The Next Plate

Looking back on adventures had around the world

[selwanderyn]

Enroute to Bangkok

So Helen and I decided to head to the airport separately, which meant I didn’t have anyone to tell me to stop packing 45 plasters, 4 metres of bandages and several unnecessary packets of strepsils in my first aid kit, most of which were useless. Saying goodbye to our parents was more of a reprieve than a sadness, given that if you’re born and raised in London, moving out is akin to essentially winning the lottery. The first moment of joy came when I realised I had hastily packed my laptop and passport in my padlocked Nomatic bag and had to remove it, struggling to ram them into my 2L Hiking bag but then just carrying it in my hand before we got to checking our bags in.  I’m a total pro now, but you’ve got to appreciate the naivety of youth. 

Helen rolling her eyes at how the rest of the trip would go, yet given her considerate and sensitive nature kept this under wraps and was patient as an angel, offering soothing advice like “IT’S ONLY THE FIRST DAY HOW ARE YOU THIS BAD ALREADY”. The plane was good. We played pub quiz games where it was neck and neck until Helen smugly pulled ahead, pointing out that her luck was stronger than mine at which point we then deviated to our own personal genres of joy. For me, it was catching up on films. For Helen, it was headphones and a relaxing puzzle game.  Lights out. While I was getting into the my new reality of falling asleep sitting up with the soothing sounds of two house-sized engines roaring at 500mph either side of me, a baby started to gurgle and then cry.  It set off this fascinating chain of events. You see, if one baby cries, then it wakes up another, who then needs to cry, who in turn sets off another. By my count at peak traffic there were 3 babies crying at any one time at about 4am. Their exhausted parents had passed out so soundly to this lullaby that the rest of us had to deal with this in typical stoic Britishness.

To sample this experience, click on the below video and then lie back, closing your eyes and try to sleep. For added realness, imagine three babies.

I had heard later on that Police and Ambulance Sirens imitate babies crying as it’s a sound we’ve evolved highly to reacting to. While I feel like this is true, given how much I wanted to get up and throttle both parents and children, I’ve tried to corroborate my statement through research and have come up with nothing.  So that’s a load of bullshit. Later on, we connected at Dubai for 2 hours.

We basically had time to share a meal and run to our next flight. Bear in mind the copyright of this photo I’ve nicked says this is what the airport looked like in 2011. Six years later, it felt like a humid yellow mess. I’d forgotten to update my Monzo card, so Helen ended up paying. She was not pleased. She had to deal with the babies crying too, after all.

Anyway, long story short, your first long-haul on a RTW can be a bit of a beast, so make sure you make the most of it and get absolutely wrecked and pass out or just be really, really rich so you can take 1st class and lie back.* We arrived at Bangkok at 7:30pm on Friday, grabbed our bags and headed to Ari where we would be staying with friends. *Unless there are also babies in 1st class. Then you’re fucked.

[selwanderyn]

A bit too fancy

Meeting up with some friends for brunch in Brixton, I felt fancy. Adults go to brunch. I was tempted to get a Bloody Mary to celebrate this but it was just too early to get one and I would have ended up passing out by midday. I had brought along my travel bag I had bought for a ridiculous amount of money to show them, but I’ll cover that in a non-food centric post.

Even though I had breakfast before coming, I (obviously) ended up eating one of the biggest, heart-attack rendering sandwiches I’ve had this year. A double decker bacon sandwich with mushrooms and fried eggs, accompanied by half a kilo of potatoes that were double deep fried masquerading as chips led me to a food coma so strong that I only really came to 20 minutes later standing outside a bus stop on the way to eat more food.

Sidenote: They put in n’duja in their ketchup. It wasn’t even fancy, it was just ordinary Heinz Ketchup. 

Who does that? 

Let’s face it, Brixton is pretty gentrified these days, though its culinary roots still remain strong, and the markets are still around, but that doesn’t make me forget that weird point in 2015 when people were serving food in the city in anything but plates.

That was fucking cringeworthy.

We then went to Nardulli’s in Clapham Common for a quick stop and I was berated as I have never had gelato before. Apparently embarrassing, but I grew up on shark. I got Pistachio with Stracciatella while we flicked through the pretentious pages of the Financial Times quarterly magazine, How To Spend It. If you want a quick summary, it’s everything that’s wrong with capitalism.

But if you like the idea of €15 scented matches, click here.

So, about 10 cups of tea (lololol England) later and a bit of a chat, we went off to Harrods by bus, in the heart of Knightsbridge. Funnily enough, if you didn’t know, most of London is owned by a handful of  people. You’d think the Queen would own a lot, but she pales in comparison to the Duke of Wesminister, who at just 26, is worth £9bn.

Gosh.

We talked about this on the bus, and figured you would literally just do nothing but go to parties, sports clubs and have baths of milk for your entire life. No doubt, you’d have no excuse to be anything but your best self, so I’m sure the Duke has some good banter. 

Enticed by this lactose inspired daydream and meeting up with some old friends, I decided to try a small taste of #highsociety to see if it was for me, (Helen always accuses me of being a ‘Little Prince’) and what better gateway food than #oysters.

I sat down nervously at the edge of the bar, adjusting myself a little as I scanned around the bar to see our fellow patrons: 2 women in fur coats eating caviar and 3 Asian twentysomethings who looked...embarrassed that they were in a lowly establishment like Harrods having simple oysters. So, ordinary people.

No matter. Our plates had arrived and I was PSYCHED. As soon as I heard “Ooh this tastes like the sea” I went for it.

They don’t taste that bad, oysters. The main thing was to not look you like you didn’t have a clue and panicking by doing something stupid like asking someone a question and tilting the shell up toward your mouth and then putting it down, even if the oyster was still there, which I did twice before realising that the fork and knife were to dislodge the dead creature from its former home.

The aftertaste, which did taste like the sea and the lemon and tabasco all worked well, but my favourite was the picked onion. 

My drink was a Balik Beer, which was a strong malty beer that...did not compliment the oysters at all but at £7 a bottle and the cheapest thing on the menu, I settled as I reminded myself I haven’t even left the country yet. 

When the receipt came, at £81 for 3 drinks and 12 oysters, I could see see why the twentysomethings were so downtrodden.

Daylight fucking robbery.

[selwanderyn]

In prawns...the taste and beauty is in the head, not the body

My Dad, a little inebriated after making Sothi with Apple & Prawn Heads.

[selwanderyn]

C&R (I don’t know what it stands for)

It’s the best. 

Well, the best in London.

Now, I don’t say this lightly so let me give you a little history as to how I’ve come to this conclusion. It’ll also be a good background to when I’m later in Kuala Lumpur. I mean, it’s the only background. I convinced Helen we should stay in KL for a few days because it’s on the way to Borneo but really I just miss real Malaysian food.

I first discovered C&R about 7 years ago and have never looked back. Since then, I’ve been back countless times, and I love it each and every time I go.

My love for Malaysian food comes from my mother, who grew up in Ipoh and would cycle down the road from her house to the local shops to treat herself with Char-Siu Pow every weekend after a hard day of school. When she got a little older, she would ride home with her friends after college and grab a nice refreshing bowl of Ice Kacang before heading home.

She emigrated to London by herself, leaving her family and home behind, where she made the unfortunate mistake of meeting my Dad, who loves cooking, but hates going out. That being said, only place he would concede going out to was a tradition for them since their first meal there in 1977, where he discovered his second love, Singapore Laksa.

It was called Bali, based in Edgware Road and every weekend they met up and ate there, so much so that by the time they had a family, the owner would always greet us warmly when we arrived. 

At the time, I just thought it was just my dad being overly friendly as usual, but when you’re 7, the time from when you sit at a table to when the food is served is measured in years (possibly decades), and anyone else having a good time is to blame.

I’m guessing this is why they don’t let children write restaurant reviews, because ‘crayon and drawing facilities’ would be a legitimate factor.

That being said, the food came, and I was a very happy customer. I ate Char Kway Teow to my heart’s content in the dimly lit, quietly bustling atmosphere and that obsession has carried on to my adult life, where I still enjoy a plate of the stuff, where every mouthful reminds me of comfort. 

It closed in the noughties, and ever since then, I’ve been looking for another decent Malaysian restaurant in London.

She took us to Malaysia later on, where I got a real taste for the food she grew up on, and when you’ve had Roti Canai with curry sauce, naan bread is depressing.

Flip forward to 2010, and I’m in Chinatown, near Leicester Square and I discover this place that has all of the old favourites. Every picture you’ve seen is from C&R. They’re in this tiny little alleyway in Rupert Court, opposite what looks to be a hairdressers and on top is a small law firm, all of whom no doubt eat there regularly. Maybe they don’t. There’s no helping some people.

The thing that gets to me is that the staff had a laissez faire attitude and the décor was uninspiring but the food was perfect. It’s one of those places that doesn’t need to try to always be packed out. People go there for the food. It’s unassuming, hearty and so good you’ll want to go back for more. The menus are in worn out laminate and there’s nothing but your fellow patrons to stare at when you’re in there (there are a few large paintings of London, but it’s just to remind you you’re still in London, in case either staff or clientele forget).

As you can see, the portions are all generous, and for the keener eyes out there, you might see a blurry Loh Bak in the foreground. Honestly, I can’t comment on this as I’ve never had the OG edition, but they’re okay. I mean, C&R also offer a ridiculously spicy chicken wing platter that is made from something that is like Sriracha mixed with Hellfire.

For those less adventurous, there’s the self explanatory ‘Chicken with bone’ dish that makes up for it’s rather unimaginative name with a tasty, sumptuous curried chicken gravy. As you can see, my friend is so excited about eating this he’s clenching both his fists, angrily counting down the seconds as I take photos of his dinner.

I mean, he just woke from a nap so he might have been hungry.

Check it out next time you fancy going to Chinatown. It doesn’t disappoint, and it’s my go to for a winter warmer when it’s cold out!

Also, we went to see Bladerunner 2049 at the cinema.

[selwanderyn]

Intro

Did you know people actually travel to other countries for food?

“I've always loved food. At home, I do the things that every foodie does.” 

Eugh. I honestly don’t know what every foodie does, but I’m sure that people who like food, which is mostly everyone (because you can never be 100%), do a lot of different things.

It feels like it’s more an individual experience because people come from a lot of different backgrounds, and everyone’s idea of food stems from their own individual experiences, discoveries and passions, and through culture that gets shared between others. Safe to say, it’s also a social experience, apart from when you come home at 3am and are putting grated cheese on ice cream, thinking your two favourite things are definitely going to taste great tomorrow morning.

Good job, drunk you.

For instance, my dad loves putting sambol on buttered bread as it reminds him of eating it in Sri Lanka before setting off for school. I honestly love a good scrambled egg on some toast before I dart off to work, and as a kid, I would love eating McDonalds fries and then drinking strawberry milkshake to get that weird mix of salty and sweet.

I’m sure you’ve got your own individual, private food moments that come from somewhere too. 

Or maybe not. 

Maybe you just pick ‘Set Menu C’ at every place you go to and no-one has called you out on it yet and you live in a place of constant fear that you’ll be exposed for the culinary sociopath you are.

So, taking these contexts into perspective, I’m going to share my discoveries of food while I travel for 4 months.

I’m going travelling with Helen, who is a strong independent woman and in the interests of wanting to prove who gets more site traffic (she will) has her own blog (she is my girlfriend).

I’ll also have posts for other stuff, like travelling and other things as I’ve never been away from home this long, but you can ignore that if you’re hungry.