Happiness in Malaysia is sitting on a green plastic chair. It bends a little in the heat, your back curving as you hunch over a perfectly chaotic hotchpotch of Indian-Malay dishes.

Eating is as natural as breathing yet here, on this green plastic chair, I feel alien. The paralysis of choice brings on a prickly nervousness. Other diners require no prompting, barking their orders out quickly. This is not a place for hesitation. After a few sheepish splutters, my friend’s Chinese-Malay dad takes charge, ordering a maelstrom of dishes with the assertive confidence seasoned diners have etched into their reflexes. Less than five minutes later, plastic plates and metal thalis slide in front of me.

This spot is for the locals; as fluorescent lights blink under the spinning fans, I am acutely aware that my foreignness is under spotlight. But no eyes flicker away from steaming bowls - there is simply too much eating to do, and I am far too inferior against the food to prompt any sort of gastro distraction.

Towering cones of sweet-salty roti tissues wait to be torn apart and dipped into thick pools of condensed milk. A rich malay lamb curry basks in the sun; it demands the lull of sugary roti to offset its savouriness. In Malaysia, the barrier between dessert and dinner has been brought down.

This food tastes best on bright green chairs.

The crown jewel of any Indian-Malay experience is the Roti Canai, a laminated buttery delight served with a rich, red coconut curry, slightly sweet but with big savoury hits from its distinctive curry powder mix. This is followed by purist Indian plates of dosa with dal and Malay piles of nasi lemak lined with crispy anchovies that offer the ultimate umami fix. With the price of a Roti Canai starting at 20 pence, gluttony is essential, and I descend into an all-you-can-eat frenzy. By a mile, the experience supersedes the luminous gloop found in British buffets.

The streets outside are littered with the debris of hedonistic eaters. Motorbikes pull in and out in an infinity loop of petroleum, taking gargantuan plastic bags of steaming currys to high rise apartments. Workers face their back to the shop, smoking cigarettes greedily. It's hard not to breathe a little deeper and fall into the velvet folds of this India-Malay spot.

When abroad, always seek the little plastic chairs, especially when only a handful are left to sit on. Order everything and leave nothing. Do not take the sensory onslaught of the streets as a lack of cleanliness, but as an enhancement of the food’s flavour profile. And, if you can, always make sure the chair is green.

Malaysian Food Tastes Best on Plastic Chairs

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