The thermostat on the dashboard is oscillating between single and negative figures, indicating that the first snow of the year isn’t far off.
Slamming the car door behind me and heading over the road a little too keenly, I take a slight tumble on the ice that has enveloped the pavements. I’m half tempted to turn back, after all, who really goes out in the first few days of a New Year?
But I dust myself off because just minutes earlier I had driven past my intended destination and was relieved to see that even on a biting January afternoon there was a queue snaking out of the doorway. I’ve had this place on my radar for a while.
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On a housing estate between Northenden and Sale Moor, and tucked between a beauticians and a fast-food spot called Munch Bay sits Solar Bakery & Solar Cafe.
The bakery, which serves up an assortment of Chinese bakery classics as well as Hong Kong baked delicacies, traditional Cantonese desserts and a selection of noodle and rice dishes, first came to my attention via an Instagram account recommending Hong Kong-style cuisine in Greater Manchester.
There’s already a swathe of well-established eateries across Greater Manchester celebrating the cuisine, but there’s recently been a wave of new eateries, cafes, restaurants and supermarkets offering authentic Kong Kong delicacies, craft beer and desserts too.
I wondered for a while if I had imagined this bakery though. The screenshot I thought I had taken months earlier was nowhere to be found, and I couldn’t for the life of me remember the name.
But trawling the internet for some more information, I finally found it. The website is mostly in Cantonese and the Google listing simply says ‘Chinese Bakery’, but the translate button did a lot of heavy lifting for me. And then I found some YouTubers from Hong Kong living here in the UK who had visited Solar just to try its bread.
The video, which at times goes off on random tangents, saw the couple pick up an assortment of the bakery’s breads and sweets including pineapple buns and egg tarts – the latter a hand-sized pastry cup encasing a fluorescent yellow custard. Like a moth to flame I knew I had to try it.
In the comments, others who had visited said it felt like being ‘back in Hong Kong’, and that the baked goods are ‘unbeatable’. I didn’t need much more convincing and later that day found myself in the queue too.
Popping my head inside the shop to ascertain the queue situation, there’s barely space to swing a cat, and with a handful of tables already packed tightly with customers, I am concerned I might not get a seat. One of the staff members clocks me and tells me it would be a while before I was seated. Undeterred, I say I’ll happily take a seat at the lone bar table outside.
Despite the glacial conditions, the bright blue skies outside called to me. As one of my colleagues told me after I regaled him with the story, there’s something quite romantic about sitting outside on your own on the cusp of snowfall and eating French toast and pork cutlets.
Perhaps gloves and a hat would have been wise, but I go with the flow, my teeth only slightly chattering. The waitress from before comes out and asks for my order. Like a child in a sweet shop I start calling out items of the menu, and with each one her face slowly contorts into a more serious expression of concern.
We both know I’ve ordered too much for one person but I flash her a reassuring, albeit slightly crazed smile and she shuffles off back inside. I can feel others in the queue staring at me as I survey the area. What appears to be some form of scrap yard sits to my left while across the street mums push prams and kids scurry off to the nearby tram stop.
Just a few minutes later, the waitress is back with a Cantonese Bun (£1.50), a soft and fluffy sweet bun with a big slab of butter stuffed inside. She also pops down one of the egg tarts (£1) I’ve been desperate to try.
She gives me a look before passing me a small plastic bag. “Don’t worry if you can’t finish it all,” she smiles awkwardly.
She doesn’t think I can handle this. Along with the French toast and the pork and rice, she’s probably right, but we’re too far in now.
The bun is a marvel to be quite honest, the rich butter cutting through the soft and delicate dough, while its flaky, almost crystallised cookie crust glows as the sun hits it. It’s rivalled only by the egg tart which boasts several flaky layers and a creamy, rich centre that oozes as you bite in.
No sooner have I finished these off, the main course arrives. I now understand why she gave me a doggy bag. On her recommendation I’ve chosen the ‘Curry Deep Fried Pork Cutlet with Rice’.
A thick mound of sticky rice shares a large canvas almost overflowing with curry sauce and a neatly arranged spread of crispy pork cutlets. The pork is best picked up I find, bits of the crispy coasting falling into the curry sauce below, each juicy bite better than the last. Big spoonfulls of rice meanwhile, are scooped up and doused in curry sauce that has the perfect amount of heat and spice.
As one of the first meals of a New Year go I can’t help but think I may have peaked too soon. A sentiment only solidified by the arrival of my final dish – their take on French toast. Thick slices of milk bread sandwiched with peanut butter, and cut into precise sandwich squares, before being dipped in eggs and shallow fried. It’s presented with another huge slab of butter and a pot of honey.
A bit of research on this style of food and it appears that this would be classified as Hong Kong-style Western cuisine or Canto-Western cuisine – and both Hong Kong-style diners and restaurants serve up these dishes to appeal to a wider audience. On the menu I spot the Cantonese words next to it and it turns out that it says ‘Western Toast’, which bears out this point.
By shallow frying you get a much crispier result, and as I cut in there’s something very satisfying about hearing the unmistakable crackle. The slab of butter has seeped into the bread making this an extremely decadent finale. I don’t finish it, but I do my best, and leave the bakery and cafe feeling like I’ve uncovered something of a hidden gem.
