(Lot T-028, Level 3 Mid Valley Megamall)
Cloistered in the far realms of seedy city life, in shopping malls never visited or heard of, lay the forbidden kingdom of Bankara Ramen. A ramen shop that I visit religiously in Bangkok, due to it being the best in town (in a very very competitive market). I was thrilled to discover they have 2 branches in KL, and after Arsenal's loss to Liverpool last night and the subsequent consolation binge, it was the only food I really craved.
I popped down in my GRAB taxi, found the place located on the 3rd floor near the cinema, got a seat next to a partition so I only had one human being to be nervous about, and decided to order their special ramen for the hell of it (since i'd eaten their Tonkotsu countless times). It ended up being a bad decision.
The beer did little to assuage the incredible punishment of the night before. Sweaty palms, fear of humans, desire to lie in an ice bath and drink Margaritas.... the bowl arrived. I sipped the broth. It was diabolically fatty. I ate what I could of the noodles, the charshu was meltingly brilliant, the egg nothing to complain about, the menma had that strong aftertaste of overpowering sesame oil, but the main traitor was the broth... 5 sips and I was done. I had barely made an impact on the bowl at all. I felt sheepish, guilty. Beside me a 13 year old Asian girl rabidly attacked a bowl twice the size, forcing mouthfuls of noodles into her mouth quicker than she could chew or swallow, punishing herself in some hair-brained fear that the bowl may be taken away, and she would be rendered an Oliver going up to the headmaster trembling asking "More please, Sir".
My beer was exhausted so I waited for the waiter to walk to the other side of the room, and ran to the counter with my bill, paid, and vanished before they could see what a pathetic shell of a man I was.
The road to hell is paved with food inventions.