Mambow, Clapton, review: A fiery tribute to a lesser known cuisine

The pandemic might have put a stopper in her pop-up but Abby Lee’s passion shines through at Mambow’s new forever home in Clapton, writes Hannah Twiggs

From otak otak to pandan crepes, Mambow is a masterclass in powerhouse Malaysian flavours (Hannah Twiggs)

I often claim to fellow journalists that I start writing these reviews in the middle. If I start with what I remember most, the food, the vibes, the weather (bitter cold and drizzly), a witty intro will surely come naturally. Write what you know, after all. Others, aghast, tell me they’ve already got an opening line in mind as soon as they’ve tapped the card machine. So it will come as a surprise to us both that today I am starting at the end.

When I spy pandan crepes on the menu at newly opened Mambow in Clapton, the new forever home of London-based Malaysian chef Abby Lee’s pre-pandemic pop-up in Peckham, it’s a race to the finish. I cannot not leave room I declare to my prone-to-overordering date. I loathe dessert as much as I do intros, so count me doubly surprised.

There’s something about the grassy, coconutty, almost earthy vanilla flavour of pandan that gets me salivating at the mere mention of it. In a crepe, my all-time favourite food item? We’re off to a strong finish. But first, let’s talk about the other stuff, because it’s all rather good.

I’ve brought my best friend – or professional plus-one, rather – Alicia with me. Half Singaporean-Malay and half-English (she’s got more of the Essex about her than she likes to admit), having grown up between here and there, she was excited about a new authentic Malaysian eatery (really, she was excited to be judgmental) after the owner of her favourite Tukdin passed away. She knows far more about restaurants than I do, and she’s a good cook to boot. Restaurateurs should be more afraid of her walking in than I, quite frankly.

Squeezed into a cosy little table which forces me to apologise to our neighbours for parading my rear in their faces (why must restaurants do this? Costs, I suppose), Alicia, naturally, already knows what she’s ordering. She yelped at the sight of it on the menu. The 100+ sour, a gin-based tipple made with 100plus, a kind of presumably rank sports drink invented in Malaysia in the Eighties. With coconut, miso, blackberry and egg white, she’s rather taken by it. Meanwhile, I sip a decidedly stronger Assam teh, bourbon-based with condensed milk. Cocoa-dusted ice cubes are an elegant touch, though result in a rather unfortunate brown smudge on the end of one’s nose. This is an overwhelming positive review, after all.

Having lived with Alicia for two years, I thought I knew a thing or two about Malaysian food, but Mambow is a masterclass. Otak otak prawn toast, for example. We’re both excited about this one. Me, because I’m basic and I’ve seen it doing the rounds on Instagram; her because otak otak is one of her favourite dishes back home. It’s traditionally served as a fish cake spiced with lemongrass, chillies and turmeric, served in the leaf parcel it was steamed in, she tells me. Here, it’s squidged onto cake-like toast with a dollop of coconut cream, a punch in the face of kaffir lime and a whole chilli crown on top (which they dare you to eat if you’re brave – I’m not). Scoop it all up in a peppery, bitter betel leaf and it’s that cliche explosion of flavour: crunchy, punchy and unashamedly spicy. The Malay half of this review nods in approval.

The small plates at Mambow, otak otak prawn toast, umai and kam heong mussels, pack a punch (Hannah Twiggs)

The umai, a type of ceviche eaten by fishermen in Sarawak, soothes our burnt tongues with the cold, raw fish that can be mushed in the mouth like a salve and a bath of garlic chive oil-spiked coconut cream and tamarind granita. There’s a bowl of what can only be described as phat mussels in kam heong sauce, which means “golden fragrance” in Cantonese and dances on the tongue to a medley of sauteed curry leaves, dried shrimp and soy bean paste. Messy. Lip-smacking. Alicia bats away the waiter when he tries to take the bowl still with enough sauce left to mop up with coconut pandan rice. I could have eaten handfuls of the prawn floss on top like a giddy child at Halloween.

The kerabu perut comes with a warning. Firstly, that it’s got tripe in it. Ha! I exclaim. Try harder if you want to put me off. It’s also as spicy as the fiery pits of hell, they politely add, thanks to the sambal belacan, Malaysia’s famously butt-burning chilli sauce. Ah, yes, I will have a pot of coconut cream on the side as you so graciously suggested, thank you. Even that can’t save me, though I can appreciate it is a marriage of textures: crunchy beansprouts, bouncy tripe. One for the brave of gut.

The spice-averse should stick to the gulai tumis; chilli fiends go wild for the kerabu perut (Hannah Twiggs)

That the gulai tumis, tamarind fish curry, is decidedly mellower is no bad thing. This one comes from the Nyonya households of Malaysia, the blend of Chinese ingredients and Malay techniques from which Lee heralds and has mastered. The skate wing fillets are curled up like shy tails around okra in a broth that’s sweet, sour and (not too) spicy, and filled with all the flavours that make this cuisine so intoxicating: galangal, lemongrass, turmeric, tamarind and shrimp paste. The torch ginger flower, a key ingredient in Malaysia known as bunga kantan, cuts through the fish and unites the flavours like a conductor. It’s the type of dish I’d bathe myself in when sickly on a cold, wintry day such as this.

Finally, the pandan crepes, or kuih dadar to give them the respect they deserve. The kitchen here is open and I’d been watching Chef Lee busy at work – effervescently cool, electric blue hair, tattoos on show, a deadly focused expression as she taste-tests here and fries a curry leaf there – but become mesmerised when she starts swirling the bright green batter around the pan. They come wrapped up like burritos with a gula melaka (palm sugar) and grated coconut filling and coffee ice cream on the side. Actually, they come just as I like them: still warm, softer than most people prefer, a little savoury, gooey on the inside. I fastidiously google the recipe on the way home.

The journey to which is filled with exclamations such as: “God, that was good, wasn’t it?” and “I’m so glad I finished the year on a high”. There are only a few nitpicks from Alicia: “Well that wasn’t exactly like it is in Malaysia” or “I can see what she was trying to do there”. She’s mostly appeased, though, and was pleasantly surprised to find an authentic “tribute” to the cuisine, that Lee doesn’t shy away from serving lesser known dishes you don’t often find in London. She might even come back with her mum, to which all I can say is: good luck Abby. I, however, leave delighted. Delighted that the pandemic, which non-gratuitously closed Lee’s pop-up and forced her to go back to Malaysia and reconnect with her family’s food (she’s Le Cordon Bleu-trained and has spent most of her career cooking Italian in Puglia), resulted in a permanent spot for Londoners to enjoy it. Delighted that she hasn’t made any compromises for meeker Western palates. Delighted that it’s serving pandan crepes. Delighted that it’s brilliant.

Our rating: ★★★★★

For two people, it was £70 for food, £22.5 for cocktails and wine ranges from £36-64 a bottle

Mambow, 78 Lower Clapton Road, London, E5 0RN | mambow.co.uk | Book through Resy