A man’s got to have lunch. I usually go to the new noodle place down the road which is called, helpfully, Eatzone. After years of searching for the best Singapore Laksa in England (a search well chronicled in this column) I found, like Dorothy, that the answer lay much closer to home than I’d ever have thought.
Here at Eatzone (properly: eatzone..*, though I’ve no idea why) it is enormous: a rich tan soup of coconut and crustacea with a spicy slick of chilli oil washing the surface, three or four split king prawns, fish balls and sliced fish cake, the scent of the mighty laksa leaf, spongy tofu, crunchy beansprouts and whispering vermicelli. You have to ask them to hold the chicken, though. You