Curry not

When a Dali or a Mondrian can’t redeem a fridge magnet (lowest in the pecking order of all things ‘foreign’), what can a curry laksa do? Not much, really. But lost and hungry, somewhere in the dingy chestnut-smoked lanes of Kuala Lumpur’s China Town on Jalan Petaling, recently drenched by an afternoon shower, I was smitten by this plasticky, RM10 bowl of noodles and shrimp. In a sea of fake Guccis and Pradas, Hermès and Dior, this ersatz laksa — with its dainty, floating chopsticks and a pair of curled up crustaceans — seemed like the closest thing to reality. There were BLTs and club sandwiches too. Dimsums and pandan-green Nyonya sweetmeats. And yet, I had eyes only for the rubber noodles. I must have been really hungry.