Nestled in between the graffiti and sirens of Mare Street, Miga’s whitewashed facade immediately catches the eye. Look a little closer and you’ll notice it is almost always full - London is deep in its Korean-food era, and few restaurants embody this moment quite like Miga.
Inside, there’s a pared-back charm. The look is minimal: sturdy dark-timber tables, workmanlike white crockery, and hefty thick-stemmed wine glasses that feel like they’d survive a high-speed encounter with the tiled floor. The room itself is unremarkable, but the charismatic, affable team brings it to life, smiling and joking as they shuttle plates across the packed dining room.
And then there’s the food. God, the food is good. Chunky beef short ribs are braised in soy until just shy of collapsing - not obliterated, but tender enough to slide away from the bone. Two rib bones arrive on a chipped white plate alongside a single carrot, a piece of nashi pear, and a shiitake mushroom. That’s Miga: no fuss, no unnecessary garnish, just the artistry of outstanding cooking on a plate.
Other dishes keep things familiar while going beyond the usual kimchi and seafood pancakes. Kimchi obsessives should try the cucumber kimchi, where cabbage is tucked into whole cucumbers and fermented. A fluffy mung bean pancake lands like a frisbee with perfectly crisp edges, and the beef tartare - topped with batons of Asian pear and a golden egg yolk - is impeccably balanced.
Some restaurants rely on ordering well; at Miga, it’s hard to imagine ordering badly. If there’s one warning, it’s that there are no desserts, but if you’ve ordered properly, you won’t have space anyway.