Perhaps my taste buds have gotten a little more finicky about how I like my Malaysian or even Pan-Asian food but even the best restaurants, proudly carrying rave reviews by Time Out, Zagat and The Guardian, have failed my expectations. Being a Malaysian, food is really a simple affair really. The eating process is without frills. I don’t need to be entertained or amused. I just want my tongue to be tantalized. Make a plate of char kuey teow, savoury and well-oiled, salted accordingly, will put a very happy smile on my face. I don’t care if the portions are too small or the restaurant’s deco isn’t exquisite or charming enough-those are secondary. But dish out an over-sweetened one while claiming your restaurant to be the best in London is outlandish, wrong and a terrible sin.

That’s why, I was sorely disappointed by Cha Cha Moon (Ganton Street) after turning up with deep hunger but leaving with an empty stomach. They can’t even spice up the food properly. I ordered a Penang Prawn Noodle dish and I think I was served something that looked like ramen, drenched in sweet orange sauce, topped with a handful of bean sprouts and prawns. You should see my face; it was a face twisted in horror.

I thought Nick claimed, you can everything in the UK! So why can’t I get even a close to authentic char kuey teow, chai tao kuey or prawn noodles?!?!?!

Oh dio, ma che schivo!

This is bliss. These few moments of pure rest, of not working, of not having to anticipate what someone who intends to dine in Leon wants, of not having to grab a lemon, ginger and mint quencher from the frozen shelves with grace and of not having to ask, “What would you like?”. Almost every week, I have a two days off (decision not up to me, unfortunately) but for the past few weeks, the two days that were supposed to be a ‘me’ time were dedicated to someone else. There was Cory, my first CS guest from US (but living in Bonn, Germany) and there was Adam, a mate of mine that I met in Myanmar while I was volunteering there. In fact, it was him who hosted me in his and Zeya’s apartment for the two months that I was there. I spent a crazy 30 hours in Glasgow, catching up with Adam before he had to return to California, 2 days after. It wasn’t that I really minded, after all, it was all good fun and tremendously exciting, since the prospect of working is less appealing but having used every ounce of my muscle while working, sometimes all I want to do is just crash and chill. Or just spend my time doing nothing.

For the past few days, I had craved for a good mug of hot chocolate, which the best is to be found at Apostrophe Café. It has several branches around Central London and I stumbled to it accidentally after Michael and I passed by the one on Great Eastern Rd, East London, and he remarked with great enthusiasm that it serves melted hot chocolate! Just the way I liked it, after having tasted something like that in a bar in Genoa. After work, last Sunday, Musty and I hungrily seek out the one on Regent Street. As I brought the mug of steaming chocolate to my mouth, and allowed the chocolate to slowly flow from my tongue and through my throat, I thought I’d die in ecstasy. Musty must have rolled his eyes at some point, watching me swoon over a cuppa, but he did enjoy it very much as well.

The initial plan was to have a repeat experience, to treat myself to one on the recent Monday but my lunch with Noel had me pigging out on Nando’s peri-peri chicken instead. After lunch, I ordered a Milano Hot Chocolate at Café Nero but it paled by comparison. It was just cream, chocolate powder and hot water.

So my craving got more intense, built up after a week of deprivation.

Hence, now, parked on a wooden bench in Apostrophe Café, Baker Street, I write this blog, with my heart and mind at ease. A Granta’s Book of Travel by my side, my Moleskin journal on top of it, my Macbook whirring softly and the nasty wind outside-this could very well be a picture of paradise. All mine.