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Som-Saa Soars: A Bangkok level Thai feast in Spitalfields

If you had told the queue snaking around Climpson’s Arch back in 2015 that a scrappy Thai pop-up would morph into one of London’s essential dining rooms, they might have asked what you’d been drinking.

Yet founders Andy Oliver and Mark Dobbie, backed by front-of-house maestro Tom George, did just that: pop-ups, a roaring residency, a crowdfunding blitz, and finally a permanent home inside a 19th-century fabric warehouse near Spitalfields Market in 2016. Eight years on, the mission is unchanged—regional Thai dishes, cooked with die-hard respect for chilli, smoke and funk, using British produce where it makes sense.

Step through the timber door and you’re hit by charcoal, lime leaf and grilled sugar—the room hums with low-hung lamps, clay pots blackened from service, and a playlist that oscillates between Molam and northern Soul. On a steamy Tuesday we primed the palate with three unreal starters.

Where it all began

Nang gai thôrt – shards of chicken skin fried until glass-thin, glossy with rendered fat and served with house sriracha that’s brighter and deeper than the bottle you know. One dip, one crunch, immediate addiction.

Tua phrik krob – peanuts, dried shrimp and bird’s-eye chilli spooned into a folded makrut-lime leaf; you pop the whole parcel and it detonates: citrus, smoke, roasted umami, gone.

Gai yaang – skewers of marinated chicken grilled over rambutan wood. The tamarind jaew dip gives smoky vinegar and palm-sugar caramel, think satay gone to finishing school.

On to the main event

Vegetable credibility arrives via Pad pàk fai daeng, a “red-fire” wok toss of gai lan, Asian mushrooms and fermented soy beans. The wok-hei shows, greens stay crunchy, and the bean paste smudges everything with polite funk. The chilli heat is dialled down so you can still taste the fresh sweetness. An outrageous take on the humble vegetable.

Then the show-stopper: Nâm dtók pla thôrt, a whole sea bass scored, floured and deep-fried until a lace of fins. It’s blanketed with roasted rice powder, Isaan mint, sawtooth coriander and a tidal wave of lime-fish-sauce dressing that makes your cheeks flare. Every bite is hot, sour, toasted, herbal. Like eating a tropical thunderstorm. You might think the fish would be dry but you would be wrong, it remains succulent to the last bite.

Sharing space on the table, Trout pad cha—smoked then deep-fried chunks of Hampshire trout blitzed with wild ginger, green peppercorns and curry paste. Powerful, yes, but the smoking step robs most of the moisture so keep a water jug close.

For slow-cooked comfort we landed on Mu parlow: five-spice pork shoulder braised in soy until it yields to a spoon. The dark liquor is slightly sweet, ticking with star anise; slide the soy-cured egg through it and you get custard-rich yolk slicking the pork fibres. A perfect pairing with the steamed fragrant rice.

A sweet landing comes via Kanom khanom wong. Pillow-soft coconut-sticky-rice doughnuts. Drag them through cool salted-coconut cream studded with jackfruit strips and you see why Thai desserts deserve more airtime.

The Verdict

£60 per head buys the above plus a round of ingenious chrysanthemum cocktails. For cooking this fearless—and portions that border on generous—it feels almost gentle for Zone 1. Service is brisk and smiley, with our waiter sharing stories of his time in Thailand. Som Saa tastes like a direct flight to Bangkok but lands you back on Commercial Street in time for the last Overground.

London cravings? Hit their younger sister Kolae in Borough for southern barbecue, race up the neon stairs of Speedboat Bar for feria-laced drunken noodles, or brave the queue at Plaza Khao Gaeng for curry that hums like Bangkok traffic.

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The real art within Wes Anderson’s newest masterpiece: The Phoenician Scheme

Wes Anderson’s 13th feature, a candy-striped espionage romp called The Phoenician Scheme, stars Benicio del Toro as Zsa-Zsa Korda, a plane-crash-proof tycoon, and Mia Threapleton as his dagger-wielding nun-daughter Liesl. The cast list is the usual daisy chain of Tom Hanks, Scarlett Johansson, Michael Cera, and Benedict Cumberbatch, but the real cameos hang on the walls

Art curator Jasper Sharp raided European collections to borrow actual masterpieces for Korda’s mansion: Renoir’s Enfant Assis en Robe Bleue (1889), Magritte’s surreal The Equator (1942) and a 17th-century Floris van Schooten breakfast still life. No replicas, no green-screen drops, just the real things! The crew even kept a conservator on set and banned hot lights near the canvases.

Sharp explains the logic: “Make-up and costumes pretend; the art just is.” Cast reactions proved the point: Del Toro reportedly quizzed Sharp on the Renoir’s provenance and went pale when told Greta Garbo once owned it. Anderson believes viewers will feel that aura too, even if they can’t name the painter.

Critical consensus so far? The Guardian calls the film “enjoyable yet airless” and slaps it with 3 stars. Others find the plotting fussy but salutes Threapleton’s breakout turn. Variety Australia, meanwhile, applauds its “funny business” take on late-capitalist art. Whether you fall for Anderson’s box-within-box framing or tire of his doll-house quirk, the sight of a genuine Renoir above a fictional heiress’s bed is intoxicating cinema.

Streaming details are under wraps, but the UK theatrical run starts 20 June—sit close enough to spot the Magritte doves before the popcorn butter fogs your specs.