Prologue
Malaysian food was not something I considered particularly alien or particularly exciting for that matter. Coconut, red chillies, peanuts, steamed rice, dried fish in various permutations and combinations with chicken, prawns, and vegetables had become a staple in the ever mushrooming clutch of oriental restaurants in my neighbourhood. So much so that by the time we actually decided to go to Malaysia, I had eaten enough Malay food to last me a life time and even the thought of the real deal—authentic Malay food in Malaysia—hardly inspired a spark of excitement, much less a foodgasm.
Part I
Air Asia might be a low budget carrier, but the food is a surprise. It outshines the rubberized fare we are accustomed to in many of our full service airlines and comes piping hot in little silver foil containers. Remove the lid and you are assailed with the aromas that do more for me than the ‘Malaysia truly Asia’ jingle. They are alien and nothing like the nasi lemaks and rendangs I have had back home. Suspended thousands of feet above ground, in between countries, I ate my first Nasi Lemak in all its pungent, pickled and preserved glory. The first rumbles of excitement quickened my gut. I was ready to touch down in Malaysia.
KL glitters by night. It is Fritz Lang’s metropolis of towers and spires of chrome and glass. It is futuristic and grand sonnet in steel. As we are driven to our bed in the 22-storey tower, I watch the city in a semi slumber. The lights never go out but the people do go to bed. And our food options diminish rapidly. I will gloss over the part where we go to a McDonalds stuff our faces with a Quarter Pounder with Cheese as it is vulgar. Instead we shall fast forward to the hotel/tower with a glorious pool on the roof with a view of the famous Petronas Towers.
It’s nice to wake up to a gorgeous view of the city’s impressive skyline from the glass wall that runs along your bed and continues to the bathtub. We awoke to a new day of sightseeing and eating. Late to rise, short on time (we had one day in the city before we moved to our next destination), we sped through Petaling Street with its impressive gates opening on to an older world removed from the glamorous malls and corporate skyscrapers. As we stepped into Chinatown, we were greeted by strange snake-like creatures on grills, herbal concoctions being served out of beautiful Chinese tea pots in tea shops, a dozen roast ducks skewered through their hearts and precariously balanced from hooks. There were stalls selling longan (a litchi like fruit), stalls selling Chicken Rice (a specialty around these parts and an essential part of Malay cuisine) and stalls selling Indian food with virulent orange tandoori chicken hanging as organic symbols of the tri colour. Most of these stalls were right on the road. Some had a few plastic chairs and a table, while others had even less. We dodged vendors selling ‘fake originals’ and old toothless ladies waving bits of meat, till we arrived at a chicken rice stall which had a crowd around it. This was my test of any non verified establishment, big or small. If people flocked to it, it couldn’t be a complete disaster. The Chicken Rice came with a giant bowl of stock, little servings of red chilli paste, sliced cucumbers and a large portion of sliced chicken. The chicken was poached with its shiny, slightly glutinous outer skin providing nice texture. The reason this dish is so popular is because it’s a simple balancing of flavours and textures--the smooth tender chicken, the sticky grains of rice, the sharp edge of the red chilli, the cool crunch of cucumber and the hot broth to dunk your rice, chicken or your face in it (depending on the size of the bowl).
After many icy tender coconut drinks and many miles walked on burning asphalt and air conditioned mall floors, we decided to make our next food stop at the giant among malls – Berjaya Times Square. From steamboat restaurants to tropical fruit salads to sushi bars, it was all under one cavernous roof. After one poached meat, we decided to go the raw way despite the very inviting Uncle Duck’s Steamboat Restaurant around the corner which beckoned with its bubbling cauldron and pile of raw meats ready to be dunked, cooked and eaten. We were distracted by the cheerful lime green and yellow exterior of Sakae Sushi and promptly walked into what I regard as my best assembly line food experience till date. Our orders were on an ipad, our food came in little tagged bowls on a conveyor belt and we got a little photo op at the end of the meal which were the best photos of us on the trip. Our first day ended with a strange experience at a leery beery odd little bar called the Beach Café Bar which even our cabbie disapproved of saying that it was not the ‘right’ kind of place for a young honeymooning couple like ourselves although we were neither all that young or honeymooning. But a few beers later leery men and beery women look pretty much the same. And happy and hungry we swayed into a place advertised as an Argentine steak house. With glorious peppered rib-eye steaks and Argentinean vintage in our bellies, we slept like well-fed cats.
Part II
Morning saw us ensconced in a bus on our way to Taman Negara, believed to be the oldest tropical rainforest in the world. A 4-hour bus drive brought us to the Kuala Tembeling jetty. Thereafter the road ended and a boat awaited us. It felt like a journey into the green heart of the planet. The ancient, impossibly tall trees standing as gnarled sentinels to the ravages of time.
Our resort was right at the edge of the reserve itself. I walked under the soft spray of the constant rain, I heard bird song and I ate Beef Rendang (a spicy and semi sweet meat curry) Nasi Lemak and Chicken Rice for three days which was very nice. I don’t have much of a sweet tooth and that was a good thing because the resort was quite lacking in the dessert department with bright pink, synthetic cream pastries and angry green turgid jellies on offer.
But the place was far too lovely to complain about the food. I walked over the forest on a swaying walkway in the pitter-pattering rain. I saw as the birds did, the majestic sea of green seething with life and age. Everything around me had been here since the beginning of time.
We were hungry most of the time and we ate what was on offer without a whimper. Simple no-fuss Malay food is what we got. And we were content.
Part III
We returned to KL for Christmas Eve celebrations before our flight out to Penang. Arriving in the middle of the Christmas bustle, we were ready to eat. After an overdose of the lemaks, we wanted something a little more global. And thus we discovered Changkat Bukit Bintang. This particular street was buzzing with colour, food and drink. Lined with bars, al fresco restaurants and cafes specializing in food from across the world, this was a street with character and drama. Quiet and sunny during the day, this looked like a street grabbing a quick afternoon siesta in preparation for the big night ahead.
We were lured into Giovinoby the ‘Homemade Wild Boar Sausages’ scrawled on the blackboard outside. The quaint wine shop and restaurant serving Italian and Greek food and a lovely collection of wines did live up to its promise. The home made wild boar sausage was excellent and so was the wild boar stewed in red wine.
As the late afternoon sun faded into a dusky orange, I watched the city begin to heave and awaken. As I watched the first rumblings of activity, I realized the cultural mêlée that chequered the fabric of this country. It was a traditional country keenly aware of its history, its religion, its language and its roots. It was also a supremely liberal country. A small case in point was the fact that I was sitting in an outdoor cafe, gorging on wild boar and cider near the heart of a predominantly Muslim city. Across the road, a Tamilian family in traditional attire were dumping bags of groceries from an international supermarket chain into the boot of their car. A few streets away pretty young things were powdering their noses for a raucous night of partying on the party strip at Jalan Sultan Ismail. A few intersections away, Chinese housewives were gathering their pots and pans with simmering soups and crackling roasts and making their way to the night markets on Petaling Street. While, we were eating lunch Bukit Bintang had bedecked herself with tinsel, silver bells and fairy lights. Even in the sharp humid air, the smell of Christmas cake and mulled wine were hard to miss. As the muezzin gave the call for the evening prayer, I linked arms with the husband and made our way back to our temporary home in the clouds.
Only to emerge a few hours later. Christmas Eve celebrations were in full swing. Expats, Malaysians, tourists from the sub continent, tourists from the western world jostled for space on Bukit Bintang. A group of bikers on giant machines had arrived at a pub across us. We were drinking our nth bottle of cider, digging into the roast turkey and peoplewatching. Santa hats, crackers, whistles and a street wide countdown and crazy impromptu jigs made this a Christmas to remember. We hugged strangers. We danced with new friends. We ushered in a truly merry Christmas on a balmy tropical night.
Part IV
Next morning we took a leisurely afternoon flight to Penang: the much awaited food capital of the country with its heritage buildings, its heritage food and white sand beaches. We were living in the heart of the Georgetown, the UNESCO world heritage site and the possibly the one of the most interesting and charming parts of Malaysia. Georgetown is street food paradise. On our very first night, ensconced in trishaws we made our way around the oldest part of the island just taking in the smells. There is nothing I enjoy more than sight-smelling. The aromas and odours of a city are so intrinsically twinned with its appearance that I can rarely remember one separately.
Gerogetown is not a town. It is a giant pot where culture, food and history melts into a curry that is entirely unique. The Peranakan or Baba Nyonya culture is predominant here. The early Chinese settlers married Malaysians and fused with them in an organic manner adapting their traditional food, clothes, architecture and language to a life in the erstwhile British Straits. Variously known as the Straits Chinese, Peranakan and Baba Nyonya, their food is exciting and redolent of flavours fused seamlessly to create a love child that is creative and full of surprises.
Randomly chosen off the internet, the wonderfully quaint and beautifully appointed Yeng Keng Hotel with its super nice and friendly staff was just perfect. This 19th century mansion is a heritage site in its own right and also serves authentic Hainanese food.
From carts in the street serving up Chinese fare to Thai and Malay Indian food, this is street food paradise. Carts, makeshift stalls and a few plastic chairs is the basic infrastructure provided. But the food is fresh and delightful. I can’t help but lapse into clichés. But if there was a paradise for street food junkies, Georgetown would be it.
To cut a long list short, we ate from dusk till dawn. We ate Char Kway Teow, a staple consisting of flat noodles, assorted sea food and some veggies tossed and tossed on a wok till it waylays a hungry tourist and makes its way onto a plastic plate and a happy belly. Dim sum, banana fritters, sticky sweet rice and local fruit combos wrapped in banana leaves formed our breakfasts. Washed down with copious quantities of Ipoh white Coffee (coffee beans roasted with palm oil and either served as a flavoured premixed powder or served black with condensed milk) served on ice, we set out to explore the city. Colonial buildings, Nyonya architecture, south Indian green grocers, Chinese tea shops, massage chairs in swanky malls and a gorgeous promenade by the sea jostled for our space and time. And thankfully we were perpetually hungry.
I visited my first night market, the grand Red Garden Food Paradise and Night market which was a colourful permanent street food tent serving up everything from a claypot stew of frogs legs (which was delicious) to fried oysters, karaoke singers and the works ensuring that your night is a good one. We spent the evening wandering from one bar to the next on Upper Penang Road drinking ourselves silly at the line of bars with imaginative names and equally imaginative neon signage. We took a break to eat at the Night Market and then wound up the lovely evening with a nightcap at the gorgeous Eastern and Oriental Hotel, the grand dame among all the buildings in Malaysia with an unrivalled view across the ocean.
We spent our last day in Batu Ferringhi getting our fill of the sun and sand and NOT eating any seafood. A word of warning. Many of the seafood places with live tanks and aquariums on display housing all kinds of large and exotic creatures are traps as ‘price according to weight’ is a dubious thing indeed. We settled for a nice fish done Malaysian Indian style (in other words a fairly fiery curry with recognizable Indian spices and a dash of Malay herbs) at Helena’s Cafe and were not disappointed. Homely and full of natural flavours, the food was good and hearty. Batu Ferringhi is the assembly-line striped store wrapping to the hidden homemade toffee that is Georgetown and despite the sea and the sand, is good only for a day trip.
Epilogue:
Our last meal in Malaysia exorcised my devils and distaste in one fell sweep. Nyonya Baba Cuisinewas where we ate our last meal in the country. It was a serious name for a serious restaurant. Formerly known as the Dragon King, this was a restaurant with its heart and wok in the right place. Every dish on this family-run restaurant was lovingly created by the lady of the house and served fresh and steaming hot on beautiful red plates with delicate Chinese patterns. The restaurant was housed in an old Nyonya style building with Chinese and Malay accents. It was small, cosy and completely authentic. From the Otak Otak (fish steamed until soft as mousse in a banana leaf with an exciting array of Malay and Chinese herbs) to the deep fried and absolutely divine pork rolls served with a sweetish chilli dip, from the Hong Bak, or pork in a thick flavourful gravy to Curry Kapitam, a chicken curry with distinct Straits Chinese flavours, each dish was spicy, meaty, rich and bursting with flavour.
This was a meal to expel all pretenders who claim to know the truth about Malaysian food. The truth that is often missed by the expensive oriental restaurant in most countries and the truth that is apparent in a simple street cart in Georgetown and the truth that stares at you from red plates with Chinese patterns. That food is history and this history was contained in every mouthful of every meal that I ate in Malaysia.
(A much shorter version of this piece was published in the February issue of India Today Travel Plus)
