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It’s why I still lament the closure of downtown Chinatown’s Kom Jug Yuen all those years ago and feel disheartened when a barbecue chef in Scarborough once told me that the big supermarkets are luring the already-scarce barbecue talent away from the smaller shops. This has led a race-to-the-bottom in pricing and as a result, quality. When Goldstone Noodle Restaurant closed this past summer, it was yet another charmingly chaotic place that will be replaced by a local restaurant chain.

But then my ears perked up when a Chinese chef acquaintance recommended , a barbecue place in East Chinatown. Opened about a year and a half ago in the former Sing Sing BBQ spot at 351 Broadview Ave., it quickly gained a following. The restaurant is run by several former Goldstone veterans, and it has already built a roster of regulars hungry for good barbecue on the east side.

“We’ve had someone from Kingston the other day. There’s also people from Texas, Boston, Nova Scotia. I think it’s all through word of mouth or people posting on social media,” says co-owner Ben Yin, who runs the front of the restaurant.

Yin previously worked as a banker and was a longtime customer at Goldstone Noodle where he struck up a friendship with one of its former owners, Huang Wei. In 2022, Yin and Wei, joined by another former Goldstone cook, Liang Yu Wei, set out to open Supreme Taste in early 2023. Ironically, the restaurant’s Chinese name boasts its congee rather than the barbecue. The congee itself is great — thick and creamy, and just salty enough with a bit of soft rice texture remaining. My default order is the tang-jai-jook, or Sampan congee, that has a bit of everything like seafood, pork and a sprinkle of crunchy peanuts.

Sure, the expansive menu has the wok-fried noodles, rice and curries synonymous with Cantonese dining, but I come for the barbecue. The roast pork is marinated enough that the hoisin sauce is unnecessary but isn’t overly salty. The all-important crispy skin has, for lack of a better description, the delicate roughness of the finest grit of sandpaper and the thinness of a potato chip. The char siu has the red, honey-brushed crust and meat that’s not too lean or fatty, and most importantly, no gristle. Both dishes, served with rice and a side of greens, is a bargain for $13. The duck is also glistening with melted fat but not overwhelmingly so, and the free-range-chicken is simply poached and served with the requisite ginger-scallion sauce as a lighter alternative.

”(Chinese) barbecue can be considered a dying art. It’s so different and there’s so much to do. I don’t want the chefs to retire and I don’t want this to die out,” says Yin. He adds that much of the kitchen secrets can only be learned through experience and aren’t written in recipe books (the city’s Chinese barbecue masters tend to shy away from the spotlight, including at Supreme Taste). An example of the learning curve involves something as small as sending written dish orders for the kitchen. The classic Yangzhou fried rice, for example, is shortened down to the Chinese character for “lamb” because it is pronounced like “yang.”

As with everyone working in Chinatowns, Yin is aware in the past decade more and more Chinese barbecue chefs are pushing retirement age with few willing to take up the underappreciated culinary art. While American-style barbecue gets showcased in ,Ìý,Ìý and a whole industry of backyard smokers, there isn’t as much glamour in Chinese barbecue. 

Yin adds he’s slowly learning the trade to keep it going for the neighbourhood. “I don’t think I’ve reached even 30 per cent of their skill level yet, but I’m waiting for the front of the restaurant to be more stable before I can spend more time in the kitchen. They’re they’re from 6am and work shifts until the night.”

When it comes to a vibrant Chinatown, forget the hanging red lanterns and ornate gates. Look for the window of backlit ducks and roast pork that make Chinatowns a place for everyone. 

Correction - Feb. 7. 2025

This article was updated from a previous version that misspelled the name of former Chinatown restaurant Kom Jug Yuen.