金鸡下山

You have to find it first.

There is no grand entrance. You spot the signboard, then slip around to the back lane and climb a narrow staircase to the second floor — the kind of place regulars keep half to themselves.

At the top, the city falls away. Emerald walls, turquoise glass, woven-rattan lamps and old bentwood chairs — a Nanyang tea-house paused somewhere in the good old days, humming quietly over lunch.

Then the chicken arrives, and you understand why everyone climbed the stairs.