe
1 tbsp mirin
1 tbsp light soy sauce
1 tsp yuzu juice
Method
Open the jar of cured trout roe and pour in the mirin, soy sauce and yuzu juice. Gently stir the roe around until covered. Put the lid back on and let it sit in the fridge for at least one hour, or overnight for best results.
Remove the skin from each fillet, then season both sides with salt and sugar. Leave them in the fridge for a minimum of ten minutes, then rinse under cold water and pat dry. Thinly slice the fillets and place them into a plate or bowl.
In a bowl, mix the yuzu kosho and yuzu juice into a past. Add in the mirin, soy sauce, juice of one lemon, extra virgin olive oil and truffle oil.
Drizzle the sauce over the fish until the entire surface is coated. Sprinkle a generous amount of cress over the fish, then spoon over the marinated trout roe. Serve immediately.
Justin wears the Stripe Wool Mohair Cotton Sweater.
Words by Bébhinn Campbell
Photography by Anna Jay.
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