I Can’t Stop Thinking About: This Laksa Lemak, My Favourite Lunch for 15 Years

The laksa lemak at Malay Chinese and I go way back.

That rich, curry-spiced soup has been my favourite lunch for 15 years. It was the best part of my work week in my old life, when I was an analyst at a Swiss bank in the CBD. The hours were punishing, the presentation decks never-ending, but a standing Friday date at the old Hunter Street shop with my office bestie made it all okay.

If you’ve ever stood in a queue that’s spilled out the door of the newer Circular Quay location, you’ll know: the Woon’s family-recipe laksa lemak is legendary. At Hunter Street, only a noob would arrive between midday and 1pm; and if you were among the hapless latecomers, forget about getting a table. Lunch breaks are short, so my friend and I had eating out and making it back in time for meetings down to a science.

I’d be sitting at my desk, puzzling over a spreadsheet, when the 11.30am email would come: “Ready?” I’d kick off my heels, slip on flats and we’d meet at the door, ready to weave through the Pitt Street crowds for an 11.45am arrival. It was so perfectly choreographed, we’d be sitting at our table at 11.47am waiting for our bowls, watching the queue of punters grow.

“Bean curd laksa!” My heart leapt when I heard those three beautiful words ring out over the hubbub. By then the room would be filling up, making it hard to get to the counter. I’d drop a dollop of deep-red sambal into my soup, carefully pick up the bowl by the edges and make my way back to the table. It’s a precarious business navigating a tight crowd with a bowl of shirt-staining, boiling-hot liquid – but in all my years eating there, I never saw anyone spill a precious drop.

Creamy, but not heavy; spicy, but not fiery; savoury, sweet and complex – if there can be a perfect dish, this is it. Bright chilli oil sits on the surface of the rich coconut milk broth, vermicelli noodles maintain their bouncy bite right to the bottom of the bowl, soup-soaked bean curd puffs wait to yield their flavour.

When my husband and I were discussing moving our family back to Canada in the post-pandemic world, I would make mental lists of all the things I’d miss about Sydney: my friends, the familiar faces on our high street, the reading room at Customs House Library. My lunchtime laksa.

Canada lasted 18 months, and when we came back, the new Malay Chinese Noodle Bar was one of the first places I wanted to visit. It’s tucked away in a food precinct between tall buildings in Circular Quay. A lot is different from the Hunter Street spot, which was demolished to make way for the Metro. The gritty 1980s charm and fluorescent lighting have been replaced with a slick, modern fit-out, and there aren’t as many seats. Big Head and John no longer float serenely in their fish tank, and the kitchen adds the scoop of sambal to your soup for you.

But a lot is the same. I shared a table with a stranger and as we coiled noodles into our spoons and flooded them with soup, we watched founder Meng Woon moving around the room. He cleared tables – occasionally handing out a mandarin as a palate cleanser – and oversaw the content faces leaning over plastic bowls, enjoying a recipe that’s remained unchanged since 1987.

To be happy, a person needs little more than a bowl of laksa lemak and maybe the chopstick-and-spoon skills to avoid splashing your shirt with chilli oil, or failing that, 20 cents for a bib.

@malaychinese