Matteo C.
Google
This place is an Adelaide institution, and for good reason. This meal confirmed something important about Ying Chow. When you order past the obvious, the kitchen reveals a level of confidence and individuality that many long-standing Chinese restaurants quietly lose over time. These dishes were not variations on a theme. They were distinct statements, each executed with intent.
The fried eggplant set the tone immediately. Perfectly cooked, deeply savoury, with a texture that walked the line between silk and structure. There was no oiliness, no collapse. The seasoning respected the vegetable rather than disguising it, allowing the eggplant’s natural richness to do the heavy lifting. This is a deceptively difficult dish to get right, and here it was handled with assurance.
The fried broccoli was equally telling. Crisp without being brittle, vibrant without being raw, and seasoned in a way that enhanced rather than overwhelmed. It felt considered, not perfunctory. Too often broccoli is an afterthought. Here, it was treated as a dish in its own right, with clarity and restraint.
The stir-fried chicken with salty coriander was the intellectual centre of the meal. Aromatic, saline, and unapologetically herb-forward, it avoided sweetness entirely. The coriander was not decorative. It was structural. This is a dish that divides diners, which is precisely why it deserves respect. It assumes the person eating it is paying attention.
What stood out most was how distinct each dish felt. There was no repetition of technique, no shared sauce base, no sense of a kitchen running on autopilot. Each plate had its own logic and identity, yet the meal held together coherently.
