Kaya Bomb Prata
When I was a little tyke, Sunday mornings were spent at Lakeview market, tearing up bite-sized pieces of prata with my bare hands, plunging each into a mound of sugar before stuffing my face with glorious amounts of dough and ghee. But ever since they razed Lakeview market (and left the land desolately empty and barren for more than a decade, presumably for another MRT station or something, although that’s what they always say…), the only other prata place that my family would make the effort to go to is the one at Jalan Kayu.
We don’t really go for prata anymore, anywhere. But sometimes, on the very rare occasion that I get slapped with the crushing and unrelenting yearning for FCB (Fried, Crispy Bread, essentially any kind of dough that gets deep-fried, pan-fried, grilled, roasted, toasted…and not some new acronym-ed vulgarity), I cannot sit still till I find some for my stomach. My brain will not let up on sending life-and-death, SOS signals for copious amounts of Fat and Carbohydrates till it gets it. There’s no fooling thy brain, if that’s one thing I’ve learnt. No amount of gnawing on raw carrots and chomping on apples is going to work. Nope. Just give in, and then spend the next day gnawing on raw carrots and chomping on apples.
Milo with a dollop of milo and sugar on top of milo and sugar.
And why was I still surprised that this was incredibly sweet? Shrugs. My sugar cravings were satisfied before I was even half done with the cup. I remember when they used to serve Milo Dinosaurs in large glass mugs, giving even more punch and weight to its name. Guess that’s extinct now.
Prata House’s pratas are really crisp on the outside and chewy, stretchy on the inside, and oh so fragrant with ghee.
Now that we’ve established that, the Kaya Bomb Prata wasn’t anything spectacular. It was far too sweet and lacked the distinctive taste of kaya and tasted largely of just prata and overly saccharine, generous but vague filling.
Plain prata (kosong) and sugar. My favourite actually. I like to alternate between pieces of prata coated in sugar and others drenched in curry because that’s just how I eat my prata. Now stop looking at me weirdly.
What I appreciate about the pratas that Prata House makes is their perfectly browned, crisp, blistered surfaces that make for a wonderful contrast to the fluffy, egg-y interior. This wasn’t mine, by the way. Egg pratas aren’t really my thing, but I’ll admit that this was done well.
What I wasn’t so very pleased about (although I’ve already come to expect it during every rare visit, despite how near it is to where I live) were that the utensils were not washed and cleaned proper. I was expecting it, but clearly I wasn’t mentally prepared enough for a piece of dried brown gunk on my fork. Maybe they want to encourage eating with the hands, because I quite frankly think that doing so would be hygienically safer as compared to eating with someone-else’s-mee-goreng-stained fork, or something. So rip up your pratas with the same fingers that you used to pull out the slightly greasy chair to sit on and the sticky tacky menu you were holding a while ago. It’s a coffee shop, I know. But still…
Maybe we should do a BYO thing.
Crusty skin, burnished a golden brown with the prominent yellow hue of turmeric and definitely ginger, among other spices. This was a tad dry but thankfully not greasy. Perhaps the thigh meat would have been tastier and juicier.
I have this deep love for fried noodles. Yakisoba, Hokkien mee and any kind of asian variation that has chewy egg noodles. It’s the smoky aroma that hits the spot.
I have just one thing to gripe about though.
Why is the mee goreng such an odd shade of orange?
I’ve had this a couple of times but I’ve never figured it out. As baffling and dubious looking as this seemed, at least it was passable, if not a little sauce-y, hence heavy feeling, and lacking in ingredients. I’ve had better.
Well, this is a place for a quick prata fix and not quite one for lingering and chatting. Although I would caution you to keep a good eye on the prices of the dishes you’re ordering because they don’t issue receipts and everything is tabulated at the cashier, unless, of course, you have utmost faith in the cashier. I still don’t know how much I spent.
Parking’s a pain along the stretch of eateries at Upper Thomson, so good luck with that. I, for one, don’t have to worry since I’m just a few bus stops away from supper. But I have a confession to make. Not too long ago, upon finding out that I lived in such close proximity to an entire stretch of good makan places, someone gasped and exclaimed that “Oh my god! Eat until fat right?!”.
I barely eat there.
Now, I know people who would kill to live in Upper Thomson. But it’s kinda like the people who like in Whampoa, or near Maxwell, or Tiong Bahru, or Beach Road, or Changi, or Balestier. It’s not a big deal that there are awesome food nearby anymore. We’re more interested in what lies outside of our territory. Besides, it’s $0.71 bus fare down to makan and another $0.71 back. It’s more expensive than my prata kosong. Hence, no, I don’t eat until fat.
But please! Feel free to ring me up for supper or something. I’m all up for it. I’ll sneak out my window for FCB!
The Roti Prata House
246M Upper Thomson Road
Thomson Garden Estate
Tel: +65 6459 5260
Open 24 hours.