Kiln, Soho

They're like the buses, these 10/10 restaurants; you wait six months for one, and then two come along at once. And actually, Kiln probably has more in common with the previously reviewed Chick'n'Sours that you first might think. Both a based around an idiosyncratic Western-leaning vision of Asian food, sensitively adopting cooking techniques and flavour profiles for a local audience, keeping everything that makes the original cusine so special while making the most of available ingredients. Both keep turnover high and costs down, meaning you can eat plenty of food for not much money, even if at busy times you might have to wait for the privilege. And both, crucially, are about as much fun as you can have with your clothes on.

The attention to detail is, at first, overwhelming. If you're lucky enough to grab a spot near the roaring heat of the charcoal-fired kitchens (no gas or electricity here) you can see first-hand the complex series of techniques that goes into every dish at Kiln, whether it's the seasoning and re-seasoning of pork belly and short rib before they're carefully sliced and handed further up the line for saucing and plating, or the timing required to get the exquisitely delicate lamb cumin skewers so that the cubes of flesh are bouncy and just-pink, and the fat just hot enough to bind them together.

Perhaps it's best to ignore the somersaults going on in the kitchens best you can and just enjoy the food, because there's more than enough circus on the plate to keep anyone entertained. This was an early favourite of mine, langoustines (3 of them for £8.80, take that River Café), blanched and cured in citrus in such a way as to keep the flesh plump and plentiful while avoiding the gloopy translucence of completely raw shellfish. Fragrant, fresh and colourful, there's barely a better langoustine dish in London.

Also from the seafood section (the menu reads with the stark beauty of a haiku) is "Mackerel dry red curry", tender fillets of fresh Cornish fish dressed in a complex series of herbs (dill and lemongrass, and probably much else), chillies and with a dense, rich spice mix clinging to it all like a winter blanket.

Dishes come and go based on availability of ingredients, as they very much should, but this welcome unpredictability understandably affects the seafood dishes more than the red meat. On an early preview I enjoyed steamed hake, its bright white flesh gleaming under a coating of lime leaves, sat in a clear, precise fish broth that could have been the highlight of any meal by itself. A week or so later it had been replaced by a stunning gurnard curry, crisp skin binding a thick tranch of moist flesh, cooked to perfection, in a sauce of ginger stems, lemongrass and dill.

Kiln would be the first to admit they're not aiming for strict authenticity, but dishes such as Tamworth pork belly with long pepper taste very much like the kind of thing you'd be served roadside in Northern Thailand, in terms both of its sinus-blasting heat and deeply satisfying flavour profile. Those are the pork belly pieces you see being chargrilled to order in the open kitchens; nothing hangs around for more than a few seconds. The immediacy of it all is impressive, and the results are breathtaking.

Clay pot baked glass noodles has the winning combination of pork and brown crab meat, a theatrical presentation (guests are required to 'mix up' the ingredients themselves), and that same exhausting attention to detail that informs everything else Kiln do - the little dip on the side (sharp and herby and shocking green) is made every twenty minutes throughout service. Also, this huge pot of noodles, top quality pork and seafood comes in at £4.75, which seems almost unfairly cheap.

Look, the point is, everything is good. Everything. Even the sides, where something coyly described as a "mushroom salad" turned out to have a heady, meaty flavour so bafflingly rich and complex you'd swear it contained at least some animal protein. But no, just oyster mushrooms and girolles, bound with lime juice and soy and fresh herbs. I'd call it a must-order, but that wouldn't really help distinguish it from the rest of the food, so what's the point.

I'm not the first to fall head-over-heels in love with Kiln, and I certainly won't be the last. On Friday the wait for a table at about 6:15 was 1 1/2 hours, and I fear this is where I may lose a few of you. But like any of even the most super-popular no-reservations places, if you time your arrival well enough (midday or 5pm Mon-Sat or a weird "shoulder hour" like 4pm on a Sunday) you won't have to wait too long, and you won't even have to stand in line; they'll take your number and call you when your table's ready as you enjoy a pint in a nearby pub. And anyway, I'm not about to apologise for one of the best restaurants in the entire city being popular, and for that matter, neither should they. Kiln is a marvel - a true one-off - and deserves every last man, woman and child of the vast crowds that are already flocking its way.

10/10

Kiln will be in the next version of the app. Most of the photos above were taken on the preview night, but I have been back since on my own dollar hence the bill.

Smoking Goat, Tottenham Court Road

Smoking Goat serves some of the best Thai food you will eat outside of Thailand. I needed to say this up front, and I've deliberately put it in italics because all said and done it's the most important thing about the place. So please bear this crucial fact in mind as you read through the rest of this post, because if it weren't for the food, the wonderful, wonderful food, the following paragraphs would be not much more than extended rant about, well, let's see now...

Firstly, it is noisy. Very, very noisy. Hard surfaces and a low ceiling create the kind of acoustics that encourages everyone in the room to shout just that little bit louder than everyone else, and despite sitting barely two inches away from my friend that night (I'm coming to the seating arrangements, bear with me) we each had to bellow into each other's faces to be understood. On top of that, a powerful sound system supported by two huge speakers near the front door add to the general cacaophony with some bass-heavy dance music. We asked them to turn them down a couple of times during the evening, but they somehow always crept back up again in volume.

So, the seating arrangements. It's a tiny restaurant, which is fine, and tables are very close together, which is also understandable, but there are just so many little standing-room-only drinks perches around the room that when they're all being used (which they generally are within two minutes of the place opening) getting to the toilet and back is like a Crystal Maze puzzle - "I'll stand here so you can get past, now you stand there, good now I'll move into the space left by him", and so on. Also the bench seating along one wall is a plank of solid, uncushioned wood about six inches wide, the kind of thing you might expect to find in a Victorian workhouse or a particularly "character-building" boarding school. It's second only to the booths at Quality Chop House in terms of excruciating agony, and that's saying something.

And finally, they don't take reservations. And under normal circumstances that wouldn't bother me in the slightest - I'm always banging on about eating at midday or 6pm where you can generally snag a spot at even the most oversubscribed places - except that the kitchen at Smoking Goat doesn't open until 7pm, so from 5:30 ish onwards the room is full of people sipping beer and twiddling their thumbs until they can order the Whole Cornish Crab or the lamb ribs or whatever. It's completely counterproductive - those queuing outside (or where it extends slightly inside) know they have to wait until everyone already seated has finished and paid up, and those inside have no intention of leaving until they've ordered the crab. Sure you can eat oysters and chicken wings before that, but you'd be an idiot to have lucked out on a table at Smoking Goat and not waited to order something more substantial.

Anyway so those are all the reasons why you might not want to bother going to Smoking Goat. And here are all the reasons why you absolutely must. Oysters, at an incredible £1 each come with a sharp nam jim (dipping sauce), sweet and vinegary and a perfect foil for the salty bivalves. Fish sauce wings, £6 for four, moist and crunchy in all the right places, in an incredible fragrant marinade, are now coming in a close second for my favourite way of having chicken wings, and believe me I love buffalo wings a LOT so this is high praise. Both of these items can be ordered all afternoon from the bar menu, so if you're happy sipping craft beer and eating your bodyweight in oysters and wings, perhaps you don't need to wait until 7pm at all.

But then again, perhaps you should. The main draw from the menu proper is of course the whole Cornish chilli crab, liberally dressed with herbs, palm sugar & fresh coconut cream. The shell is only weakly cracked, so you will definitely need the extra tools they give you, claw breakers and pickers, because most of the sweet white meat is quite hard to get at. But it's worth every sauce-splattered, hot, dark, noisy, painful minute. If there's one dish that's going to make you forget where you are and transport you to a seafood shack on the white beach at Ko Chang, it's this. Already one of London's signature dishes, the Smoking Goat Chilli Crab is an instant classic.

Other main courses are hardly less accomplished, though. Coal-roast hand-dived scallop with nam yum (lime juice, fish sauce, sugar and chilli according to a quick Google) is a huge, fresh, meaty thing with a smoky crust and a generous roe. Like a lot of Thai food it's superficially straightforward in terms of ingredients but the balance of sweet/sour/smoky/chilli is absolutely spot-on; these guys really know what they're doing.

I was expecting the slow roast duck legs to be stringy and collapse-y, like you might find in French stews or or Chinese pancakes. But these were moist and firm, with a sweet, crunchy glaze and a charming multicoloured dip of pickled kumquats and who knows what else.

I don't think the same dip or sauce is used twice. Lamb ribs are basted with fermented shrimp, chilli and palm sugar, and are served with a kind of sweet chilli dip (though obviously a million miles away from any sweet chilli you may have had squirted around a salad from Thai Square; this was sharp, fresh and incredibly moreish). The flesh from the ribs tore off in thick, satisfying chunks, and had that funky, deep flavour of clearly top quality lamb.

House som tam (green papaya salad) is another minor classic, and comes with all the mains. It's packed with flavour and heat - surprisingly so, in fact, given the chilli levels elsewhere stop thankfully somewhat short of authentic - and is a multicoloured, multitextured joy.

What else? Ah yes, wines and beers are far from an afterthought. The rare and brilliant Brooklyn Sorachi Ace is available in 750ml measures, and the wine list, curated by the omnipresent Zeren Wilson, offered a sweet German Riesling to go with our crab and scallops, and a lovely (and very reasonably priced) glass of natural prosecco to go with, well, more or less everything else.

As I arranged my coat and jumper around myself to cushion against the harsh bench seating, and while yelling conversation at my friend between mouthfuls of chilli crab, I wondered whether there was an easier way of doing all this. If I was a millionaire, maybe I could get someone to queue up and order for me, then as soon as it arrives courier it to my house where I could demolish the crab using a salad bowl as a finger wash and finish with fish sauce wings in front of the X Factor. Or maybe I could wear earplugs and they could have a separate queue for the seats that aren't a medieval torture device, like for people who queue separately for the front of the Nemesis at Alton Towers.

But even as I emerged, sweating, crab-stained and deaf onto Denmark Street after my meal at Smoking Goat that night, I knew with almost absolute certainty that I'd be back. Food like this, especially in London where you can count the number of decent Thai restaurants on one hand, is a rare and precious thing, and though everything that doesn't involve filling your face with smoked lamb and scallops is a test of almost every faculty I possess, what's coming out of that tiny, smoke-filled kitchen is enough to make me forgive almost anything. Uncompromising, infuriating and brilliant, Smoking Goat is a one-off.

8/10

I was invited to the opening night of Smoking Goat, then went back under my own steam for more, the glutton for punishment I am. I'm reliably informed they are hoping to open the kitchen earlier in the evening, so there is some light at the end of the tunnel.

Photos taken with a Canon 700D with 50mm lens, kindly loaned from Canon