Restaurant: Tukdin
Location: Paddington
By Boeing: 5569 miles
By Boris Bike: 3.9 miles
After several stops in Eastern Europe and the Balkans I was looking forward to an exotic, oriental destination. Malaysia is more modern and outward looking than its neighbours Thailand and Indonesia with its capital Kuala Lumpa renowned more for its glistening high-rise skyline than any historical or spiritual sights. Its focus is on commerce rather than culture. The country as a whole is a heady mix of ethnic groups and localised traditions, with Malay and indigenous tribes of Borneo joined by large immigrant communities of Indians and Chinese.
It is land of Orang-Utangs, colonial remnants, tropical beaches and tea plantations. The contrast between the urban modern and the rural past is striking, making it a land of contrasts for those who love to explore. Its cuisine reflects these multiple influences, similar to that of its neighbours but also displaying flavours inspired by India and China. While the 1990s saw London adopt Thai as a favourite new cuisine, supplanting Chinese as the oriental food of choice, Malaysia has always been and continues to be under-represented.
While Thai restaurants now feature in most neighbourhoods Malaysian food is less conspicuous. It is also not very favourably reviewed. When choosing from the fifteen or so available I noted ruefully that few were recommended. Tukdin, between Paddington and Lancaster Gate, seemed better loved than most.
Arriving at this small, unassuming restaurant I was a little underwhelmed. Preferring cultural clutter to minimalist style it felt a bit acanine. The seven or eight tables were arranged in two parallel rows making it feel a little formal. We were then disappointed to see that no alcohol was served as it was muslim owned. So instead of the crisp beer we were looking forward to we ordered some exotic soft drinks. Mine was soya milk based with a Rose Water syrup and was served with grass jelly globules floating in the top. It was a bit like having a Strawberry milkshake and finding half a dozen midget gems floating in the top. Looking at each other quizzically we drank contentedly and looked at the menu. We had no choice really, as there were no pictures on the wall to attest to the beauty or bounty of Malaysia.
To start we ordered some Chicken Satay. As we did so a large group of Malaysians arrived and took all the tables on the opposite side of the room. We both felt this augered well for the authenticity and quality of the food. Sure enough the Satay was succulent and delicately spiced. It was a world away from the ‘satay kit’ my mother once erroneously acquired from Iceland that consisted of processed strips of chicken and a pot of chilli-enriched peanut butter.
Oddly Lakhsa, the coconut milk based soup that is often considered the Malay national dish, was not available so I opted for another culinary classic, Beef Rendang. This was the signature dish among the curries, yellow or brown generally in contrast to the green and red of Thailand, and stir fries. As I saw it being carried through from the kitchen my tastebuds almost escaped my throat and wrenched it from the waiter’s hands. Rendang is a thick, spicy curry that is more substantial in taste and texture than its Thai cousins, hinting more at the depth of an Indian dish. Mine featured slow cooked chunks of beef fillet, that split into with the mere hint of pressure applied by my fork. One of the reasons for the popularity of oriental food is its lightness, its relatively uncalorific form of indulgence. But this isn’t the case with a Rendang, which is a heavy, filling, satisfying dish.
My friend had a much hotter dish of thin strips of beef in a rich chilli paste. Between forkfuls he looked across longingly at my hunks of beef, that could have easily, in a different kitchen, been in a thick, boozy stew. To accompany our main course we had a Tofu dish, laced with chilli and stir fried. Tofu is an absorber rather than provider of taste, and was pressed into service mopping up the red Rendang sauce.
As with most oriental cuisines the desserts are few and far between. They were familiar too from earlier Asian legs of the Fork and Flag journey. Black rice pudding and deep fried caramelised bananas tempted but were left unordered.
I left the restaurant feeling that Malaysian has all the ingredients to be one of the most popular cuisines in London, presenting oriental flavours while satisfying that western want for a full stomach. And yet it remains on London’s culinary fringe, without a trendy exponent or interest from a celebrity chef. While Korean and Vietnamise vie to take Thailand’s mantle as the oriental cuisine of the moment Malaysian is left largely unexplored.
