Does ‘Sydney’s best Korean fried chicken’ live up to the hype in its new location?

If there’s one person who’s earned the trust of the Australian public, it’s Recipetin Eats founder Nagi Maehashi. When it comes to food, Maehashi – who is also a Good Food columnist – is a renowned perfectionist – revising dishes upwards of 70 times to ensure the recipes in her record-breaking cookbooks deliver the goods.

Need proof? Take her public endorsement of Joy Korean Fried Chicken in 2024. The day after Maehashi declared owner-chef Kay Hwang made the best Korean fried chicken in Sydney, more than 150 people descended on the tiny Chippendale takeaway shop. They queued down Abercrombie Street until Hwang ran out of food.

The hype never really died down and, in April 2025, Hwang announced plans to move to a larger location that wouldn’t require customers to exchange an hour of their life for a fried chicken sandwich. It was a lot of pressure, Hwang said. He didn’t like to keep people waiting.

Joy reopened in July on Enmore Road, and Hwang has gone big – four times the former seating capacity and18 people on staff (up from just three).

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“I was actually kind of nervous, you know,” Hwang said, right before the launch. “I need to deliver the product, and people have very high expectations. I’m nervous, excited, and worried.”

The launch was predictably chaotic, but things have settled over the past three months. There’s no longer a wait for a midweek meal and service is almost as efficient as a fast food restaurant – except, of course, far better.

Joy offers an elevated take on the fast-food experience, harnessing the familiar facade of food court staples (bright red walls, backlit menus above the counter, boxed meals atop silver serving trays) while delivering the culinary exactitude and considered service of a sit-down restaurant.

“We are just a fried chicken shop,” Hwang wrote on Instagram, after some confused Google reviews. But what other fried chicken shop greets you at the door with a cheery smile and guides you to your table? Or invests in such comfortable chairs? Or actually thinks about lighting?

Hwang swapped the customary glare of fluorescent overheads for the soft glow of hanging lights, which should be standard in a room where everyone’s using their hands to rip into monstrously large pieces of chicken, maple chilli sauce smeared on their face and dripping down their fingers. He’s also installed a sink in the corner.

The food might not be flattering to eat, but it is exceptional. Hwang worked as a chef at some of Sydney’s best kitchens (Quay, Bennelong and Aria among them) before striking out on his own at 40-years-old and mastering the underrated art of Korean fried chicken. Each piece is brined for at least three days, coated in cornflour, cold batter, and Korean frying flour, and painstakingly triple-fried.

Of course, Maehashi was right. I have never tried fried chicken like this — each piece coated in a uniform crust of textural gold, the batter pushed to the very limits of crunch, the flesh so tenderly preserved at its peak. Each component balanced, each mouthful delivering the same sense of satisfaction. The Colonel could never.

It’s served two ways: tidy, plump pieces of breast (boneless) and thigh, each with a side of cabbage salad (like coleslaw, but lighter) and daikon pickle (necessary for spicier sauces); and within a burger, the potato bun neatly dressed in a branded paper jacket, angled to reveal a golden fillet layered between a mild gochujang mayo, finely shredded cabbage and kale, and a slice of melty cheese.

Boneless is a choice of convenience, sacrificing the easy lusciousness of bone-in meat, though just a shade dryer. That’s where the sauce comes in.

Chicken comes evenly glazed and glossy in a sauce of your choosing. Fermented chilli paste lends gentle heat to the sweet spicy sauce, while the “fire” sauce is a savage, tongue-numbing concoction, burning red with Carolina Reaper peppers; bulgogi leans salty and sweet, not cloying; and the maple chilli sauce hovers between extremes, a Goldilocks with kick.

Chips deserve a shoutout – sunshine-yellow fingers of fried potatoes, salty with a whisper of chilli powder. They come in a “Joy Box”, which also includes a burger, one piece of bone-in chicken, cabbage salad, pickles and soft drink, starting at $29.50. That might seem like a lot, but portion sizes are generous. Sure, you’ll only pay around $15 for the Kentucky Fried equivalent, but it isn’t a fair comparison.

Honestly, I like KFC, but the quality and the experience are worlds apart. I like being able to sit in an impeccably clean space and laugh with the staff as they tease my husband for struggling through a piece of fire chicken. I like being able to order a glass of wine or fruity soju with my meal. I like how well leftovers reheat the next day. And, most of all, I like that eating here supports someone who had the courage to break out on his own and chase a very, very specific dream.

The low-down

Atmosphere: A lively chicken shop with restaurant sensibilities.

Go-to dishes: Two-piece meal ($13.80); Joy Box ($30.50); burger with original crispy crust chicken ($17.50).

Drinks: Tight selection of locally brewed craft beer, fruity soju and two wines of the month, available by the glass.

Cost: About $50 for two, excluding drinks.

Good Food reviews are booked anonymously and paid independently. A restaurant can’t pay for a review or inclusion in the Good Food Guide.