We are wandering the streets of Yaowarat, a little further away from the heart of Chinatown. We feel peckish; time for something more substantial than a cup of black coffee. Yet we don’t feel like the typical Chinatown fare: not soupy kway chap or old school dim sum delivered baskets high atop trolleys.
Instead we enter a café with the requisite exposed concrete walls and monochromatic palette – not as sacrilegious as you may think, given the mushrooming of these specialty coffee shops all over Yaowarat; they’ll be the dominant feature before long, if enterprising landlords and hipster tenants have their way.
They have filter brews and single origin beans, of course. Selecting these from the menu is a breeze; we know the flavour notes we prefer. The food part of the order is more of a challenge.
Waffles and orange juice sound too Norman Rockwell. French toast sounds great until we realise we much prefer the Hong Kong version, deep fried with a hidden trove of melted peanut butter.
Granola with all that oats, nuts, yoghurt and fruit? Too healthy. A venison burger with lettuce, tomato and red onions? Too heavy for breakfast.
In the end our choice surprises us, though perhaps it really shouldn’t. A wooden board filled not with charcuterie but eggs, bacon, cheese and toast. (And chips, sprinkled with sea salt whilst still hot. Because why not?)
We have simple appetites. Just fill us up and we will be ready to face the day. To face anything, really.