Flying Elephant, Telford
Telford has a way of surprising you. Just when you think you’ve mapped its history, walked its seasonal parks, and stood on its iconic bridge, it offers something new — this time in the form of food. Tucked away in an unassuming spot, Flying Elephant is one of those places you could almost walk past if you didn’t know it was there. But step inside, and it’s a different world: the warm buzz of chatter, the clinking of cutlery, and the gentle aroma of spices from across Asia weaving through the air.

a culinary layover between countries
Flying Elephant is not just a restaurant; it’s a culinary layover between countries. You could start your journey in Japan, detour through Thailand, and land in the heart of Chinese street food culture — all without leaving your seat. I came here on a cool evening, the kind where you want comfort food but also something that sparks a bit of joy, and their menu felt like an invitation to travel through flavour.







My table quickly filled up with a spread that looked like a passport of dishes:
Thai Red Curry — The bowl was a painter’s palette of orange and cream, coconut milk swirled like clouds over a sunset. The curry had that perfect balance of richness and heat, its gentle spice offset by the sweetness of fresh basil leaves and the brightness of red chilli. Each spoonful carried tender strips of chicken and vegetables that had soaked up the sauce’s depth like old friends absorbing stories.
Japanese Katsu Curry — Crisp golden chicken cutlet resting beside a mound of fluffy white rice, all smothered in thick, savoury curry sauce. The sauce wasn’t shy; it had body, a comforting earthiness, and the kind of warmth that lingers on your tongue. The side salad added a fresh crunch, keeping each bite balanced.
Pad Thai with Prawns — A generous serving of noodles, glistening with a tangy-sweet sauce, crowned with a soft omelette and a wedge of lime. The prawns were plump and perfectly cooked, their sweetness playing against the zing of citrus. A dish you can’t help but eat slowly, just to make it last longer.
Chow Mein and Sushi Rolls — The chow mein was lively with colour — slivers of peppers, carrots, and onions tangled in golden noodles. It paired surprisingly well with the sushi rolls beside it, each piece wrapped neatly, the pop of tobiko giving little bursts of salt and crunch.
Salmon Donburi — Slices of fresh salmon draped over sushi rice, accented with edamame, seaweed, and salmon roe. Every bite was clean, fresh, and umami-rich, like the ocean distilled into a single mouthful.
About
The joy of Flying Elephant isn’t just in the variety but in how each dish feels cared for — plated with intention, flavours tuned to be comforting but still exciting. It’s a place where you can bring friends who all crave different things and still leave everyone satisfied.
Sitting there, I realised what makes this spot memorable is the way it turns a meal into a small adventure. You’re not just eating; you’re hopping borders — Thailand to Japan to China — guided only by the next dish that lands on your table. The atmosphere is casual, but the flavours carry the seriousness of kitchens that respect where each recipe comes from.




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