Tai Wu

Forget all the guff about the Hacienda and old football stadiums, you’re not a true Mancunian until you’ve eaten at Tai Wu. This sprawling restaurant opened in the early 1990s, catering mainly to the city’s growing Chinese community and international student population. 

Word spread, and it gained a reputation as the place to find authentic Cantonese and Szechuan cuisine, with few, if any, concessions to the Western palate. Since then, not much has changed, other than the name. It was originally Tai Pan, which loosely translates to ‘big boss’; but the 2020 lockdown forced a rebrand, where it became the decidedly more pleasant, Tai Wu, aka ‘great lake’.

Everything feels very late 20th century – never-ending laminated menus, strip lighting and banquet hall-style seating. It’s no bad thing. A refreshing change from the polish of the city centre, at least. 

In other words, it’s not Tattu. The cast of Hollyoaks aren’t going to pop in any minute. You will, however, be surrounded by groups of families and friends who’ve been dining here for generations and will continue to do so for many more. 

Tai Wu’s menu is uncompromising. You don’t come here to eat salt and pepper chips (although you could), you come here to try mysterious delights such as stir-fried tung choi with squid in belacan sauce or Thai-style boneless chicken feet (cold). 

On my visit, I chose the spicy hot poached beef. That double adjective is not done for effect. This is one gloriously fiery dish – so punchy it should come with an EpiPen. 

The marinated chicken with ginger and spring onion is literally that. A dozen or so neatly chopped chunks of skin-on chicken, with a big handful of sliced salad onions and ginger on the top. Nothing fancy, no flourishes. Function over form, and the function is unrefined, family-style sustenance. 

Tai Wu is not a salubrious restaurant. In fact, it might be the least salubrious restaurant I’ve visited in the past decade. But who gives a hoot about salubrity when there’s spicy beef to be devoured?