Category Archives: London

Rasa Sayang: Hokkien Prawn Mee

I had this post figured out weeks ago. At least I thought I had. The subject was to be “Battle of the Malaysians: Kiasu WIN”, and I was going to wax laksaphorical about how amazing Kiasu is and how, given that I’m already marrying Koba, I’d still definitely have an affair with Kiasu… but my plans went a little awry.

Rasa Sayang happened.

I’d already been to C&R and Kopi Tiam a number of times, and… meh, nothing impressive. And although I’d heard very average reviews of Rasa Sayang, I thought I’d give them a go before blogging about Kiasu‘s awesomeness, not because I’m a hokkien prawn mee slut and I’d have it just about anywhere, but because I wanted to be 100% diplomatic, eat there and have my god given right to diss it. 

But the unexpected unexpectedly happened (don’t you hate that?). Rasa Sayang was good.

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Did your mum ever tell you not to talk to strangers on the internet? And not just any strangers, but guys in particular, because isn’t that what guys do? Prowl the internet day and night, seeking out the next naive young thang? And don’t ever ever never ever meet up with someone you met on the internet? My mum tells me that all the time.

Hah. Well, I laugh in the face of danger.

I think it’s a vast improvement that I no longer spend 80% of my waking hours on facebook. I mean, that’s just so 2008. But in the name of social media trends, I now spend about 90% of my time in twitterverse, tweeting my minute-by-minute happenings to all of the zero people who listen.

Tempting fate the way I do, a couple of weeks back, I twittered, dare I even say I direct-messaged a guy on twitter. In fact I messaged two guys. And we agreed to meet. The venue? Lunch at The Hawksmoor.

Talk about living on the edge.

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I spent the last two days frolicking in Lille and seriously upping my body fat content on buttery croissants and sucre crepes, arriving back to L-town just tonight, so I’ve had zilch time to blawg all weekend. The withdrawal symptoms were not nearly as awful as I expected, there were some involuntary tourette style twitches involved, but nothing that couldn’t be satiated by yet another macaroon. Anyways, it’s not like I have nothing to talk blog about (as if I could ever run out of chatter). In the tradition of other crazy-obsessive bloggers before me, here’s one I prepared earlier.

Hit me with a baby back kalbi (galbee, whatever), baby.

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My dad grew up in a kampung in Malaysia, one of fourteen (that’s right, you read right, fourteen) children. The family were farmers and fishermen, definitely not wealthy folk, so as you can imagine, meal time everyday was literally a battle for the last grains of rice, and if you’re lucky, like if you’ve been really good that day, you might be allowed to add some soy sauce, to give the rice a little flavour.

Growing up with these values, my dad became an incredibly thrifty man ~ not embarrassingly stingy (although sometimes just plain old embarrassing!) ~ but thrifty. He never spends frivolously (clearly not a hereditary trait, a la moi), he uses everything until it’s broken and then he uses it for five more years, and most importantly, my dad never ever splurges on food, especially Chinese food (because Chinese food is meant to be cheap and his idea of extravagant is a $20 per head – and that’s Aussie dollars – banquet). 

So when my friends and I dined at Kai Mayfair on Friday night, all I could think was oh my gawd my dad would keel over right there in his organic veggie patch if he knew I was spending a small fortune on Chinese food.

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