Walk down Leicester Street on a rainy Tuesday and you’ll feel it. That weird, empty space where a three-story giant used to breathe. Honestly, if you spent any time in London’s Chinatown over the last thirty years, Joy King Lau wasn't just a restaurant. It was basically a landmark.
You’ve probably heard the rumors or seen the "Closed" signs that broke hearts back in July 2022. But even in 2026, people are still talking about it. Why? Because Joy King Lau London represented a specific era of Cantonese dining that is rapidly vanishing from the West End. It wasn't about the "Gram-worthy" flower walls or neon signs. It was about the steam. The noise. The absolute chaos of a Sunday morning dim sum rush where the staff knew your order before you even sat down.
The Day the Steamer Trays Stopped
It happened fast. One minute we were all tucking into the best siu mai in the zip code, and the next, an Instagram post announced the end. On July 3, 2022, the original team—some of whom had been there since the doors swung open in the 90s—packed up their cleavers.
People were devastated.
"My family has eaten here for four generations," one regular wrote online. That’s not hyper-marketing fluff; that’s the reality of a place that survived the ups and downs of Soho for nearly three decades. The closure wasn't just about one business failing. It was a symptom of a much larger, kinda scary shift in London's real estate. Rising rents and "placemaking" by big landlords have been pushing out the old guard for years.
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What Made Joy King Lau London So Different?
If you ever navigated those narrow, creaky stairs to the second or third floor, you know the vibe. It was "posh nondescript." The carpets were a bit worn, the lighting was bright, and the air conditioning was usually set to "Arctic."
But the food? Man, the food was legit.
The Dim Sum Secret
Most people think dim sum is just dumplings. At Joy King Lau, it was an art form. They were widely credited with being one of the pioneers that brought authentic Cantonese dim sum to the London masses.
- Har Gau: The translucent skin had to be thin enough to see the pink shrimp but tough enough not to tear. Most places fail this. They didn't.
- Curry Whelks: A polarizing classic. If you knew, you knew.
- Paper-Wrapped Prawns: Crispy, oily in the right way, and steaming hot.
They even had a specials menu written only in Chinese. That was the ultimate seal of approval. If you saw the "secret" menu, you knew you weren't in a tourist trap. You were in the real deal.
Beyond the Dumplings
While the lunch crowd came for the baskets, the dinner crowd was there for the heavy hitters. We’re talking about the salt and pepper pork chops that had just the right amount of MSG-fueled zing. Or the deep-fried soft-shell crab with chili and spring onions. Honestly, that dish alone probably paid the rent for a decade.
The 2026 Reality: Is Joy King Lau Still Open?
Here is where it gets a little confusing for people searching for a table today. The "Joy King Lau" name has seen some movements. After the original team left in 2022, there was a lot of talk about "new management."
Currently, the digital footprint for the brand is a bit of a mix. You might find listings or websites suggesting they are taking bookings or operating under a modified model. But let’s be real: the soul of the original Joy King Lau—the specific staff who treated regulars like family—that specific iteration ended with the 2022 closure.
Some reports suggest the brand name has moved or is being used by new operators. If you visit the original site at 3 Leicester Street now, you’re looking at a different chapter of Chinatown history.
Why the "Old Version" Matters Now
We’re seeing a massive "gentrification" of Chinatown. Newer spots are sleeker. They have better websites. They use QR code menus. But they often lack the "wok hei"—that "breath of the wok" flavor that only comes from decades of seasoned pans and chefs who don't need a timer to know when the duck is perfect.
Joy King Lau was a bridge. It connected the old-school immigrants who built Chinatown with the younger, trendy Londoners looking for a late-night feast.
Surviving the "New" Chinatown
If you’re looking for that Joy King Lau fix in 2026, you have to be smart about where you go. You can't just walk into the first place with a red lantern outside.
- Look for the "Grandma Test": If the restaurant is full of Cantonese grandmothers arguing over the bill, the food is probably okay.
- Check the Roast Meats: Look in the window. If the duck skin looks like glass and the char siu has those charred, blackened edges, you're in the right place.
- The Floor Count: Authentic Chinatown spots often have multiple floors. The higher you go, the more "local" it usually feels.
Actionable Tips for Your Next Visit
Since the original Joy King Lau team isn't manning the steamers at Leicester Street anymore, you need a backup plan.
- For the "Vibe": Head to Wong Kei if you want that brusque, no-nonsense service that JKL regulars used to tolerate with a smile.
- For the "Duck": Four Seasons on Gerrard Street remains the heavyweight champion for roast meats.
- For "Proper" Dim Sum: Try Lotus Garden or Lido. They carry that same DNA of multi-floor dining and traditional carts (though carts are becoming rarer than a cheap flat in Zone 1).
Basically, Joy King Lau London isn't just a name on a map anymore; it's a benchmark. It’s what we compare every new opening to. It’s the standard for what a community hub should look like in a city that is constantly trying to tear down its history.
Next time you're in Soho, don't just follow the influencers. Look for the places that feel lived-in. Look for the steam. That’s where the ghost of Joy King Lau still lives.
Your next move: If you’re heading to Chinatown this weekend, skip the places with the shortest queues. Real Cantonese food is worth the 20-minute wait on a sidewalk. Check the menus for "Clay Pot" dishes—that's the true test of a kitchen's soul in the post-JKL era.