Having stood in line at the locally fawned over stand in Georgetown, and quite simply grinned at the simple deliciousness of the food, I would go as far as saying this wasn't miles off. The wok imprint deepening the crust on the noodles, the bean sprouts still full of vitality, Duck egg soaking up it's surroundings, and chinese sausage nuancing salty umami with the plumpest fresh prawns.

You do know right that you can get good ramen outside of Japan? Great ramen infact! Well, this is one of those spots. Drenched in the misguided fashionings of a mall-facade, this generally sterile interior offers forgiveness in the shape of a bowl of fiery liquid atonement. Everything in their spicy chicken bowl is dynamite (beg them NO CORN NO CORN). Noodles cooked al-dente, chicken tender as a stick of butter, broth tempered with demons blood ready to give you a real sweat-session.

​Order a bowl, shut up, focus, eat, sit back and weep because life won't get much better than this. 

No visit to KL can be complete without a trip here. Entering into the weird and wonderful world of this excellent restaurant, with “Baba” sitting behind the cash register with his infectious smile. The thing to get here is the Nyonya Laksa, but beware it’s only available certain days of the week. 

Too many times to count have I been told by locals about amazing places to eat, only to find them to be suffering from rabies of the tastebuds. Today was one of those days. 4 seperate people said "Chat Masala does best Masala Dosa", well, thats probably like stopping at a corner in D.C. and having 10 people tell you to go to Taco Bell or KFC. The dosa was far from terrible, but it was unfathomably uninspired.

​Whoever recommended it deserves a tight slap. All four of them.

In Asia the words "chain restaurant" escape the mocking sneer they summon in Europe or America. Asian cities are full of chains that deliver delicious, consistent food on a daily basis to thousands of punters. Boat Noodle is no different. A gimmicky place, yes, but one that packs flavour into their ridiculously cheap array of bowls. The flavours are close to authentic, the variety keeps you interested, and the service is quick and cheery. For those of competitive nature, bring some friends and see who can stack the most bowls in one sitting, it will only set you back a few dollars at best. 

This one comes purely down to personal preference. MTR's dosa's are Karnataka style, which is slightly different. Heavy on the ghee, it was literally drenched in it, and came with an extra small cup resting on top in case you wanted to pour it over like some maniacal maple syrup from heart-attack land.

So highly recommended by the owner of Hyderabad Birjani House (amazing spot), I simply had to check it out. It took 3 attempts to actually get there, 2 of them destroyed by timing or incessant loud construction from the back of the kitchen. 
Dosa-wise, everything was generally good but there was this bizarre sweet-taste to the actual dosa. Perhaps it was the oil or ghee they cooked it in, but it left a lingering unease. 

For a second I thought I was headed to some new hipster Tamil place where the waiters would all have slick moustaches and tattoos. I quickly realised upon entering that it was just a funny name. The waiters did have moustaches, but they were not the hipster kind rolled in pomade. 
As the amber hued orb was placed in front of me a shot of fear paralysed me "This doesn't look that great, what have I done". Existential anxiety was quickly erased as I put the first crispy bite into my mouth, soaked in utterly spectacular sambar. Special mention to the red tomato chutney which was world class. On my second visit I had the Chole Bhature, the samosa. Everything at this restaurant is TOP CLASS!!!

Battling against the sweltering heat, pearls of sweat peeling off tanning skin, walking down dark alleyways until Madras Lane opens up like an oasis offering treats for the soul. Find the stall with the green bowls, order a curry laksa, pay the old lady grinning soul, occupy a chair of further intense heatspots, try to remain conscious whilst slurping down delicious broth and noodles and cockles and beans and all sorts of other hidden goodnesses. 
Wipe away sweat collecting above brow, replace sunglasses in victory proclamation, push plastic stool back into previous position, walk out into furnace and pray the AC was left on in the hotel room, buy a can of cold coffee and press it against your veins in a form of cooling repentance. 

When smart people find old buildings and turn them into gorgeous restaurants, hire good cooks and front of house, this is what you end up with. Great sharing plates, awesome presentation, decent prices.

Try their cold brew Darjeeling First Flush tea! Bingo

One spectacularly hot day, I was trying to get to a famous chapatti restaurant around the corner but they had just sold their last dough-frisbee. Forlorn and at the point of exhaustion, I turned a corner and spotted this hall. Walked in, not a single free space, however on the way in I noticed a small table outside, so I asked the waiter and he told me I could sit there. First off, a place to sit. Secondly, away from people.. this couldn't get any better. Or could it?

I ordered the regular banana leaf with some chicken curry on the side and sat watching the sad offerings at the temple across. Ten minutes later I was handed a freshly washed banana leaf and a pile of curries. A couple of minutes later my chicken curry came out fresh and steaming hot. I must have scarfed the whole thing down in 5 minutes flat, it was THAT food. Perfect flavours, heat, tang, salt levels. Everything was faultless, no wonder the place was so full when I arrived.

Don't even attempt to eat here during rush hours, the line will be so long that you'll resemble a piece of tandoori chicken before you manage to get out of the beating sun. Rather choose the beginning or end of service to have some relative peace. I've heard it upon good authority that this place changed hands recently and the food quality has suffered slightly, whilst the prices have shown phallic growth. Typical how that happens so often eh?

I ventured out in the late afternoon and snagged a table without much ado. The usual was ordered, along with a healthy serving of their deep fried bitter gourd (which is delicious). Everything was good, some of it was great, but none of it was fantatic. It's one of those places that is just not nuanced enough so it captures the majorities attention, whilst other seek out the ones with more acidity, chilli, punch.... 

"But the bowl looks so epic". Well, yes it does. Looks, as we all know, can be deceiving. 
I'm personally quite pissed off with this establishment. After having shaken life into my flu-ridden bones by way of numerous cups of strong coffee, I wilfully walked into venus-like conditions: sun tearing every shred of life out of me in a split second, waited for my Grab Taxi, hurtled through traffic for 25 flat minutes to far yonder suburbs to try the best rated ramen in KL. 
As per usual, I went off-peak so that I didn't have snorting baboons next to me whilst trying to have a private moment. It was decidedly empty, thankfully. Signature Ramen was ordered, woman was rather surly. Sadly it was a pre-cursor to what was coming: listlessness and sorrow.

​At first sip the broth was OK... promising in that sense that some broths grow on you, some flow out of you. This one didn't open up at all or offer anything exciting, just remaining painfully below average. Noodles aside (which were standard thin ramen noodles), the main culprit here was the pork. I don't quite know what they did to it, but it was tough as a flip flop, and had a bizarre taste like it actually had gone "off". It was highly unpleasant. Egg-wise it was just a regular egg, no love had been lavished on it. 
For once in my life I left 3/4 of it. Being in a city like KL with so many gut-evangelistically amazing meals, I didn't want to waste any processing power on something so tortured. I paid and left quickly, not wanting to share eye contact with the chef. 

Another extremely long detour outside of central KL led me to this neighbourhood joint, set in a small enclave devoid of tourists. I noticed the noodle machine at the entrance where they hand-make them every day. Good sign.

The restaurant was decorated like a Japanese lamp hoarders cave. Tons of them hanging from the ceiling and Kanji wording plastered on the walls in that typical chaotic calm. 
The most important part of course is the food. I personally don't care if i'm eating on a sinking ship as long as the food is up to par (and there's a life-jacket). Solid noodles, decent broth, tender pork and a pretty good egg. All in all, they knew what they were doing but just need a little more umami in the soup. A very promising shop that I could see hitting it's stride in a year or two if they stay the course and push.

Having almost lost my mind at their branch in Bangkok NUMEROUS times, I had to see if they were replicating the near-perfection a thousand kilometers south. In short: No. 
​It looked almost identical, with that frothy milk Tonkotsu broth causing deep gasps from near and far when set down gently at the table.

The main issue was the depth of flavour. At the Bangkok branch they manage to wizardly balance it between becoming cloyingly fatty, and thinly veiled. It packs a deep, comforting punch but doesn't coat your entire throat so you need a fire-hose to rinse you out.  This broth was more on the fatty side and less on the flavour. The pork and egg were pretty spot on, and the noodles were fine. It just goes to prove that even tho the name remains, the contents of the bowl can, ultimately, let you down.