Walking into Kiln feels like a homecoming. It shouldn’t, because I’ve never been before — I know, I know, we’ll get to that.

This autumn, the Brewer Street spot celebrates its 10th birthday. In restaurant terms, that’s an achievement deserving of a letter from the King. And during that decade it’s been lauded and shared to the point it feels instantly familiar. I’ve seen more photos of it than I have of myself as a child.

Kiln, specialising in the food of northern Thailand and its neighbours, was part of a cohort of restaurants that opened in the mid 2010s celebrating regional Thai cuisine when it was still relatively under-represented in London. Opened by Ben Chapman and Brian Hannon a couple of years after their first venture Smoking Goat, it soon built a reputation for really tasty, laid-back food and was crowned the UK’s best restaurant at the 2018 National Restaurant Awards. Its head chef alumni includes Meedu Saad who went on to open Impala earlier this year to rapturous reviews, and Singburi 2.0’s Nick Molyviatis.

Evidently that reputation hasn’t waned. Just gone midday on a Tuesday, almost every counter seat is taken. Just four remain, soon taken up by a couple, then me and my brother, who I invited because no one else offers both enthusiasm and criticism so generously.

We sit facing the furnaces that make our faces hot to the touch within minutes. The grill is stacked high with sausages and golden chicken legs. Further along, those famous claypots I’ve heard so much about.

Another dish I’ve heard a lot about, the cull yaw skewers, aren’t on the menu. Made from older ewes who end their post-lambing days eating grass and herbs in Cornish fields, they’re perhaps Kiln’s signature dish. At first I’m sad to not be able to try them. Then a sausage made from the same sheep sits in front of me in all its fatty, fragrant glory, heady with lemongrass and brightened by the coriander it’s served alongside. We fight over the last piece.

Laap spiced sardines come whole, crisp-coated from the deep-fryer before a generous dusting in a 10-spice mix that includes lots of Sichuan pepper. We’re advised to eat it whole, head, bones and all, and enthusiastically do so. A masterpiece of flavour and texture, each bite is quickly followed by another as we urgently seek another hit of crunch and numbing chilli heat.

Bavette nham d’tok is a plate of dark crusted, perfectly pink beef smothered beneath a pile of dressed leaves and herbs. Occasional crunch comes from Thai glutinous rice roasted for hours before being blitzed into a powder.

A clever trick, the chef explains, from cooks in northern Thailand who used the toasted rice in place of coconuts that didn’t grow there. Our fireside stools allow for this sort of interaction with the chefs who show no sign of boredom despite no doubt having these conversations several times a day.

I sip a tamarind iced tea, refreshing in that heat and almost chocolatey, and watch a chicken leg descend from the pile at the top of the grill to be finished close to the embers for the gai yang, Thailand’s iconic barbecue chicken. It’s probably my favourite of the day. Golden, then blackened in parts from the intense heat, the skin is thin and delicately crisped. Underneath, the meat is juicy and dipped into the punchy dressing, bright red from chilli and wincingly sharp.

I’m less excited by the claypot noodles with Tamworth belly pork and brown crab. It’s nice enough, and comforting, but feels monochrome after the bright colours of everything else. It doesn’t matter, because by the end I’m content, sweaty and relieved to have enjoyed myself so much. I wonder why I hadn’t been before, and conclude that a certain type of hype can be counter-productive. To be disappointed at a new restaurant with little expectation is one thing. To dislike a meal everyone’s told me I’m going to love would feel like betrayal.

Thankfully there’s none of that — Kiln deserves its hype. I may be late to the party, but I’m no less enthusiastic. Here’s to the next 10 years.