Previous SlideNext Slide

For the past decade, my all-time favourite, gun-to-the-head, desert-island meat pie was the lamb- and cumin-loaded goshnan at Kiroran Silk Road. Haymarket’s only Uyghur restaurant pan-fries the plate-sized disc to a bubbled crisp and, on a cold night, it doesn’t last long.

Runner-up in the meat-pie power rankings is the hu jiao bing, two blocks down at Mother Chu’s Taiwanese Gourmet. It provides an answer to the question, “What would happen if a sausage roll and a pork bun rolled around in pepper and decided to have a baby?”

As a Swans supporter, I’m also obliged to mention that a Four’N Twenty scoffed at the footy is completely delicious in its own kind of tongue-blistering way.

But Sydney’s meat pies now have a new overlord. The Grand Poobah of north-west suburban pastries is the intensely juicy, minced pork pie at Jin’s.

I’m actually a bit late to the Jin’s meat-pie party. Wife and husband Stacey Jin and David Zheng opened the diner in late 2022 and you can find it near Eastwood’s town centre: just look for the giant pie logo among a row of fried chicken and claypot rice shops.

Inside, a spotless dining room is fitted out with off-the-rack furniture and a stainless-steel kitchen where cooks transform pork, spring onion and flour into the signature dish. Jin’s’ sesame-spangled pies are four bites in size and five pies will set you back $12.50.

You’ll need to decide between mild or spicy, but I’ve been to Jin’s three times in the past month and never ordered the mild. Life’s too short and the spicy is too good, pulsing with a creeping heat from chilli oil.

Based on a similar snack from eastern China’s Zhejiang province, each batch of pies is cooked in a tandoor-style oven so the meat is tightly sealed to retain its fresh-minced flavour and juices. Meanwhile, the pastry is so thin and crisp, you could drum a beat on the surface. Rat-a-tat-tat-crunch.

A one-page laminated menu also features several items that aren’t pies, while the clay-pot potato noodle casserole ($18.80) is spicy, chest-tingling stuff.

Expect it to arrive crammed with bitey ribbons of pressed tofu and a lucky dip of quail eggs, brisket, crab stick and ham. At least, I think I saw ham before it disappeared into a tangle of seaweed and the pot’s rusty depths. It’s a soup that should come with a searchlight.

There are pillowy, cloud-white pork buns (eight for $12), but they’re only going to fill you up, and you won’t feel like visiting Hon Kee HK Dessert for sago pudding afterwards (the mango sago at Hon Kee is one of the best reasons to spend more time in Eastwood).

Instead, gravitate towards the prawn, pork and corn pot-stickers (eight for $16.50); they’re liberally stuffed but reasonably light and joined together by a golden lace of batter.

The same prawn mix fills chubby, thick-wrapped siu mai (steamed dumplings, six for $18.80), while pretty-darn-good pork-and-cabbage dumplings love a quick dip in chilli oil from the condiments station.

I’ve never ordered the mild pies. Life’s too short and the spicy is too good.

It wouldn’t be rude to bypass the pies completely and have a dumpling-exclusive dinner. Nor is there any shame in only ordering a wonton soup, the soothing yin to the casserole’s formidable yang, featuring wrinkled dumplings, seaweed and tiny dried shrimp. The broth has a long, direct flavour that tastes as if it’s worth much more than $11 a bowl.

Potato salad ($8): fiery, crunchy, textbook stuff. Sweet and sour cucumber salad ($9.50): garlic-heavy and refreshing, but could do with more heat. This is the only glitch I’ve encountered though, and it’s a reasonably subjective one at that.

The floor team is consistently warm and accommodating, and food arrives promptly after you order at the front counter and find a seat. There’s a lot to like about Jin’s Grilled Meat Pie.

In news that will surprise absolutely no one who lives there, there’s a lot to like about Eastwood generally, from the mighty Korean hot pots at Pu Ji Mi to the sweet and tender char siu pork at Wang Wang BBQ. Traditional Cantonese Taste makes gold-standard cheong-fun rice noodle rolls, and Soul Hainan Chicken Rice may set a new Sydney standard for poached chook.

I need to try the Taiwanese hu jiao bing (black pepper buns) at Hungry Paulie, too. If Jin’s has taught me one thing, it’s that personal meat-pie rankings need to be regularly reassessed.

This review was originally published in Good Weekend magazine