Know Your Local: 7th Mile Kitchen
For a small, rather restrained neighbourhood like Kelana Jaya, there isn’t much to boast about. The history is too short to be of any significance, while its occupancy has stayed stagnant for many years with the same old residentials, roads and offices. To know that within this nothing-special area lies a gem like 7th Mile Kitchen piques my interest. Set beneath an old apartment block, it’s not the kind of restaurant you stumble upon, but instead, track down with a tip-off by foodies in the know. Friends who live as far as Damansara or Cheras alike, often bring up this Sarawakian eatery for its indubitable merits. “Food is good”, they say.
I’ve tried and tested the theory and lo and behold, it rings true. The Sarawak laksa they serve up in a PVC bowl is surreal, a marriage of a million (I might be exaggerating) spices and rich coconut milk boiled down to a thick, stocky broth. It pairs wonderfully with the quintessentially Sarawakian noodles, curly, cream-coloured strands that also star in the kolo mee — a simple recipe of pork-fragrant noodles topped with mince, char siew and fried onions. With this in mind, I revisited the restaurant on a reticent Tuesday afternoon, eager to learn more.
Chef-owner Alex, by reputation, isn’t the easiest guy to talk to. I gathered that while not unfriendly, he certainly has an aloof air, as if he felt a need to be wary. So I too treaded carefully. I started our chat on the topic of his cooking — surely that would put him at ease.
Food, to this 40-something, is a funny thing. Every kolo mee stall in Kuching, he says, has a different style of cooking the dish and he’s always felt that this diversity is what keeps the dish alive.
So even though no one taught him the ways of dousing noodles in pork lard or perfecting the pale-red colour on the char siew, he pulled through with trial and error. Whatever is missing or added by accident is what makes his recipe his. The same goes for his Sarawak laksa. The conscientiously concocted laksa paste he uses comes from a supplier in Kuching, and contrary to the norm, he feels content not knowing what exact spices or herbs go into making it. For this self-taught cook, understanding the flavour profiles and what ingredients it goes well with is good enough.
“At the end of the day, I can’t take credit for kolo mee or Sarawak laksa or tomato kueh teow. They’ve been around for such a long time. What I have done here is simply share my favourite rendition with every customer, hoping that they might like it too.”
Back in his hometown in Kuching, Alex was in the handicrafts business, peddling local souvenirs and trinkets. That’s how he met Amy, then his long-distance girlfriend, now wife and partner. I continued to probe relentlessly into how he landed in this part of Malaysia — was it Amy who swayed him? Or could it have been a need to expand to bigger markets, to earn more cash? Whether I was actually getting on his nerves, or perhaps (hopefully), managed to gain his confidence, he finally confided.
It was a bout of lymphoma (lymphatic cancer) that first brought Alex here to seek treatment. The dire diagnosis didn’t play well with the small-town hospitals back home, nor did it tolerate frequent travels. Moving here was his only chance at getting better, and thankfully two years later, he did. For a cancer survivor to get back on his feet, I imagine it would’ve been an arduous feat. But experiencing the frailty of life had brought with it a powerful motivation to live well. With Amy’s support, he decided to pursue something he truly enjoyed — cooking.
The two started selling his Sarawakian noodles out of a hawker stall in Taman Megah. Here’s the part when Alex became funnily, brutally honest.
“In the beginning, my food was bad. Really, it was nowhere near good. I didn’t know what I was doing or why people kept coming. Maybe they were all just Sarawakians craving a taste of home.”
I didn’t quite know what to say, responding only with an awkward smile. It was a good thing he didn’t leave me hanging, and began to emphasise on the importance of patience when it comes to cooking.
In his perspective, one honed from 11 years of experience, it takes time to make good food. From the years he spent learning how to cook the dish right down to the time he takes labouring over bowls of noodles every morning, he has sworn to never take the shorter route if it means cutting down on quality. Sadly, this standard he set for himself has inadvertently built him a bad rep for being unobliging. In his small shoplot that fits 15 tables at most, Alex makes it a point to be clear, especially to customers who stride in expecting a bowl in under 10 minutes — they will have to wait at least 15 to 20 minutes, or come back another time. Some end up disappointed, but most will happily take their seat, sharing a table with other laksa-loving patrons to wait.
That’s how I met Boon Siew the next morning, a charming Penangite who took the seat next to mine. She was there for a quick fix of Sarawak laksa, large, and while contemplating an extra order of kolo mee, we locked eyes. I asked if she’d be open to sharing mine seeing as we both were already slurping on our laksa bowls. She nodded excitedly and as our chopsticks crossed battling for oodles of kolo mee, I learned that she lives in the neighbourhood and comes by at least once a week. We exchanged numbers and agreed to call each other the next time we’re here in need of a dining partner.
As I tell this story, Alex and Amy’s voices are in my head — urging that this article ends up less of a publicity stunt to get more customers and more an inspiring tale to fuel others on in their hardships. Their worries of the added challenge in facing a bigger crowd feels apparent. Every component of the food they serve is made fresh and in small batches at 5.30am every morning. This sometimes mean they will sell out as early as 1pm. At times, when they have their hands full, service will not be impeccable. After all, they’ve kept their hiring to a minimum so that their prices, too, can stay the same at a mere RM5.50 a bowl. Lastly, Alex does all the cooking on his own for the sake of sheer quality, which means every order, long as it takes, is made with heart.
I promised them a full disclosure. So if you’re reading this and have now unavoidably developed a hankering for Sarawak-style noodles, go with this knowledge. Exercise patience, and eventually when you get your turn at a table and those glorious noodle dishes, I hope you enjoy every bit of it exceedingly.
