As we're starting off our Peranakan cooking journey, we're going to need carbohydrates to go along with the aromatic Peranakan braises. There's nothing quite as lovely as pairing them with nasi ulam, which are cooled white rice combined with chopped herbs. 

The wet markets stall owners would sort you right out on what herbs to get. Over at Chia's Vegetables Supply (#01-93) in Tekka Centre, the owner helpfully pointed out several herbs that he uses for this dish. 

It may be heretic to say, and at the risk of having to face the wrath of a legion of opinionated Peranakan makcik, greens are greens. So no stress if you can't locate a herb listed here, or the store owner points you towards a plant that's not on this recipe. I would just listen and get whatever is fresh on that day. It's traditionally a foraged dish, based on what can be found on a day-to-day basis. I treat nasi ulam recipes as a guide to exploring Peranakan herbs, and try to tick something new off at every iteration. You can add whatever greens you want, in whatever amounts you like. Don't let anyone tell you differently!

What I find really indispensable are the dried shrimps and the fried shallots, which provides all the umami that the dish needs. And the ginger torch flower, which adds a wonderful unmistakable aroma and bright splash of pink. Stock up on these before giving nasi ulam a go. 

Nasi Ulam (Herbed Rice) Recipe
The traditional approach is to serve this dish cold, but I prefer it near room temperature, especially since I pair it with hot braises. If you like to serve it cold, put the cooked rice in the fridge while you prepare the rest of the ingredients.

Ingredients
800g white rice, cooked and let cool to near room temperature
10 kaffir lime leaves
4 tumeric leaves
4 sprigs of mint leaves
4 sprigs of thai basil
4 sprigs of laksa leaves
4 sprigs of ulam raja
1 bulb of ginger torch flower
2 stalks of lemongrass
100g dried shrimp
120g grated coconut
50g fried shallot, to top the nasi ulam

Steps
1. Remove and discard the central stems of the kaffir lime and tumeric leaves. Starting from the largest leaves (tumeric leaves), layer the smaller leaves (such as kaffir lime, mint, Thai basil, laksa, ulam raja) and roll them up into a cigar. This makes it easier to finely chiffonade the greens into long thin slivers. Set aside. 

2. Cut the ginger torch flower into halves, then sliver. Add it to the slivered leaves.

3. Cut and discard the deep green portion of the lemongrass. We’ll only be using the flavourful pale to light green portion of the lemongrass. Discard the bottom portion of the lemongrass that has roots. Using a pestle or a meat tenderiser, pound the lemongrass to release its fragrance. Cut the section into short batons, about 1-2 inches, then cut into slivers. Add it to the slivered leaves.

4. In a frying pan set over low heat, gently warm up the dried shrimp until fragrant. No oil is needed. Set aside. Cook the grated coconut in the same way until golden.

5. Assemble by combining all the ingredients and herbs with the cooled rice. 

6. Top with fried shallots and serve immediately.

I returned to Malaysia not long after our Ipoh trip, this time back to Kuala Lumpur. I’ve visited KL just a year ago too, but a group of friends were planning to visit again, so here I am. I wasn’t worried about returning too soon - KL’s one of those cities where there are so many more established and new eateries to explore, there was slender chance that the places we were going to would overlap.

We also went to Heun Kee Claypot Chicken Rice (first picture, above), a well-regarded claypot shop next to a bustling highway entrance. The 黄酒马来鸡 Claypot Chicken Soup with Chinese wine came to the table still deep in a rolling boil straight from the heat of the burning charcoal. Each sip was deeply aromatic and complex with a generous pour of wine.

We also tried a couple of fine-dining restaurants around town. One of our friends suggested Bar Kar, a restaurant overlooking KL City Centre. Their countertop seats ring their the open-kitchen fire pit.

They have a few memorable starters: the bone marrow (pictured) was excellent. Another dish starring tiger prawn was particularly fine too.

There's a lot of rave reviews on their brioche bread (uni bread, pictured; truffle bread, not), which were fine. They were also really, really pricey.

The Claypot Wagyu was so good, we ordered another round.

And then there was Dewakan.

Table at Dewakan's kitchen, overlooking the Petronas Twin Tower at sunset

What can I say about this restaurant that more accomplished writers hadn’t?

Dining here had been an experience for sure. I’ve never came to a restaurant where patrons needed a glossary to explain the ingredients that they used.

Local greens with breadfruit crisp

This was more than a meal. It’s an interactive museum experience where diners not only learn about the local edible flora, many of which are no longer commonly used, and how Dewakan had worked with producers to cultivate them for commercial use.

Each course starred ingredients that I’ve never heard of. You have the Javanese Longpepper, which isn’t as peppery as regular peppercorns, but contains whiffs of cinnamon. Kulim smelt like garlic and truffles. The pulp of the Dabai fruits held herbal notes and of avocado and chocolate, which when grounded up, behaved like cacao paste. All these and more. The chef brought us around the kitchen and pointed out these indigenous ingredients to us. We smelled the nuts as he broke them apart, tasted the flesh of some fruits when it was feasible, and sniffed into the urns fermenting a variety of ingredients.

The Two Michelin stars weren’t for nothing: the craftsmanship was exquisite. One soup featured sturgeon meat that was cut into perfect dices and mangosteen flesh shaped in smooth spheres. One course of dessert featured mulberry smoothly wrapped in cempedek flesh. If you’ve ever had cempedek before, you’ll know how sticky they can be to work with.

Check out the perfectly even julienned bits atop the cempedek confectionery

Keranji, a local fruit variety that reminded us of tamarind, was the filling of a crunchy butterfly statue pastry.

The flesh of the Perah fruit was churned into an ice cream, and together with a piece of candied kindang (mango plum) encased in a soft shell of tropical chestnut.

Dewakan is the brainchild of chef Darren Teoh, a molecular gastronomy lecturer at KDU who had first set up the restaurant on the school campus. Despite the location, it was so well-received that its next stop was on the 48th floor of a city center’s skyscrapper overlooking the Petronas Twin Towers.

It’s a talented crew running this restaurant, and it’s even more stunning to learn that the oldest cook working here is 32 years old. Their spotlight on indigenous ingredients (most of which I’ve never heard of) is wonderful, as is their list documenting the staff's favourite local haunts.

Rice tempeh dumplings, tapai ubi sauce

Do I like the restaurant? I do, but I wanted to really like the restaurant, if you get what I mean. We left with more questions about the indigenous ingredients than answers. Do all these ingredients usually have this texture and taste profile? That’s unlikely. But because these ingredients are so foreign and most diners wouldn’t have known how these ingredients are normally cooked, it’s hard to appreciate the creativity and work the team must’ve put in to craft these nuts and fruits into a fine-dining experience. I think that the Dewakan experience would have been much more interesting if they had served a sample of a traditional dish made with that ingredient, alongside their modern interpretation.

Was it worth it? It’s a hard question. Like most two-starred Michelin, the price was pretty high. How high was high? Our total bill at Bar Kar, with six mains, five appetisers and alcohol, was about the price of one seat at Dewakan. It’s hard to put a price tag on craftsmanship, but the formidable price makes a return to Dewakan daunting. 

We were ambitious when planning for this trip, with plans to check out the latest shops, the hottest restaurants, and some of the entries in Asia 50 Best Bars. But when us four overworked adults finally arrived for our long-awaited vacation, we needed - and it became - a a much more relaxing sort of trip (We pretty much agreed that had we checked out the bar scene, we would've fallen asleep at the table.) Instead, we bummed around for a bit, went for massages, ate and slept plenty, and spent the evenings catching up with one another. 

So as bizarre as it may sound, my happiest dining experience was at The Butcher’s Table. It’s a casual air-conditioned restaurant. Perhaps it was a little of our own fault for packing our itinerary with the crazy-popular restaurants of KL, but here, we found the peace that we sought. There was space from everybody: space from the other customers with no crowding, space from our servers who were attentive without hovering. It was a blissful dining experience. The food of course, was excellent. There’s plenty of excellent meats, all wonderfully prepared. There’s all the water and serviette that you need, without needing to pay RM30 for each 750ml bottle of still water. There’s beer and also wine glasses available for guests who BYO. We stayed and chatted and ate and drank until closing. After everywhere else that we’d been to on this trip, it was a breath of fresh air. Terrific food, beer, and the atmosphere to sit and relax. It’s the hospitality sector and they nailed it.