Georgetown, Malaysia

It's night time, and it's still above eighty-five degrees. The air is humid from a short tropical downpour that only recently ended. The dimly lit streets ahead of me are lined with beautiful, crumbling, colonial-era buildings. A carnival of colored signs in Chinese, Arabic, and English advertise the city's kafe's, hair saloons, hotels, and seemingly endless array of restaurants and food carts. Cars and motorbikes tear down the wide avenues at high speeds, their loud motors eclipsing a broadcast of the Muslim call to prayer.

Georgetown is the main city of Penang, an island province that sits along the northwestern coast of peninsular Malaysia. It's convenient accessibility to India and Indo-China made it an important trading port in the latter-days of British and Dutch colonialism. The island was largely uninhabited until 1786 when British explorer Francis Light arrived. Light foresaw the small islands immense value to the spice trade and crafted a deal with the Sultan of the region allowing him to establish a trading port there.
For a time Panang in general, and Georgetown in particular, experienced a rapid amount of growth. Immigrants from China, Indonesia, Thailand and India flocked to the tiny island where free-trade policies brought ships to the ports, and with them jobs. By the early 1800's the streets of Georgetown were bustling with trishaw peddlers, restaurant owners, and various other hucksters. Though less crowded then, the make-up of Georgetown's streets that still exists today was clearly established during this early economic boom period.

Though it's late, the streets are full of local people, eating, smoking, laughing and shopping. The sweet scent of incense mixes with the rich smells of curry and the spicy smoke of heavily peppered stir-fry. We turn the corner and head up Lebuh Panang entering the area of town locals affectionately call Little India.
It is an abrupt change. As if every sense in my body has been cranked up three or four additional notches. The contents of every shop window are alive with color and patterns. Gold jewelry and other accessories glitter alongside pink, orange, and lime green saris. Tabla drums blast from stereo speakers accompanied by tongue-twisting Hindi rap. Video screens show absurd scenes from Bollywood musicals. Everything is sensational in the most literal sense of the word.
The smiling shopkeepers with their magnificent bushy mustaches beckon us to enter their establishments. Politely but firmly we refuse. Our stomachs are rumbling and we already have a destination in mind.

The streets of Georgetown are an orgy of food. Over the last month I've grown tired of the culinary options offered to me in Thailand. With it's varying ethnicities Malaysian cuisine is some of the most diverse I've yet to encounter. Chinese, Indian, Thai, and curious amalgamations of all three can be found everywhere, day or night. Right now I'm especially impressed with the Indian fare. For less than US$5 one can stuff themselves with mutton roti, tikki masala, and garlic nann. It's hard not to get hungry prowling the streets here, and I've found myself eating for sheer pleasure far too often for my own good.

We arrive at Sri Ananda, an Indian cafeteria-style eatery. Squeezing through the entrance we pass closely by a sweating, dark skinned cook as he violently slaps roti dough against a flour dusted metal counter. The piles of fried pakora, samosas, and steaming tins of thick, spicy gravies within view whet my apatite as we make our way towards the air conditioned dining hall.
The cool, white and blue tiled seating area here more closely resembles a locker room than what I normally think of as a restaurant. The community washing area in the back (this food is traditionally eaten using one's hands) does little to help dispel this.
The restaurant is full even at this late hour, and we take the only open table left. Waiters in white shirts and black pants wander from group to group, taking orders and tabulating bills. Bussers in dark purple and yellow tops with matching mesh baseball caps run platters to tables, collect dishes, and heckle the cooks through the small window that connects this room to the kitchen. Our waiter appears, his tall, broad frame striding towards us from the far end of the hall. We place our orders and patiently await their arrival.
The drinks come first. Glass jugs filled with tart, refreshing lime juice accented by sweet mint leaves. Every sip is a pleasure and I feel the oppressing heat slip away.
The next part happen so quickly I hardly have time to keep track of everything arriving. A steady, rapid stream of workers approach our table. The first rolls out two banana leaf place mats onto which the second scoops us generous portions of steaming white rice. A third appears immediately behind adding dollops of lumpy but delicious blended vegetables to the green husks of our place settings. The food keeps coming and before we know it our table is full of tiny metal bowls brimming with steamy succulent delights. The chicken curry I ordered is excellent, but so spicy I curse myself for sucking down most of my beverage before the meal. I crack off a section of pappadam, a thin cracker-like bread, and dip it into a cool, mellow yogurt sauce that serves cool my aching tongue.

It seems impossible to keep eating, but equally difficult to quit. Just as we intend to stop, a final delivery arrives. In addition to our meals I'd also ordered mutton roti murtabak, a flaky bread filled with egg, curry, onion and lamb. But by this stage of the meal its impending arrival has been long since forgotten. A distant memory drowned beneath an ocean of excess. Groaning I enlist Amanda's aid in eating it. Breaking off pie-wedge sections, we enjoy it's savory flavor. Heavier on the egg than I prefer, but good none the less. We eat just enough of it so that it doesn't appear wasted.
Standing at the cashier's counter the sheer enormity of the meal we ate hits my stomach. I'll probably regret this later. But for now we slink out the front door into the hot night air, fat and shameful, but thoroughly satisfied.