At 6 pm…
“Jo! Look! I found your watch! It’s on the floor in there!” I declare loudly.
Everybody within a 100 metres radius can definitely hear me.
Jo, Nat, and I peer through a glass door into a secluded room. I’m pointing. “There!” I say audibly, “your watch!”
Except, Jo is wearing a watch on her left wrist.
Also, we’ve never before in our lives stepped foot into that little air-conditioned room.
Earlier that day at 4 pm…
We are ceremoniously ushered into a room flooded with cozy armchairs and wooden coffee tables. The shade of the walls match the sandy-coloured sofas, basic against the splashy maroon of the occasional cushioned seat. Brass-made lights adorn the walls and ceiling. A few copper-coloured ceiling fans hang from its vaultings, more for aesthetic reasons than functionality.
The curtains are drawn open and securely fastened with ties, offering us a scenic view of a perfectly manicured lawn. I can almost imagine white British men- the same ones that colonised us- playing polo in crisp collared shirts as their wives sip tea in oversized sun hats.
Jo, Jo’s family, Nat (remember Nat from RSR and the helipad?), and I are at the Tea Lounge of the Majestic Hotel Kuala Lumpur. It is Jo’s birthday and we are ageing. This is evident because instead of crawling through literal bat shit like last year, we are here to channel our inner tai-tais by drinking tea and eating scones.
The Tea Lounge is adjacent to The Bar. If the Tea Lounge is warm and fizzy, the vibe at The Bar is cool and sophisticated, with its dark wooden panels and colonial look. Here, think black feathers, bright red lipstick, and cigars.
A grand piano sits between the Tea Lounge and The Bar. Soothing melodies carry through the room as a pianist serenades us with agile fingers and a sense of rhythm I don’t have.
I’m telling you, walking in there, I felt like a socialite.
The wait staff are dressed in white coats and black slacks. Our usher, a stocky young girl with a bob cut, is very professional. She leads us to an oval shaped coffee table surrounded by sofas and comfy chairs. As we sit, she expertly unfolds napkins into neat triangles to place on our laps.
Soon, the food arrives on three tiered stands- three sets to feed six of us.
The stand is bronze with a handle on the top. There are three layers of tasty treats. The bottom tier holds the sandwiches and savoury foods. Scones are in the middle. At the top are the sweet cakes. This is the genesis to diabetes.
But here’s the best part. Along with the tiers of mat salleh snacks comes a golden box of hot food. There’s quiche, fried chicken and something else fried (fine, I’ll admit. I don’t know what it’s called).
But you know what’s missing? To quote Aunty Susan (Jo’s mum), we need some char kuey teow. And curry puffs. Because, you know, Malaysian.
Okay, mandatory disclosure: My last meal prior to this was dinner the day before (which means 20 hours without food). One should also be informed that I’m a relatively big eater.
Now, frequent readers of this blog might remember my previous afternoon tea experience in Bath, England. Just like that time, I arrived completely famished, gastric juice churning. Just like that time, I looked at the plates of food and scoffed. Just like that time, I said, “sure ah? Enough meh?” Just like that time, I started gobbling down scones and cakes like there’s no tomorrow.
Just like that time, I sense a feeling of glut rise in me.
And just like that time, we couldn’t finish the food. Aunty Susan had to pack the remaining 3 slices of cakes for her friends.
The last time, I concluded that English carbs are just dense. Now, I have to concur that one should never judge afternoon tea by its scarce appearance.
The eats were good, though not extraordinarily separate from those one might find in a regular bakery.
However, the appeal is in the ambience. Now, afternoon tea at the Tea Lounge was very enjoyable. But the crown jewel? Is afternoon tea in The Orchid Conservatory, a humidity and temperature controlled atrium that “features a seasonal range of phalaenopsis orchids; with thousands of stunning large-petaled blooms displayed in a re-creation of their natural habitat”.
Joel (Jo’s brother) tried to make a reservation to eat there. We are more than willing to pay an extra RM20 per pax to eat fruit cake amongst a sea of brilliantly-coloured orchids. Unfortunately, the limited spaces were fully booked.
However, that didn’t stop us from lusting covertly as we walked past the first time round. Through the glass door, we had a perfect view of square tables set amidst rows of beautifully bloomed orchids. Those pretty flowers, they call our names.
The desire for our moment in the presence of these magnificent flowers only deepen after our meal.
So, we devised a plan. (Jo formulated the plan and I got dragged along.)
My eyes fixed on the orchids, I convey, “Jo! Look! I found your watch! It’s on the floor in there!”
Shrugging my shoulders, I continue, “I guess we have no choice but to go in and retrieve it.” I push the door open for our
devious grand entrance.
Jo and Nat follow suit, with Jo making jokes like “Eh! What?! Don’t go in!!”
You’re welcome, Jo.
At this point of time, I’m so stuffed with chocolate cake and custard pastries that my stomach had reached its maximum capacity. Its contents overflow into my rectum. Even my rectum is starting to fill up. That 20 hours fast must have infiltrated air into my rectum, because the newly ingested contents is fighting the air for space.
A war is raging in my rectum. It is a battle between air and food.
Fight. Fight. Fight. A girl’s rectum is only that big.
In life, there will always be winners and losers.
There will be losers.
I farted on the orchids.