Xavier G.
Google
We came here once, back in 2022, and somehow the place slipped out of my memory.
Tonight, as we step again into this forbidden culinary city of nasi campur, it all comes rushing back.
The fragrant rice.
The juicy chicken broth generously poured over it.
Then the ritual begins.
Peanuts.
Curap vegetables.
Red chili.
Satay lilit.
Two different cuts of chicken.
And of course, the guilty pleasure: crispy fried chicken skin, kampung chicken only.
You mix. Slowly. Deliberately.
When the last ingredient melts into the rice, you stop.
You admire the masterpiece.
It’s not just beautiful—it’s deeply, intensely succulent.
The hardest part is restraint: forcing yourself not to swallow too fast. The flavors must linger, spread across the palate, layer after layer, before finally sliding down… only to be reignited by chilies that arrive on fire.
Relief comes in the form of a hot ginger drink—comforting, soothing, deceptive—until the next bite pulls you right back into the flames.
This is not just a meal.
It’s a performance.
And I will not forget it twice.
In Paris, I'd pay 50 € happily. Here it costs 35 k rps🔥🔥🔥🔥