Let’s get it out of the way first: Palillos deserves to be in the conversation for top 3 yakitori joints in KL alongside Torii and Sumika. Sure, we’re only basing that off of two visits – one on the house (many thanks to the gracious hosts and the inexhaustible supply of skewers) and one on our overextended credit card – but we’ve never been shy of making bold, often premature, claims. And to qualify the proclamation, there are a number of other yakitori spots on our To-Eat list (Kushiyaki Kuni, Toritama, Toridoki etc). For now though, it’s on to Palillos!

And you’ll find Palillos at the top of a stairwell, wedged between Family Mart and Pinchos (owned by the same people behind Palillos). It’s in that nefarious realm of Changkat, just down the hill from Bijan, Nerovivo and Bottega (bless their cold cuts and cheeses and dried pastas).

No night is complete without a drink, as we often slur to ourselves, and so we pre-emptively began the journey to completion with a few of them. There’s the highball (RM23), which is seeing a bit more airtime around the Klang Valley. Palillos’ version is alright. The whisky is fairly muted. There’s a mild, almost meek, lemon-ess enveloping the drink, a good contrast to the overly citrusy renditions of some spots. Highballs always make us long for an old fashioned though, which makes us long for a whisky on the rocks, which…anyway, moving on to the yuzu fizz (RM29).

And if you think the highball is getting its time in the limelight, what about yuzu? Good heavens. It’s everywhere! Dessert Bar by Stanley Choong has a number of yuzu pieces, there’s the yuzu ice cream at Oribe (our pal Jonathan reviews it on Youtube here), and you’re more likely to find yuzu than a rice bowl nowadays. Potent reminder of that here: the yuzu kicks through immediately. It’s nicer than the highball. I was still drinking when the food started arriving and the food kept coming in batches, wave after endless wave, until I staggered off in submission, texted the girl I was seeing up until that point, and stumbled back for more food.

Boquerones are, Google informs us, fresh anchovies that are typically marinated in vinegar and olive oil. We had them with roasted capsicum, some ginger and, uh, sushi-ish rice. Initial misgivings quickly dissipated, echoing the dish itself. The initial ginger note, see, is very strong. It sizzles and bites the tongue. But after that sharp initial whip, it quickly dissipates, giving way to the quiet richness of the anchovies on the bed of rice.

Then came another off-menu item: fuet, a Catalan cured meat. Oh boy. Oh boy oh boy. It’s a thick sausage dotted with pockets of pork fat that make for a very nice textural bite indeed. It’s more savoury and not as sweet as its Chinese counterpart lap cheong, and that’s a good thing in our books. Oh, and the fuet goes on top of some nice crusty bread with tomato rubbed on it. Excellent.

The Mizuna salad (RM24) is a bit of a misstep though. See those red bits on top? That’s serrano ham, toasted until crispy. Sounds good on blog-paper but we found them to be overly toasted in person, to the point where it’s hard to taste the actual flavour of the ham. All that’s left is the texture. And it sits on a bed of kaiwara sprouts, shocked in ice water, for a very crisp finish that echoes the texture of the ham rather than complements it. We quite like the sprouts and the ponzu dressing, but the serrano ham feels like a waste.

The ceviche (RM27) fares better. The yuzu returns as a marinade this time. The prawns are robust. The octopus has a nice bite to it but there’s not much flavour to it (although, keep an eye out for the reappearance of the octopus later in this post). It’s all about the fish here – lovely texture, lovely taste. And the ceviche as a whole was surprisingly satisfying, given that some places can go overboard with the acidity and sourness.

The grilled whole eggplant costs RM15 and is worth every single 5-sen. There’s pine nuts, olive oil, soy sauce, bonito flakes, all coming together for a deft offering that immediately brings to mind Sumika’s version. It’s soft inside with a nice rich umami depth, but it never dissolves into that sticky-mulchy territory that poorly cooked eggplants fall into.

Chicken liver pate (RM 19) is another standout item (and we haven’t even reached the skewers section yet). The smell is intoxicating. It’s rich without being as funky as other spots (cough cough Hello by Kitchen Mafia), and it blooms even more as it slowly warms. Such a lovely buttery richness throughout too. Could there perhaps be some fat inside? And good lord, that texture! It’s almost like a jelly in its smoothness, but it lacks the slimy gloopiness of actual jelly. Instead, it’s thick, savoury, and immensely satisfying. Smear it over the slices of toast and revel.

Alright, folks, it’s skewer time! Eryngii mushroom is up first and lord does this set the tone. So juicy inside! And no trace of that slimy gunk you sometimes get with fungi. Fresh with a touch of funk, like RHCP right after Frusciante returned.

Then there’s the good old staple, chicken skin (RM6). It’s a sort of litmus test for the amount of work that the kitchen is willing to put in, and Palillos easily passes. It’s crisp, fatty, almost like an essence of chicken concentrated into a crackling package.

Oh, and the sauce here is fantastic. Spicy, savoury, salty, perfect. Dip (and double dip) liberally. Get refills.

Also…I’ve never particularly liked rice balls to be honest but if you do, this one is pretty good I guess. There’s a crisp exterior with butter melting on top. It’s oozy inside. It’s RM9.

But what I do love is garlic. I really, really love garlic. And to this day my favourite way to cook them has to be slow-roasted in an oven, until it crisps and blackens on the outside and purees on the inside. Grilled garlic (RM4) is a close second though. Think of it as a milder version of the intense oven-roasted bulbs. It awakens the nose. It opens up the palate. It gets you ready for the next wave of skewers.

And on to the soft bones (RM6). There’s less of a char on these than at Sumika but yeah the flavour is there. Sumika is more focused on the crunchy texture but that’s not to say these are shrinking violets in the crunch department. Give them a shot, especially if you love soft bones like we do.

And we take a brief sojourn away from the skewers for this taco-thing: wasabi on grilled pork (lovely with the perfect ratio of rich, melting fat to succulent meat) on rice on leaf on seaweed. Bundle, pop in, knock back some sake, ruminate (should I get that suit on sale at COS? Or should I sell my wardrobe to fund a Dries Van Noten blazer?), mock Rupi Kaur on Facebook, look up to see more skewers. Skewers like the grilled scamorza:

Smoked cheese, says the menu. Smoked cheese with truffle oil for RM11. That’s one way of putting it. We’d probably go for something like “TRY THIS NOW” because this is a semi-soft smoked curd cheese (Scamorza!) with a fantastic springy bite, and a meaty, almost savoury finish. It’s decadent. It’s lovely. It’s finished way too quickly and we stare longingly at the bare skewers after we’ve slid their skewed-content into our eager mouths.

The chicken hearts (RM 4) arrive. We pop them in, write “lovely” on our Foodgazer notebook, and continue pining for the Scamorza.

And often we
consume
those we love
– not Rupi Kaur

Baby potatoes on skewers next, with bravas sauce (RM4). Fantastically crisp skin without being overly fried or burnt. Crispy like the best baked potatoes. Inside, to our surprise, it’s not starchy or thick and fluffy. Instead, it’s soft, tender, clean. The bravas sauce is nice too (not quite Marta’s Kitchen but it does the job).

And another detour off menu – pork front hock, mirin, vinegar, salt and pepper. Fatty. Dripping with fat. The fat bursts in the mouth. Lovely taste but it verges on being too peppery as they went a bit overboard to compensate for the fattiness. Could legitimately see this going on the menu after a bit of fine-tuning though: would be a great way to end the week eh?

I can see this being the main draw for some. It’s the iberico pork belly with wasabi (RM10). The meat is sublime when eaten right off the grill. It’s lustrous, luxurious, almost dangerously sensuous in the mouth. There’s a smokiness that lingers in the nose as you bite through the crisp browned exterior, down into the luscious, thick, coating fattiness. I mean that fat content is just insane. It’s borderline perverse. I let out an involuntary guttural groan then quickly peek around the table to see if anyone caught me in the throes of foodgasm. Safe this time. Everyone’s eyes are closed, heads thrown back. I go in for another bite. You see that wasabi on top, yes? It’s smeared and smattered and it cuts gently through the fat in throbbing layers.

And yes, I know that sounds bizarre and overblown but that’s the best way to describe the experience. It pulses in the mouth. You taste smoke, then fat, then the nasal heat of wasabi, then fat, then it repeats in gentle pulses.

But we’re not done yet.

In come the jamon-wrapped prawns (RM9), and what a delight they are. Plump, relatively huge, and juicy as anything. The smokiness and the ham give the body a perfect roundness, rather like how the sweetness of mantis prawns are juxtaposed by the charcoal smokiness of a CKT.

The pork neck (RM5) is next. It’s more chewy than the belly. It’s less fatty. There’s more meat to it. The onion adds a bit of light sweetness. It’s good, not great. It’s there for variation and choice.

Ah, onions (RM10). Bit of salt. Some sesame oil. And that grill brings it together into a delectable parcel – it’s soft and sweet while retaining a crunch you wouldn’t get with its caramelized counterpart. Pretty crazy how sweet this gets though.

Nothing says Yakitori quite like chicken wings, which is a bit surprising when you consider how difficult it is to pull them off. The ones here (RM14) were perfect on the first visit. Soft, almost creamy inside, with gloriously crisped skin. On the second visit though, they were overseasoned. And come to think of it, we’ve had up and down experiences with the chicken wings at Torii (underseasoned during the latest visit and could be crispier), at Maruhi Sakaba (touch underseasoned) and even at Sumika (seasoning on point but the flesh isn’t as luxurious as Palillos’).

You can get the skewer version of the Spanish octopus (RM19) or you can go all out with a whole leg/tentacle for RM75. Look at it. Just look at it.

It’s creamy, it’s rich, it’s soft on the inside. And on the outside there’s a fantastic, deep smokiness from the grill and from the pimenton paprika. It pairs amazingly well with the house red we had.

Now bear in mind that it has a bit more bite to it than the rendition at Marta’s Kitchen, which I wouldn’t say is a negative attribute in any way. If anything, it makes it fit better within the conceit of Spanish Yakitori.

Dates, bacon, blue cheese. It assaults the nostrils as soon as it plops down on the table, with a thick, unyielding pungency. Inside: oozing hot, melty, gooey cheese bursting against ripe sweet dates.

You’d think at this point there’s not much Palillos can pull out to further impress us. And that’s precisely when they whipped this beauty out: grilled iberico short loin (RM53) served with shishito. Salt is cracked on top. Thick, thick, thick fattiness reminiscent of an Old Engine Oil beer in terms of mouthfeel – it coats the mouth and rolls around the more you bite in and swallow. It’s incredibly juicy and oily and we don’t know where one ends and the other begins. Then there’s the peppers – the bitterness still tingles the tip of the tongue but the heat is very mild. It acts as a sort of astringent juxaposition that undercuts the fattiness of the pork.

The chorizo and deep-fried bread was – surprise – also great. Interestingly enough, the chorizo itself is alright. It’s, well, chorizo. Pardon the sacrilege but I’ve never had particularly noteworthy chorizo. The bread though…what is this sorcery? They tell us it’s just their usual bread drizzled with olive oil then grilled together with the chorizo. And so I repeat: what is this sorcery? The texture is amazing. It’s almost like a cookie dough in its chewiness and resistance, but the elasticity and bite remind us, for a brief moment, of the cheese curds in a poutine.

Oh and we had some Baines Pacharan (not pictured) Spanish liquer. Lots of berry sweetness on the notes, with some stinging anise notes at the end once the body dissipates. Very sweet. Pairs well with the fattier skewers.

Out come the desserts. This one is from Pinchos though, not Palillos – it’s a chocolate mousse (lovely texture and mouthfeel, almost gelato-like) on top of crispy biscuits. And of course, sea salt is always a great complement for good chocolate. Avid IG followers will know we aren’t the biggest dessert fans but we’ll make an exception for this beauty.

And we ended the night on another sweet note: RM6 grilled marshmallows with strawberries for the table. Yeah, I know, it looks too sweet. I expected an overwhelming cloying sweetness, but shame on me for doubting Palillos, I guess. It’s just the perfect level for a satisfying end to a satisfying night. It made us think of better things and better times, of fairytale endings from childhoods past, of school outings and holidays before we fell into the cycle of capitalistic wage-slavery. We melted marshmallows over open fires then, at Templar’s Park and camp sites, and waited to grow old. And maybe these little grilled pillows remind us of those fluffier times. Maybe.

And that’s all for now, folks. Go and try Palillos.

Palillos is open from 5.30pm to 1am on Mondays to Thursdays and 5.30pm to 2am on Fridays and Saturdays. They’re closed on Sundays. Give them a call at +603-2110 5051 to make a reservation. 

Search for their location on Waze/Google Maps or head over to the small stairwell in between Pinchos and Family Mart.

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You joined us for our visit to The Tokyo Restaurant before, now join us as we check out Toraji at Isetan Lot 10 in a review structured in similar form to The Poetry of Jaroslav Seifert.

Opening Poem

The walls are angular. They are not real walls. Look closer. Look closer and they dissolve into dividers, geometrical semi-walls with cut-out holes like blinds against the afternoon sun. And in this way, the restaurant is dissected and spliced into individual dining spaces. Here: a table of people from a past life, friends of a person you held hands with until she slipped her fingers away. There: the DCM head grills meat opposite the 19 year-old escort from a Baltic state (advertised online as a Russian). In between: small birthday groups, a young-ish family, and a table of hungry wage-slaves trading time and words for a free meal. This is Toraji, and they’ve all come to dine.

Gentle reader, as you read these lines, reflect for a moment and note this down; the angular structure (less like solid slabs and more like semi-cages) is the town. This is your temporary grill-city for the duration of your dinner, the faux-walls a reflection of the grill on (in) your table, already heating up in the spitting flame.

Sinful City

The city of meat, marinated then sizzled over heat. A rain of sulphur, fire, thunderbolts (well, fire at least) from below: tiny circular charcoal balls, and a stove that sinks down into the table, the top level with the wood. Extractors circle the grill. No scent of hawthorn shrubs in flower or unwanted smoke filling the town.

Red-Hot Fruit

What hurts most is one’s memory, and what one thinks will help (alcohol) never does. RM33 gets us a crisp Kirin on draft. The beer’s surfaces swirl like taut drum skins. The Kirin: a honeyed moon dripping sweet juices into flowers’ calixes. Except it’s not quite that sweet. It’s not quite that crisp. It’s not quite better beer: it’s a reminder of the festival that has been cancelled and with it the chance for another go at Pasteur St (would they have brought their jolly rancher and saison?) and the continued education of the Malaysian people. It’s still Kirin. It’s still good Kirin. We ask for more.

Apple Tree with Cobweb Strings

The diamond cut kalbi is marinated in sesame, black pepper, garlic and soy sauce. Like the apple tree – fiercely bowed down by age and fruit – the kalbi (short rib) stares back out from its bath of sauces, a crooked grin, a voice redolent of distance. I pick at it. I pick it up. I inhale its fragrance. I drop it on the heated metal, and it screams and writhes (do you stay mute when that seductive voice speaks to the vagrant in you?). I pick it up and drop it on the other side until it stops moving, apart from those final involuntary quivers and spasms. The skin blisters and darkens, from the pink of raw flesh to a deep brown hue as the marinade caramelizes. The reward is a sensuous cut of almost-candied meat. It pairs quite pleasingly with the lemon sauce which gives it a pang of (not-overly sour) liveliness, an invigorating acidity that successfully cuts through the richness, a sort of planned wedding that works out well against the odds (wait, don’t the odds say that planned weddings last longer?).

I sip my now-lukewarm beer.

(Breaking news update 24 Sept: we have been informed the diamond cut kalbi is using the “inside-skirt part”)

Dance of the Girls’ Chemises

They come in all at once and line up in front. Special Toraji, you are told. Kalbi, harami, loin, fillet. A dozen girls’ chemises drying on a line, that’s love, innocent girls’ games on a sunlit lawn. Love, which we inhale and feed on.

This kalbi is much tastier than the diamond cut.

There’s more fat, for one. It’s glossy and oily on the tongue. It coats the roof of the mouth as your fat-soaked tongue lashes against it. It’s rich. And yet, bizarrely, somehow, it’s simultaneously light. The fat doesn’t linger like cooled, coagulated lamb fat. It pumps and leaves. I like it.

Born of the buzzing hives and of the smell of flowers, honey’s little sister, honey-bathed for hours till from that fragrant bath, lifted by angels’ hands – and in the month of love, bees wove its garment strands: Harami. This is meatier. You bite it and it bites back. You eat it at medium rare, the only appropriate level of doneness for this meat and all meats. You bite into it and chew and chew again and it gives way in pulses of umami and sweet-meat and the cracked pepper on top crackles and pops like rapids against suturing boulders.

The prime loin is tender as anything. The seasoning is delicate, understated, brash and bold against the fiery heat that would make limestone blush. The flames are rose-coloured. The loin is like the start of a new long weekend, the month after you have stopped talking and are taking tentative steps towards planning for what will happen to your collection of works after you go. More than all the other meats, it most closely resembles a sliced-up “traditional” steak.

Once only did I see the sun so blood-red. And never again. It sank ominously towards the horizon and it seemed as if someone had kicked apart the gates of hell. And just as quickly, the fillet sizzles and sears and is plated. The tenderness is sublime. It’s intense. It’s almost like a mousse, a chunky cream, a tartare with the edges softened and brushed out with one of those blotting brushes. There’s not much depth of flavour to it and there’s no rich fattiness to be had here, but hey, the fillet is its own thing. It’s all about texture here.

The Striking of the Tower Clock

Pollan talks a lot about fermented foods and how incorporating them into the diet is vital for gut health. He’d like this kimchi thingamajig. I did. It’s probably the best kimchi/pickle I’ve had all year and that includes the sparkling bright cucumbers of Shokudo. There’s no alkaline grottiness here or excessive sweetness or overly tangy sourness that tastes like chugging a lemon. Each individual vegetable has its own flavour profile, robust crunch and unique texture shining through. The sourness is mild. The spice is deep and low and brooding. It’s very tasty.

The Bombing of the Town of Kralupy

As the non-dessert portion of the meal drew to an end, we drew from the spicy noodle soup. The glass noodles were more or less the typical glass noodles you get from most places (doesn’t stand out like, say, Chapter K). The broth, though, was surprisingly pretty good. It’s surprising because it doesn’t strike you right away as being exceptional. I notice the heat first of all. Perfect temperature. Leaves the eggs at that nice semi-scrambled texture without being overcooked. It tastes spicy. Not too spicy. Just right. I try again to verify. Yes, quite right. And I notice that I can’t seem to stop eating it. I want more, after every spoonful. It’s very strange because it definitely doesn’t seem to be that addictively tasty on the surface. And yet…the bowl is very quickly spent and we stare forlornly at it once it’s done. We ask timidly for more. Instead, we get

A Bach Concerto

Although I had not drunk any wine, I swayed a little and had to steady myself with my own shadow. In vain did the bells try to lift me up: I clung to the earth with tooth and nail. It was full of of fragrance and exciting mysteries. And when I gazed at the sky at night, I did not seek the heavens. I mean, I didn’t really gaze at the sky. Toraji is indoors. And indoors, I had the almond pudding with its almond liqueur-like finish. It’s not the smoothest pudding we’ve ever had at Foodgazer (less silk, more cotton if we’re talking about Naked & Famous’ silk-blend denim) but that’s not to say it’s bad. It’s rather decent. I longed for a quick instant of fleeting pleasure, said Jaroslav Seifert, and I suppose I got it. Bit like a smoother tau foo fah, with an almond liqueur aftertaste.

Canal Gardens

When I say Japanese, you say wasabi. Or is that horseradish? Or is that wasabi ice cream? This is wasabi ice cream. The wasabi is mild. Mild but pleasurable. Especially at first. Mostly at first. It starts becoming quite middling towards the end. Could be because it’s very one-note. After all, there’s not too much else that stands out here. Texture-wise it’s the usual grainy ice cream lacking the elastic bite of a gelato (shoutout to Jersey Jack) or the supple smoothness of a soft serve). Recommended to share this with a group of 3-4 people so you get through it while the initial novelty is still fresh.

And Now Goodbye

To all those million food posts in the world, I’ve added just a few. They were probably no wiser than a cricket’s chirrup, I know. They weren’t even the first footprints in the lunar dust. If at times they sparkled after all, it was not their light. But I make no excuse. I believe that seeking beautiful words (and food) is better than killing and murdering.

This is the vanilla ice cream and hot sweet potato. It’s nice. It’s sweet. Some may find it on the brink of being too sweet. Is that a subjective scale? Can a meaningful discussion be built around the ranking of too-sweetness and can there be an objective measure by which to determine who is actually in the right? Who knows. Not me. Not right now at least. That’s a discussion for another day. Can’t knock the fascinating contrast in temperature though. In your teeth go into the freezer-cold ice cream then wham bam whammy here’s the hot sweet potato now. It’s hot. It’s sweet (possibly too sweet). And that, ladies and gentlemen, is Toraji.

Toraji is open every day from 11am to 3pm, then from 6pm to 11pm. They can be found inside Isetan Lot 10, Bukit Bintang. Head up to the top floor (make a pit stop along the way to touch those incredibly fluffy towels on the 2nd floor).

You can make reservations online or call them at +603-2119 2626.

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Come here for the cheesecake and stay for the cheesecake. Also, it’s quite a pretty little place to dine at. And some of the dishes may well be worth the visit.

Take the escalators up through Isetan Lot 10 where the top floor beckons with the instantly recognizable sheets of red, draping luxuriously from the ceiling. It’s a dramatic dining room. Interior impressions aside though, the first thing you’ll likely notice when reaching is the snake-like queue at The Tokyo Restaurant, home to the overwhelmingly popular 6th Avenue Cheesecake. We’ve had it before. Several times. Okay, fine, we’ve had it a lot of times both because we genuinely love it and because we are shameless gluttons. What we haven’t had before was the rest of the food at The Tokyo Restaurant, and we sought to rectify that with our latest visit and to, as one Foodgazer put it, broaden our experiences beyond that of fromagey cake.

Special thanks to TTR and particularly Deborah for hosting us!

As is tradition in Japan, we started off with a salad (editor’s note: it IS tradition there, right? Can we get this fact-checked?). And not your usual ubiquitous soggy caesar salad that’s served as limp as Caesar’s body at the end of War for the Planet of Apes. No, friends, this here is the tofu wakame seaweed salad: a refreshing mix of Japanese tofu, seaweed, katsuoboshi (bonito flakes) and salmon skin. Drizzled with roasted sesame dressing, it was a pleasantly refreshing potpourri of clean flavours to wash away the dredges of alcohol from last night. And these bonito flakes genuinely taste better than the usual fare, which is surprising since they usually aren’t particularly noteworthy in most dishes.

The main thing that stood out, though, was the controlled balance of flavours. In particular, let us consider the dressing. It really was drizzled. And after hundreds of salads (and burgers!) in Malaysia that come with a shocking flood of sauce, this was a very welcome change of pace. Being able to appropriately dress a salad is typically the sign of a measured, controlled hand. And here is a photo of one of the owners of said controlled hands, preparing our next dish. Round of applause, if you please.

Next up was a sushi roll platter (RM 38), featuring a couple of mini roll pieces of, uh, sushi. There was, for instance, the unagi with cream cheese inside. Sure, the unagi isn’t Makoto-level, but it’s a good deal tastier than the average ones around. And the combination with cream cheese is brilliant. The umami meatiness and texture of the unagi is accentuated and complemented with a rich creaminess for a lovely little treat.

The California roll was a California roll (shoutout to Canada). The ikura roll was quite tasty though! I mean, look at that ikura, all plump and ready to explode. We obliged with eager bites that popped the delicate membranes and released the oozes of briny egg-matter or whatever it is these lovely orbs hold within.

Good old lamb. Growing up, I had minimal interaction with other human beings and it was only after the birth and maturing of Foodgazer that I realized there’s an incredibly big group of people out there who just do not like lamb at all. It smells, they say. It’s gamey. It’s gristly. The fat coagulates quickly and becomes a disgusting lip balm when cold. Strongly-flavoured meat is better suited for the peasants. And the list of complaints inevitably goes on and on as they attempt to rationalize the non-consumption of lamb. All well and good, but we fortunately do not have such discriminatory tastebuds. And as such, we gobbled down the “grilled lamb chop saikyo miso style” (RM 50) and tongue-wiped the plate clean afterwards.

As you may be able to make out from the shoddy photo above, there was some lovely caramelization on the lamb. The meat within was cooked medium-well, the fat was well rendered and there was a caramelized glaze glistening on the outside. Then we dipped into the green sauce and were pleasantly surprised by the burst of spice that handily cut through the fat and sent the tastebuds tingling ever so slightly. We were even more surprised to find that the sauce wasn’t supposed to be served with the lamb (as we were informed by the indomitable Deborah who somehow managed to provide us with very attentive service, whilst simultaneously handling a very-packed restaurant) and that it later popped up again with the beef omurice. It was a pleasant surprise though. That sauce works with the lamb, fam.

Oh boy. Look at that pretty pile of dried paprika on top. And you can’t quite see it from these shots but there are some perfectly crisp vegetables right underneath that made us very happy indeed. The chicken karaage itself was pleasant enough without being noteworthy. It did, however, provide a nice, light change of pace between the grilled lambo and…

…the BEEF OMURICE. Omelet. Beef curry. Rice. And the return of that spicy-but-not-too-spicy green chili sauce which rounded everything out with a depth and pleasing undercurrent of warmth. The curry was alright. The default plate is just the curry rice without the omelet but trust us when we say you absolutely have to add the egg on. Mandatory upsell, this (RM 22 + RM 8). It was wondrously fluffy, soft, and swirled; it existed in that uncertain-state of cooked well and not-quite cooked, and we enjoyed it tremendously.

In fact, this Foodgazer returned on a separate day with REDACTED to order the eggu a la carte but to our surprise it wasn’t quite the same. Almost like it needed to be paired with the curry rice and wasn’t made to exist separately.

For dessert, we had the fruits kakigori. Marinated fruit bits, some ginger, mint and mochi were topped with a sorbet. Shoutout to the strawberries which were delicate and delicious. And the mochi was lovely. I mean mochi generally is (how can you not love that bouncy chewy pillowy texture?) but this was especially pleasurable. Decent dessert overall. But it’s not the cheesecake, of course.

And, yeah, we had the cheesecake again.

And again.

Yes, it’s good. That’s not that much that needs to be said about it, really. Give it a shot yourself. Share it with someone. Gripe about work, talk about your travel plans, say the new Bojack season is just out and you’ve already marathoned it, say you don’t understand what you did wrong and why you weren’t good enough and why you couldn’t piece the words together to make her stay just a little longer, and debate the existential necessity of that dollop of cream at the tip of the cake (pictured above). I think it’s essential, frankly. It’s a light, airy fresh cream that doesn’t burst with artificial sweetness. BUT I do think it needs to be placed on the other end. On the thick butt of the cake, you’d get the firmer part of the cheesecake (with the slight bite and dryness as it approaches the burnt end) juxtaposed against the delicate softness of the cream. That’s probably the best way to pair them.

But it does look better this way. So maybe it matters more how it looks from the outside, eh?

Till we meet again, RM 18 cheesecake slice. Keep on haunting our dreams.

The Tokyo Restaurant can be found inside Isetan Lot 10, Bukit Bintang. Head up to the top floor (make a pit stop along the way to touch those incredibly fluffy towels on the 2nd floor). They’re open from 11am to 11pm every day. You can make reservations online or call them at +603-2119 2622.

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