KUALA LUMPUR, July 19 — One of the things I look back on most fondly from my time in the US was meeting people from all over the world, and one who stood out for me was a young Colombian student named Juan.
He was in the same freshman class as me, which meant we spent a lot of time together during orientation activities.
He was never seen without his bright blue headphones, and whenever I think of New York now, I think of his surprisingly deep voice pronouncing “York” with a “J” in place of the “Y”.
We weren’t especially close; just teammates in our college’s soccer team. But there was one subject that made his eyes light up: arepas.
The arepa is a type of flatbread made with cornmeal, and it can be grilled, fried, steamed, stuffed, or split and filled like a sandwich.
It is found in a few different countries, but is primarily associated with Colombia and Venezuela — in Colombia, the arepa can be prepared in 75 different ways. In Venezuela, it is a national symbol, with deposed president Nicolás Maduro once claiming the arepa as Venezuela’s alone.
Of course, according to Juan, Colombia makes the best arepas, pointing to arepa con queso (arepa with cheese) as his favourite.
It’s a good old-fashioned food feud, like Australia and New Zealand with pavlova, or closer to home, Malaysia and Singapore over yee sang.
Don’t get me started on nasi lemak. That’s not up for debate.
I never did get to try a real arepa, though. The closest I came was a gordita — a similar Mexican dish of small stuffed tortillas, made with masa (nixtamalized corn).
A full seven years after first learning about the arepa, I finally tried one. But not in Bogotá, or in Caracas.
Instead I was in Bukit Ceylon, sitting in Miss Coco Cafe, a specialty coffee and chocolate shop on the ground floor of Menara Noble Land.
Founded by partners who hail from Colombia and Venezuela respectively, the coffee is sourced from Colombia, while the chocolate is produced by Alba Chocolatier with both Malaysian and Venezuelan cacao, the latter from some of the most highly regarded growing regions in the world.
I don’t drink coffee, but I dabble in chocolate on occasion. While waiting for my arepas, I had an iced dark chocolate (RM15) that might be some of the best chocolate I’ve ever tasted out of a glass.
Rich and smooth without tipping into overly sweet or milky, I couldn’t stop drinking it. It was gone in a minute.
My beef arepas (RM23) arrived shortly after: a pair of golden, crispy cornmeal flatbreads, stuffed to the brim with shredded beef, piping hot and dripping with juice.
The beef smelled of tomatoes and bell pepper, and strongly resembled arepas de carne mechada, a classic Venezuelan variety stuffed with shredded, stewed beef flank.
The crisp, slightly mealy texture of the arepa held up well against the moist strands of meat, which were thankfully neither tough nor stringy.
On the side, a tiny pot of guasacaca, a sauce of avocado, cilantro, and lime that’s Venezuela’s tangier answer to guacamole.
A cold smear of the bright green sauce balanced out the meaty filling and the corn’s slight sweetness.
By the way, it’s pronounced “wasakaka.” Say it three times really quickly for an accurate Donald Duck impression.
I’m no arepa expert — but I loved these.
However, the “Tekeju” (RM18.50), a creatively named spin on tequeños, the classic Venezuelan snack of fried dough with queso blanco, a semi-hard white cheese, was another story.
You can get them with guasacaca or chocolate; I went with the former, though I doubt either dip would have changed my mind.
I suppose it is mostly my fault — I’ve never been a big fan of cheesy snacks, but I wanted to try anyway.
Those who enjoy fried pastry and a fairly solid cheese pull will probably like this much more than I did.
Closing with another chocolate treat only felt right, so I sampled a single origin Venezuela chocolate bonbon (RM6.50). Striped in the colours of the Venezuelan flag and glossy as lacquer, the bonbon tasted of red fruit: cherry, even hints of strawberry and some floral notes too.
I felt like I was describing fine wine, and why not? It had every bit as much complexity that a fine Burgundy might.
Juan and I lost touch not long after graduation, the way some college teammates do. I still don’t know if he was right about Colombia’s arepas.
But seven years later, I finally tried one. I now have a better idea of why his eyes used to light up.
Miss Coco Cafe
G1, Menara Noble Land,
2, Jalan Changkat, Lorong Ceylon,
Bukit Ceylon, Kuala Lumpur.
Open daily, 8am-6pm. Open from 9am-5pm on Saturday and Sunday
Tel: 018-208 3983
Facebook: Miss Coco Cafe
Instagram: @misscococafe
* This is an independent review where the writer paid for the meal.
* Follow us on Instagram @eatdrinkmm for more food gems.
* Follow Ethan Lau on Instagram @eatenlau for more unfiltered takes on food and wine.
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