Dealing With Disappointment

Recently, a local artist and illustrator lost sleep over a mother's e-mail. Apparently, she had been trying to arrange some time for her child to meet the artist so he can review the kid's work and give a few words of encouragement.

But after months of delays over scheduling conflicts and the artist's busy life, he recorded an apology in a video, explaining why the meeting or the review has yet to take place.

It wasn't enough for the mother, who e-mailed back with expressions of disappointment, (from the sound of it) accusing the artist of being like other presumably famous people: lacking passion, sincerity and the willingness to help, and said she'll consider looking elsewhere for more suitable candidates "her children and students can emulate".

Assuming that it's all true: I'm not sure if the artist should've shared the e-mail, if it was the exact e-mail, in sharing his predicament. Disappointments happen, after all, and personalities take that in stride. You can't please everyone all the time.

That being said, the mother's correspondence is another example of the mindset some within the fandom have. Just because you support an artist and regard him as a role model doesn't mean he's obliged to drop everything and entertain your request. He has other commitments to consider, including contractual agreements with companies and publishers to which requests of "please give my kid some words of encouragement" have to take a backseat to.

Yes, wish fulfilment might be part of the deal, but as sentient beings with morals, shouldn't members of the audience do something to make their idols' lives easier, instead of complicating them by claiming this and that out of a misplaced sense of entitlement?

An artist (or author, actor, whatever) is responsible for his work, first and foremost. If the work isn't up to par, everything else - including the audience, patrons, endorsements and offers to collaborate and conduct workshops - won't follow. It's been about five years since he first struck out on his own and he's still going strong, despite the demands of his new gig.

An artist whose survival depends on an audience will, at some point, also trade favours for his audience's continued support. Eventually, because of the novelty and euphoria from the impression that both are connecting on a level beyond work, either will forget why that connection happened in the first place: the artist's work itself.

Soon, the audience will forget about the work and demand more and more of the artist's time for other things. And if the artist's work suffers because of this and he gets dropped by his patrons, who's to blame?

We see personalities too much for their public portrayal and what they represent, and don't learn enough about what it took for them to reach that level and aim for the next. Some personalities should not be emulated, but what they sacrificed and put into their personas should, at least, be acknowledged.

If one is inspired to follow in their footsteps, one should also ask whether one is ready for the hard work and everything else that ensues, including lost sleep, the sacrifice of certain hobbies and being stretched thin from having to be in several places at once.

As to accusations of this artist not having what it takes, keeping his word or inspiring more talent, well, I haven't seen anyone work as hard this artist. He stays past allotted times during meet-and-greet sessions until the queues are clear. He makes small talk to everyone, and asks for updates from those he'd met before. Personalised doodles? No problem.

And as far as I can see, each book of his is better than the last. If there's a fifth book, it'll be harder to write. From a collection of cartoons nobody wanted to publish for over four years, he now has four books that still hop in and out of the bestseller lists, and his art is everywhere.

If the artist is someone who lacks passion, dedication and skill, would he have lasted this long? Would all this have happened? As far as I know, the artist has no army of assistants to help him keep track of things. It's all him.

If that's still not inspiring enough, then...?

Book Marks: Curtis Sittenfeld On Reviews, Penguin's Egyptian Classics

In The New York Times, Jennifer Senior speaks with Curtis Sittenfeld about reviews and being a book critic. An excerpt:

For my second novel, "The Man of My Dreams," I got a scathing review from The Times. I found it embarrassing, but now I’m not sorry because I learned two important lessons: 1) Actually, almost no one in the world besides you cares if you get a scathing review from The Times — it’s not unlike walking out of a restaurant bathroom with toilet paper stuck to your shoe.

...And 2) The review stung partly because the book in question had some weaknesses that I knew about. My rule since then has been that I can’t let a book be published if it has problems that still feel fixable — that I am my own ultimate quality control.

Also:

• Five books banned by the Home Ministry because they ... "disrupt the public order". This is old news, but I'm putting it here because the article includes a list from the Home Ministry's web site, which we'd probably want to refer to on occasion. No sign of Michel Faudet's Dirty Pretty Things, which was said to be detained by the ministry.
• A Q&A with author Gina Yap on The Spark (in Malay), about writing and the Malaysian Writers group.
• Penguin Classics is publishing a selection of ancient Egyptian texts translated into English for first time, including something called "The Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor" and letters from a farmer called Heqanakht, from 1930BC. It can't come soon enough.
• This piece on getting onto bestseller lists is interesting, but the fact that it's from Tucker Max makes me feel, well... If this is your thing, though, it's worth a look.
• Somebody (I think it was Anthony McGowan) said "90 per cent of YA is crap" at the Edinburgh international book festival, during a debate on the genre. Bookmarking this for future reference.
• Conservative gadfly Ann Coulter is "currently experiencing every nonfiction author's nightmare". Well, I can bear her misery, if she's capable of feeling any. But that's to be expected when writing books about a notorious, flip-flopping misogynistic bigot.
• Seth Grahame-Smith, author of such works as Unholy Night and Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter is being sued by publisher Hachette for what I understand as working chunks from a "120-year-old public-domain work" into a manuscript for an unnamed book he passed off as original. Arguably, several of his novels can hardly be considered "original". For one, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies?
• I thought an article titled "How To Sell Nearly a Half-Million Copies of a Poetry Book" might be interesting to some people, so here it is.
  
  And here is Publisher's Weekly's list of the world's 52 largest book publishers for 2016, so you know who to submit to.

I'd dropped the ball for several weeks due to work, stress and the lack of book-related news that I was remotely interested in. But I'm plugging in again and it seems quite a few interesting things have happened since I was disconnected.

Shortbread Saga - Success! ... Hopefully

I'm still not writing about books and I don't care.

Now, let me share more shortbread stories.

Up till last month, the middle of each cookie I made was moist, which I assumed is normal.

It is not.

So, after more reading and a little trial and error, the breakthrough came on the night of 24 August 2016. Yes, I bake at night these days. It's the only time I'm free, apart from weekends.

Technology also captured the exact date and time (10:58pm) this
moment happened

Assuming one strictly follows the 1:2:3 ratio for sugar, butter and flour respectively:

First: dough must be almost dry to the touch and not too wet. If it's too wet, add a little flour - really a little, like about a level tablespoon at a time - until the right feel and consistency is reached. For a more buttery, rich and crumbly texture, add less flour, or don't add any more flour.

Second, the oven's temperature has to be as low as possible. Mastering my old Cornell electric oven took some time, and I got the results I wanted with a temperature of around 100°C to 110°C - analog controls, okay? But because of its age, the temp might not be like it says on the dial.

Third, watch the cookies like a hawk. I previously covered the cookies with baking paper, which I thought would give the surface even browning. But careful watching made that unnecessary.

After about 10 minutes, I rotated the tray and let it finish baking, as the heat is less intense near the oven hatch. Once the colour becomes a light golden brown, it's time to take them out to cool.

When I bit down, CRUNCH. All the way. On top of that, it was delicious, fragrant, and the texture was just right.

This French guy says it best (source: Les Petits Frenchies)

My heart leapt with joy, along with my feet.


♪ I know that it's late late late late late late
I should be in bed bed bed bed bed bed
But I'm so pumped I'm gonna bake bake bake bake
Bake it off, bake it off! ♫


I've baked several more batches since then, including one slightly big batch which found its way to a local newsroom. The response was good, I heard. Several others who were tired of me taunting them with photos of the goods on social media either have or will get a taste.

The process worked for thinner shortbread sticks (dough that's about five to six millimetres thick), but I haven't tried it for the traditional finger-thick pieces. But I doubt I'd take that route again.

Not planning to make a business out of this - for now. Maybe after I retire, perhaps?

Messing Around In Melaka, Final

The wait. G*ds, the wait.

Half an hour into our arrival here and it wasn't yet our turn. Wendy marvelled at how the lady boss managed to keep track of the orders with a cheap notebook and pen.

At last, the "famous" fried oyster place was open, and business was booming. People gathered around a stove to watch the chef at work from a safe distance from the heat but not the fumes. Our hair and clothes remained fragrant until we reached the hotel with our bounty. No way were we dining in, not with so many lining up.

I remember a big, mostly flat griddle, more like a shallow wok, perched atop a roaring flame. The chef, a balding middle-aged uncle in an old, off-white vest, would pour a huge steel mug of cracked eggs into the wok and stir it for a while, leaving it to cook for a bit before tossing in the oysters and what looked like a sambal mix that's so dry you can probably count the chilli flakes on the surface.

Once cooked, the contents would be portioned off onto different plates, for dine-ins or takeaways. Separate batches would be processed if some of these, say, were requests for non-spicy ones.

Some of those gathered seemed to be picking some up because of the hype, including three young ladies. "How do you spell 'omelette'?" one of them asked another. Too bad her friend came to her rescue before I could step in.

Five minutes became ten, then fifteen. Not long after that, Sam and Melody suggested we wait it out at the neighbouring kopitiam, where a stall was serving noodles. We ordered drinks to avoid being chased out of the premises, but as the night wore on, the kopitiam's need for seats became greater.

A nearby table hosted a family of maybe eight or ten, and one of the daughters vanished for a bit before returning. I would see her waiting by the fried oyster stall later after we left the kopitiam; seems her family was also hankering for an after-dinner snack.

It was insane. Some of those people had been waiting for half an hour - and it would be a while more before they got theirs.

At last, we sped to the hotel with the spoils: one small(!) pack of the "famous" fried oyster o-m-e-l-e-t-t-e, with chilli. The package was opened expectantly at the hotel's empty dining hall.

The verdict registered in the awkward silence. Then, someone voiced it: "Not very special at all."

About forty minutes of our lives that we would never get back, all for a pile of dry albeit well-seasoned fried eggs and shrivelled oysters, which we could barely see in the dim light. I'd seen the chef cut the oysters with a pair of scissors, puncturing them and letting the juices run out - probably not a good idea.

"So different from the ones in Penang," Sam noted. "Those are moist, not so dry."

And the oysters are mostly whole, I added mentally. Tinier, but whole.

The chilli was a nice touch and it didn't taste awful, but we couldn't hide our disappointment. I wonder how the others, who were still waiting when we left, felt about their o-m-e-l-e-t-t-e-s.

---

31 December 2015...

The disappointing after-dinner outing underscored the gloom of the next day, when we packed our bags for the return to KL.

To get rid of last night's dissatisfaction, we had the hotel's breakfast. We planned on making one circuit around the Jonker Walk area, punctuated by an after-breakfast snack at The Daily Fix café and several brief stops elsewhere, before going back to the hotel.

I can no longer recall much of this day, numbed perhaps by our impending departure. The past several days had been fantastic - I wished we had several more. Melody wanted to return to Calanthe Art Café probably for the damned alluring claypot Nyonya curry laksa, but for some reason, we didn't.

On the first day of our trip, we had nosed around The Daily Fix and climbed to the upper floor where a few more seats and a tiny gallery were. Because of my fear of heights, I lingered at the foot of the stairs - g*ds, there were gaps in the staircase!

When I did make a move, I took my time. "C'mon, you can do it," Melody's voice rang out, egging me on. I felt I was being teased. I think I also heard Wendy or Sam cheering, "Go, go, go!" So happy to have them on my side.

An exhibition at the upstairs gallery on "dying trades" prompted the question whether the Melakan state government was helping these industries stay afloat - lower rents, subsidies, tie-ups with hotels and tour operators and the like - for the added touristy value. Not a bad idea if it was.

Today, we took a table near the counter and ordered a couple of coffees and a plate of those pandan and gula Melaka pancakes. Each "pancake" was about two and a half inches in diameter and was to be drizzled with gula Melaka, reminding me of the onde-onde we had on Day One.

Encouraged, Melody ordered a gula Melaka cupcake, which proved to be overkill. Sweet, sweet - albeit slightly dry - overkill. We had no complaints about the coffee.

I think we will be back here again.

Unfortunately, we can't say the same about another café.

We stumbled onto this place, which shall not be named, on our last trek around the historic Chinese quarter for this trip. We'd heard about it from other coffee enthusiasts and were curious.

While our noses were still at the door - is that a ... a motor vehicle inside the shop? - somebody burst out from inside, going, "How many people?" She looked around at us clustered around the entrance. "Minimum one drink per person, okay?"

Banyak tak cantik.

Taken aback, we hesitated before declining. Among us, Sam was the most perturbed - and offended - by this. Years in customer service and café-hopping honed her opinions of how customers should be treated and how coffee should be made. The bad vibes stung and lingered like burnt espresso on the palate until we stepped into the low-key but more accommodating Localhouz.

However, its cosy charm did little to soothe Sam's rancour - and Wendy's, as it turned out. "Un-ac-cep-ta-ble," Sam said. "Even if you're selling atas (posh) coffee, customers are king. You still need good customer service."

Wendy agreed. "That was not very professional, coming out and telling customers they can't come in unless they order one drink each." Nor was there a sign telling people about this 'rule'."

Eventually, it boiled over into a couple of one-star reviews on the café's Facebook page. It seems they were not alone. Many would-be customers were also caught off-guard by the brusqueness of the staff; some who swallowed their pride spat out middling to unfavourable thoughts about their coffee.

However, it seems this café won't be changing its MO any time soon, thanks to the constant flow of visitors to this city. We (me, using the royal plural) wish them all the best.

On the way out, I noticed belatedly that Localhouz does not encourage photography within the premises, although that rule might have applied to the paintings on the wall, which seemed to be for sale.

On a table beneath one of these paintings, lay a familiar book.

Whose copy was it?

"One of our staff's," the lady at the counter replied. "She's a fan."

A fan of Senpai's in Melaka, who works at a great place with great décor at 53, Jalan Tokong, 75200 Melaka? What were the odds?

Damn, forgot to ask for the staff's name to personalise a copy of the book. I hope she's still working there.

Anyway, Localhouz. More comfy and welcoming than that other café. I liked Localhouz's lemongrass juice. Too bad we had stuffed ourselves before stopping by, or we'd have sampled more stuff. The loh mai kai (glutinous rice with chicken) looked nice.

---

Preparing to travel can be a pain. The packing and the sense of being uprooted is uncomfortable for those not accustomed to a jet-setting life. Homebodies like me find having to travel particularly discomfiting, regardless of the distance.

I don't hate my life. I just think more needs to happen in it. That also means I needed to get uncomfortable.

But once you're away, the discomfiture ebbs, and perceptions start changing. Time seems to slow down and you're compelled to follow suit.

When you're miles away from the life you've known for a long time, you're also away from the things about it you don't like. And you begin to wonder why you didn't notice that before or do something about it.

Seeds for the next getaway were planted as I surrendered myself to the embrace of the high-pressure shower of my hotel room - a monsoon deluge compared to the shower head at home. Thoughts of what I would be returning to crept up, chillier than the morning showers I've had (before the heater eventually kicked in) on this trip.

A familiar discomfort emerged, that of the homecoming, triggering recollections of the past few days and making packing up difficult. Writing this brought it all back, and reading this again will, too.

I don't - or want to - recall much of the journey home. The weather was hot when we hit the highway and I stopped to top up the fuel tank on the way out of Melaka. Wendy and Sam reached home first, more than an hour before we did.

Back home, beat and thirsty, I washed my feet, turned on the air conditioning and laid on my bed. My body recognised it, and I relaxed. Sleeping on alien beds is hard. But my bed felt way too comfortable, like the grip of satin-wrapped chains.

So this is what it means when you're "too comfortable".

I wasn't relaxed. I was lethargic. And this lethargy, among some other stuff, was keeping me from doing things.

Strange, I thought. I'd gone as far as Melbourne, apart from Jakarta, Bangkok and Sabah. But it was after this Melakan getaway that more pieces fell into place - and kept falling.

I don't want to live like this.

My feet grow restless.

I need to get away again.

Like, perhaps, a runaway prince from Palembang all those centuries ago.

If you encountered this page by chance, I suggest starting at Part 1, followed by part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5 and part 6.

Chaplang Kafe, A Neighbourhood Hangout Reimagined

first published in The Malay Mail Online, 24 August 2016


About two years ago, makan kaki Melody brought me news of Butter + Beans' opening in OUG. This year, she told me B+B was closing down for a revamp.

Perhaps it was inevitable. Some similar cafés had appeared in the neighbourhood in its wake and I guess patrons hankering for that ambience were now spoiled for choice.

Outside Chaplang Kafé + g-Lat, formerly Butter + Beans @ OUG.

I had initial reservations about the "new" Chaplang Kafé + g-Lat.

"Chaplang" is a Malaysian term that means "odds and ends", while "g-Lat" is another way to pronounce the Malay word for "lick."

Two weeks ago, I finally dropped by and tried their aglio olio pasta with rendang chicken. The flavour's more subtle than I expected, but the dish worked.

Back there, days later, I bumped into the co-founders of Chaplang. Yong was with his family that evening, so I chatted with Ken.

"Tell me about this place," I asked him, while waiting for my breakfast pizza.

"What happened with Butter + Beans?"

The Chicken Rendang Aglio Olio Spaghetti might just be the go-to pick
for the terminally undecided.

According to Ken, he and Yong had some kind of agreement with the management of Butter + Beans in Petaling Jaya to open the OUG outlet. It's not a franchise thing, he insisted. But B+B didn't work out, so the space was transformed into Chaplang + g-Lat.

The latter is a joint venture with ice cream brand Forty Licks. The all-Malaysian flavours, which include Neslo, red bean, bandung, durian (yes!), kaya toast, teh tarik and coconut/gula melaka, are unique to the g-Lat range being pushed in Chaplang.

And yet, "I still have people asking for vanilla and chocolate," Ken said exasperatedly.

Many, he said, come for the ice cream and waffles, which is fast becoming a draw.

The waffles were nice, and even better with ice cream. But even for hungry old me, polishing off a waffle with just two scoops of ice cream was a feat.

The Breakfast Pizza is best eaten fresh out of the oven.

The main event, however, is the Bulatan Kampung Pandan Waffle: a pandan waffle (what else?) with four - FOUR! - scoops of ice cream and lashings of their version of pandan kaya. Just thinking about it made me queasy. Ken, however, claimed that a food blogger polished off a whole Bulatan Kampung all by himself when he was here.

Can I have the pandan waffle with just two scoops of ice cream? I asked Ken.

Senior citizens like me should watch what and how much we eat. Alas, that option was unavailable, but he thought it might be good to have, for an extra ringgit or two. Make it happen, Ken - please?

Then, I spied a customer asking about the missing pastries. She probably knew this place back from the days when this was B+B. My breakfast pizza had gone cold, having arrived long ago. But it was nice to have a long chat with a human outside of work.

The monster dessert that is the Bulatan Kampung Pandan Waffle
(not mine). Share with a friend or three.

It was a good pizza, but the mushrooms' strong flavours were more assertive, perhaps due to the temperature. I noted that the crust was still nice and crispy, even though the pie had gone cold.

"I like it myself," said Ken, regarding the pizza crust. "I got the recipe from someone in Australia."

I recalled that he'd sampled sauces for his other food venture; when the owner cares enough to test the goods himself, the place should be in good hands.

The duo, along with a third partner I have not met, aspire to turn Chaplang into a neighbourhood hangout and go-to venue for indecisive diners.

"That's hard to do," he admitted. People are spending and eating out less these days.

I don't usually choose to wind down my days with soupy things, but the
Tom Yam Penne (no longer sold, alas) was an exception.

But the ice cream and waffles are a good idea, I feel. Who can resist a sweet treat?

"I consciously avoid having the same stuff the nearby cafés offer," he said.

A week later, I was back again, slurping their Tom Yam Penne.

Chock-full of seafood (watch out for galangal slices, kaffir lime leaves and the lemongrass stalk), the dish is good for cold lonely nights, but the battered and fried fish fillets don't make much sense in a soupy dish.

Draining the bowl, I began missing Butter + Beans less and warmed up to the idea of this being a neighbourhood hangout.

The food, décor, the whites and greens of the interior, the cartoons and borrowed quotes I dubbed "Chaplang-isms" on the walls made this café more open and welcoming than its previous incarnation.

---

Chaplang Café + g-Lat

53, Jalan Hujan Rahmat 3
Taman Overseas Union
58200 Kuala Lumpur

CLOSED FOR GOOD

Messing Around In Melaka, Part 6

This episode took place at night, so I couldn't take enough good pictures - or, rather, I felt my camera couldn't take good night pictures after seeing Sam's iPhone in action. Hence, this text-heavy episode.


"In two hundred metres, turn left, master."

A shiver went down my spine. Man, I could get used to this. Maybe I should install that app and the voice pack.

"Yes, 3PO," I replied to the Waze app on Sam's phone.

This evening, it was my turn to chauffeur the girls around the city. We went searching for some Nyonya restaurants for dinner after finding Melody's recommended spot, Amy Heritage Nyonya Cuisine, was closed. She'd got us itching to go there with her dramatised narrative, so we were crushed when calls to the place went unanswered.

The Bulldog Café, where we ended up for a Nyonya dinner

Having no luck in one or two other places, including one called Nyonya Makko (my g*d, the lines of people outside), we eventually settled for the Bulldog Café, another stop along that witch's Melakan food trail. We parked at a lot near the Ramada Plaza Melaka and walked there.

An institution dating back to the 1980s (so I was told), Bulldog Café recently shed its old-school Nyonya interior for a more modern look: white-ish walls, steel and wood furniture and strategic lighting. Much like the contemporary hipster places in KL. Perhaps that's why no one laid siege to it.

A fish pond for koi laid before a stage for live acts, also festooned with lights. The only reminders of its former identity was the folding wood screen by the front door and a framed newspaper page from a few decades ago.

Pai tee

I scoffed inwardly, gutted that Bulldog went 21st century to stand out from the tradition-touting tourist traps in the Jonker Walk area and beyond. Progress, I think they call it.

Eating these dishes with rice in such polished, angular and well-lit settings felt even more incongruent, so we were all grateful they were nice. The pai tee - pastry cups with fillings of crunchy sliced vegetables, were delightful, as was the piquant ikan goreng cili (fried spice-coated chunks of mackerel) and kangkung belacan (water spinach stir-fried with fermented shrimp paste).

We wished we had two orders of otak-otak (a spicy, savoury fish cake), gleefully tearing off bits of it from the banana-leaf wrap. Though delicious, Bulldog's ayam pongteh, however, wasn't as potent (or as salty) as the one from The Melting Pot - not enough bean paste, perhaps?

Otak-otak

At least they didn't muck around with the recipes too much. There are reasons these flavours endure, even if architectural and interior design styles do not.

...Fine, the Violet-haired Witch had been spot on. Melody loves reminding me to look past that blogger's hair, manic grin and stick-thin frame, noting that she's always forthright with her opinions, unlike some other bloggers whose words have to be taken with a pinch of salt these days.

Needing to walk off our meal (I had two servings of rice), we resumed Melody's short hotel trail. A quick search on the Internet (see how ubiquitous Google is with smartphones?) we learnt that the distance to The Majestic hotel was walkable, so off we went.

The ikan goreng cili

Formerly the home of a Chinese tycoon named Leong Long Man, The Majestic was eventually acquired by YTL Corporation and reopened in 2008. Other notable high-end YTL hotels and resorts include the ones on Pangkor Island (expensive, but worth even a night's stay because I've been there) and in Tanjung Jara, Terengganu.

Again, we weren't chased out; lost at the spa area, one of the staff directed us to the restaurant area, one floor up from the lobby.

The lobby and lounges retained much of its old identity, which is what many visitors come here for. That also made me feel awkward wandering around the place. And the stairs sighed when I stepped on them on the way up to the restaurant.

The restaurant was largely empty. One Caucasian couple toasted each other with red wine at a table. We saw a guy, the pianist, walk up the stairs, sat at the instrument, unfold some music sheets and start playing. Which was our cue to leave.

Outside The Majestic Hotel Melaka

We had fun looking at the menu. Now I wish we'd taken photos of it. The mark-ups were majestically insane: fried rice and fried koay teow at upwards of RM30 - for street food, mind you.

Still, there must be something about the hotel, since we saw a Myvi parked outside on our way out. Maybe the owner's being frugal so he can vaycay here from time to time.

Oustide, our itinerary was diverted towards a walkway and its many signs detailing the many benefits of walking, so we walked. This place was near the river, where motorised tour barges plied.

Some of these barges sported the mascot of home-grown snack food Mamee. The dry noodle snack used to be in every school canteen, tuck shop, hawker stand and bread-vending motorcycle in my childhood. Only now I learnt that its origins were also in Melaka. A Mamee Museum in the Jonker Walk area also attested to this.

As we walked, I couldn't help noticing the "smell of the sea", reminiscent of shrimp or, if you fancy, belacan. The aroma made me feel peckish, despite the dinner we had.

We crossed a bridge and ended up in a Malay village. At first I thought it was a resort built like a "model village" for visitors. Minutes after setting foot there, it dawned on us that, despite the modern-looking façade of some of the houses, this was the real thing.

Kampung Morten lay near the mouth of the Melaka River, holding steadfast against the tide of development - modern touches such as street lamps, paved walkways and a fresh coat of paint notwithstanding. This village was said to be founded by one Othman Mohd Noh in 1920 and was named after Frederick Joseph Morten, a British land commissioner. It has the distinction of being the only Malay village in the heart of the city.

We saw statues of beduk, the drum that's typically beaten to assemble a crowd for prayers. We also saw a pump station near the bridge - the village looks like it's almost at the river's maximum height. And we also spotted a burger stall called "Morten Burger". I resisted ordering one - where will I wash my hands? Never mind that we'd just eaten.

Leaving Kampung Morten, I felt glad the state government kept this village pretty much as is. Too much of Melaka is being roughly dragged by the neck towards the 21st century and beyond.

Compared to The Majestic, the atmosphere in the lobby of the Ramada Plaza Melaka was festive. Families gathered here and there, kids were running around, and it was noisy. At a set of armchairs near the bar, someone was being interviewed and filmed.

From the look of it, this was another potential hotel. But the glint wasn't in Wendy's eyes, so I guessed we could forget about moving here tonight.

Melody insisted on spending a few minutes here, sinking into one of the plush armchairs near the interviewee. Near the bar, I noticed a piano, but no one was at the keys. Instead, an open laptop sat atop the piano, all wired up.

I went for a closer look and suspected that the laptop was the "pianist" for the evening. I thought only hipster cafés had their sound systems hooked up to a digital playlist.

We finally left with little comment on either hotel. Our best bet for the next possible trip is still the Swiss-Garden Hotel and Residences Melaka - yes!

But we still had to wrap up the evening. To this day, I thought we could've done better.

If you encountered this page by chance, I suggest starting at Part 1, followed by part 2, part 3, part 4 and part 5. Part 7, the last chapter, is here.

Balik Kampung To Oz Via This Yellow Brick Road

Uncharacteristically, I arrived first at Plaza Batai and turned the car into the sun-drenched parking lot. "Arrived," I WhatsApped my dining companions. "And it's crowded!"

Seems this Yellow Brick Road is a well-beaten path these days.

Yellow Brick Road and Wicked Pancake Parlour, on a more relaxed weekday

Opened by the brains behind The Red Beanbag at Publika, this site houses two places. Yellow Brick Road is where the brunches are, while the Wicked Pancake Parlour is upstairs - though that distinction disappears when a line forms outside the door and seats become scarce, as it did that Saturday around noon.

A few WhatsApp messages later, I put my name on the waiting list. The fifteen-minute wait was less torturous because of a light dim sum breakfast, but the girls, Sam and Wendy, were near famished.

Even though we finally had seats - upstairs - we waited a whole hour for our food to arrive. In the meantime, it was catch up, shoot the breeze and sample my latest batch of home-made shortbread. Sam had been to London and she'd brought back a packet of the same from Sainsbury's (SCOFF).

The flavours of the Malaysian heartland in the Balik Kampung dish
will make you do just that (photo by Sam Fong)

Having been here many times on her lunch breaks, Sam thought we'd all should have a go at this place, inspired by The Wizard of Oz and a symbol of the founders' journey in food, business and life. We had a tough time deciding what to order, to avoid having two of the same thing.

Plans for dessert were scrapped. We thought we could order that later, if we could still eat. Then the wait stretched for over half an hour. Who knows how much longer we'd have to wait after our food arrived, and by the time the sweets came we'd have digested our lunch.

Pulled Beef Benedict, with the kailan-like centrepiece (photo by Sam Fong)

Wendy decided to forgo the flat white, but not just because of the wait times. Though the overseer was a Malaysian Barista Champion, Sam didn't endorse the coffee. We took her advice; she was the snobbiest when it came to her cuppa. "If you want we can go to Sitka (next door) later."

I looked around. Don't think anybody heard that.

Whimsy seems to be the theme in the menu, from the names of the items. Wendy's Balik Kampung is a big plate of turmeric rice with mango kerabu, a poached egg and ayam percik covered in delicious percik gravy. The egg was overcooked, as the yolk had almost hardened, but she liked it.

Close-up of the Eggs Norwegian v2.0 (photo by Sam Fong)

Apart from the onion rings and cornflake-encrusted toast cradling the Hollandaise-covered poached eggs and slices of smoked salmon, nothing else set the Eggs Norwegian v2.0 from others of its ilk. I just wanted fish and eggs and everything else seemed run-of-the-mill to me that afternoon.

The flavour of Sam's Pulled Beef Benedict (which I didn't try), she said, was not as assertive as she'd expected. The broccolini stalk looked too much like kailan to her, which enhanced the Asian look of the dish. It looked yummy, at least: pulled beef with poached eggs on an English muffin.

Days later, The Impasta Returns! The marinated soya bean bits
take some getting used to.

But the Ginger Flower Beer with a bit of torch ginger was another story. One sip connected me to my Penang Nyonya roots.

Then, Wendy and Sam swapped dishes. Sam couldn't finish the rice, and she'd peeled the skin from the chicken. I had some, which is how I know it's delicious. The full plate might be too much for one to handle, however.

I guess the long wait time for the food and the crowded dining hall dimmed my enthusiasm for this place even more. And I'm too old and jaded to be piqued by cutely named menu items.

The Minimalist dish of pancakes with butter and maple syrup is wickedly
good - the way pancakes should be

Sure, I Wanna Be Kaya too by selling things like Drew Berry More and Sweet Mash of Mine, names of which are Oately Amusing. Since many cafés opt for a similar Minimalist look, it's one way to stand out. But why no sign of the "Wicked 'Wich of the West" or "Corn in the USA (Uniformly Seasoned Amberjack)"?

However, I am pleased to learn they use coffee beans from Artisan and are selling chocolate from the Artisan offshoot, Seniman Kakao - another day, perhaps. And, as expected, things were much better on weekday evenings, like when I returned for the pancakes days later.

The chicken char siew of The Impasta Returns! (with exclamation mark) was moist and tender, not overly seasoned. But the marinated soya beans (macam taucu je) and what looked like tofu cubes were a little heavy on flavour.

And for something "minimalist" the plain pancakes with butter and grade A (medium amber, I think) maple syrup were wickedly good. For me, any place that serves the basic stuff near-flawlessly won't screw up their more elaborate offerings.

I guess, like the overused, oft-crowded thoroughfares of this city, this Yellow Brick Road isn't such a bad place during off-peak hours.

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Yellow Brick Road & Wicked Pancake Parlour

8-7, Jalan Batai
50490 Kuala Lumpur

Pork-free

Daily, 9am-10pm
Kitchen closes from 4pm-6pm

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