I visited this place couple of weeks back, much much after my friend A’s
prodding and giving up on me. A frequents this place in Khan Market with her
husband and often urged me to try out their Khaosuey. I, on the other hand,
stuck to places like Big Chill and sometimes Blanco, usually because of the
company I were in. Finally this month, I had a houseguest, this young wife of
a friend, demure and someone who would finally follow my lead without protest
– a quality difficult to find among my friends. Anyhow, cutting the chase, we
headed to Khan Market, it was terribly hot, we pondered a bit over Big Chill
or the Kitchen. Finally the simplistic yet irresistible menu board outside
the Kitchen drew us inside like hypnotised sun-bathed thirsty zombies. The
simple cool cafe decor was ideal for the sunny afternoon. Although I already
knew what we would order, we didn’t want to look too desperate. So we asked
for the menu card and pretended to ponder over it, noticed the ‘Khaosuey
meter’ on the wall which gave away a humungus number of all Khaosueys served
there till date. With some delay and pretended discussion over the menu as
seemed customary, we placed an order of chicken momos and the ubiquitous
Burmese Khaosuey. They also had a Bangkok Khaosuey and a ‘the Kitchen’
special version, which we decided could be tried at a later visit perhaps.

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The food came in at a decent pace, with a wait only long enough to dissuade
any doubts of reheated food that we often otherwise have in cases where the
order flies in too quickly. Indeed, it was freshly done and superbly so. The
momos were juicy and just how simple they are supposed to be. The Burmese
Khaosuey comprised juicy bits of cooked chicken and fresh egg noodles
immersed in a very tasty coconut milk broth and topped off with pieces of
boiled egg. Of course, the accompaniments are the star of every Khaosuey –
crispy fried onion, toasted garlic slivers, roasted peanuts, crispy noodles, hot
sauce, and so on.

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My table companion had loads of family stories to tell me and I did a lot of
listening, nodding and gulping at the same time. About ten minutes down her
story, I had scraped the last bits on my bowl while her bowl looked like she
had only taken two sips. Of course, I was a bit sad that my sumptious meal
was over and it was a torture to watch my friend savour her bowl with slow
slurps. Like a friend of mine often says, ‘the problem with good food starts when it gets over’.

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