Miga

Miga is a modern Korean restaurant in Hackney that operates as The Kardashians for people who are really into The Modern House and soul-quaking soy vinaigrettes. There’s dad, the master cook in the open kitchen. And there are the be-my-BFF charming siblings who will serve you a perilla seed aioli we wanted to marinate in. Between the open-arms welcome and the finale ox bone broth, we decided we needed to join this bloodline through any means possible. But you don’t need to beg, marry, or counterfeit adoption papers your way into a perfect meal. All you need is a booking. 

Day or night, the crowd is an extended, blended family and is treated as such. The siblings will discuss the economy with the uncle-esque solo diner with his paperback, they’ll smile knowingly at the parents of the teenager on his phone in the presence of the cucumber kimchi, and they’ll sit down for a gossip with the stylish mates who look like Issey Miyake’s first ad for impeccable glass noodle consumption.

photo credit: Aleksandra Boruch

photo credit: Aleksandra Boruch

photo credit: Aleksandra Boruch

photo credit: Aleksandra Boruch

The space itself does not shout—it whispers, namely “I’m going to throw out everything in my home that isn’t A4 white or walnut”. It’s a white-washed blank canvas primed for getting all Bob Ross with a supremely hench king prawn and sizzling gochujang sauce. There are little hints of home—a fine-line print of ducks in flight that was drawn by one of the siblings, a little rubber cow in the bathroom. The mood is set to calming, tasteful retreat so that the flavours can get loud. 

Each dish is like a jazz band—individually the melt-upon-touch short ribs are pitch-perfect, the soy and pear sings, and the meaty shiitake mushrooms will get your feet tapping. And as a one-plate collective it leaves your brain humming for hours. The beef tartare with crisp little slivers of Korean pear will change your perception of time and yolk, and single-handedly operates as Miga’s PR exec. After the first time we tried it we went on a public broadcast mission, hustling our favourite people to Hackney so they could be formally introduced.

photo credit: Aleksandra Boruch

That’s the thing about this restaurant—you’ll want to share it with everyone you love, again and again. It’s undeniably cool and Aesop is present in the bathrooms but everyone is welcome. Charm, inclusivity, and the best Korean food in London is just part of the DNA at Miga. 

Food Rundown

photo credit: Aleksandra Boruch

Jabchae

A glass noodle disclosure: we had to return to Miga and eat this while listening to pink noise in order to fully articulate these noodles. The texture is gelatine-adjacent with a glossiness that carries the smoky flavours of the oyster mushrooms straight to your sinuses.

photo credit: Aleksandra Boruch

Yughwe

One for anyone who believes that colour theory is knowing that beef tartare should always be this exact shade of burgundy. It is the epitome of tender and—shoutout yolk—rich, matched with crisp matchstick slivers of crunchy Korean pear. Will cause feelings of obsession.

photo credit: Aleksandra Boruch

Maeun Saeu

Watch us go lovesick teenager if this must-order dish ever goes off the menu at Miga. We’ll write, we’ll call, we’ll stand in the rain with a boombox trying to rhyme prawn with mourn. The gochujang sauce is a shouter—both in flavour and in your inevitable reaction. It has a near-caramelised sweetness with a heat that sticks around like a loved-up couple extending their third date.

photo credit: Aleksandra Boruch

Ujog Muchim

If it’s on, consider it a sign from the collagen gods to get involved in this medley of silky, gluttonous chunks with a gochugaru vinaigrette that turns a simple baby leaf salad into something you’ll never agree to share.

photo credit: Daisy Meager

Galbijjim

This soy-braised short rib falls off the bone at a nudge like it’s having an illicit affair with the poached Korean pear and just can’t wait to be reunited. A bit-of-carrot, bit-of-slick-skin dish that carries the meat majesty of a Sunday roast, only better.

photo credit: Aleksandra Boruch

Suyug

The kind of self-restraint required to not openly lick this sauce up like an oversized cat with a kink for cream is very tricky. The brisket melts, the chilli-dotted salad slaps, and combined, it makes a strong case for being a last meal contender.