Chef Victor Yap’s Pan-European dining destination on Jalan Ampang spans British, French, Italian and Spanish cuisine—from a classical steak tartare and Black Angus au poivre to a dessert trolley that has become the brasserie’s signature. This is comfort food taken seriously, and worth the detour to AmpWalk.

The trolley rolls around before dessert is even a thought. Chef Victor Yap pushes it himself—a full season rendered in sugar and cream, assembled from memory. He talks through each piece with the ease of a man revisiting old correspondence. The custard comes at the very end, poured in one long, unbroken stream over a trifle scooped tableside into beautiful, deliberate disorder. Somewhere between theatre and ritual, I stop trying to decide which, and simply watch the magic happen.

This is Europe, Assembled From Feeling

Peaches and Cream Brasserie, tucked into the first floor of The Grange at AmpWalk on Jalan Ampang, is the kind of restaurant that does not so much design an atmosphere as it exhales one. The address offers nothing by way of promise: a quiet building on a stretch of road that does not court foot traffic. You come because you are going specifically here, or Fox Paradox one floor below.

Inside, the palette unapologetically screams summer with peachy oranges, sunny yellows, blush and pastel pink, illustrations of peach branches winding across the walls of the Peach Salon like wallpaper in a mid-century modern home.

In the Lounge, a seasonal tree installation dressed in pink blossoms dominates the circular room, conjuring a lightness wholly disproportionate to its distance from any natural light. The overall impression is a long afternoon somewhere along the French Riviera— warm, unhurried, faintly giddy—the kind that begins with a Bellini.

Victor opened Peaches and Cream as his first solo venture, where he brings the air and energy of a chef who has finally built the house he has been imagining for years. Pan-European in spirit—across Britain, France, Italy and Spain—the menu does not attempt to reconcile its breadth into a singular identity. The through-line is sensibility: comfort food elevated by technique, inflected by travel, and deeply inspired by his personal nostalgia of the European continent.

Brunch Rituals & A Preamble

At a restaurant named after a certain stone fruit, the Bellini is the obvious choice for a late afternoon sip. A delightful concoction of Prosecco and peach purée, it is sweet, effervescent and pure joy. Across the table the Gimlet made no such concessions: gin-forward, bracingly tart from fresh lime, the kind of drink that tempers the sweltering heat of the city.

The Bread Basket (RM19) is where Peaches and Cream makes its first declaration. Two varieties, one seeded and one closer in spirit to a shokupan or brioche, are baked in-house. Both arrive hot and springy, with a tight moist crumb that holds its texture under the weight of an extremely generous application of butter. The esplette chilli butter alongside is worth its own moment: piment d’Espelette is a PDO-protected dried chilli from the Basque Country, mildly warm, its flavour sitting somewhere between sweet smoked paprika and something more aromatic. Here, it is deeply fragrant and luxurious.

From the French pages, the Steak Tartare pulled double-duty as an appetiser and an introduction to how serious Chef Victor takes his cuisine. The eating experience of tartare is as technical as it is dictated by ingredient quality. Black Angus, finely diced, dressed in shallots, capers, gherkins and herbs—the classical French vocabulary, unembellished and precisely diced, make for a delectable tangle on the tines of my fork. The lemon aioli was rich without being glutinous, the fries alongside impossibly good.

I have enjoyed tartare at esteemed establishments with considerably more ceremony and considerably less conviction. This version, in a brasserie with peach illustrations on the wall, was better than most of them without needing reinterpretation or contemporary influence.

Across the Channel, and Back

Moving across the Channel, British Fish & Chips had honest intentions: Soda-battered halibut, skin-on fries, a magnificently oversized portion of warm mushy peas, tartare sauce with a clean gherkin acidity that reminds me why these things became canonical in the first place. Halibut is a delicate, expensive fish, and the batter here treats it accordingly: light, crisp, not overwrought. The fries are beyond reproach—a recurring theme at this table—where the fish plays second fiddle to its sides.

The steak was where the afternoon peaked. Two hundred and fifty grams of Black Angus Sirloin, the fat cap rendered to a glossy, yielding finish, sliced thick, served with a black pepper au poivre that coated each bite with gentle assertion. There were occasional encounters with sinew, small interruptions in an otherwise generous well-rested cut. The mash was the right companion: silky, butter-enriched, faintly aromatic with garlic in the continental fashion. Though it must be said, the steak frites—the version with the fries and the au poivre uninterrupted by other dishes—is almost certainly the platonic form of this meal. I’ll be back for that.

Then, The Trolley Rolls In

Victor’s dessert programme is built from fifteen years of accumulated personal mythology. The flourless chocolate cake has followed him from kitchen to kitchen the way certain recipes become inseparable from a chef’s identity, not because they are technically remarkable, but because they are genuinely his.

The Seasonal Trifle, currently dressed in strawberries and lemon curd for spring, will take on the restaurant’s namesake character when summer arrives. It is scooped tableside in a gloriously unselfconscious heap of ladyfingers, lemon curd, cream, fresh berries finished with a long, steady custard pour that transforms the plate into something between a sundae and a soliloquy. Acidic, fruity, texturally restless. It earns its reputation without having to say any more.

The no-bake Peaches and Cream Cheesecake was lighter than physics ought to allow, the dark chocolate and cherry version its more brooding counterpart—rich, deeply flavoured, neither of them overly sweet. Both are slow desserts, meant to be savoured over time with a well-timed Latte on the side.

The trolley, in lesser hands, would be exactly as gimmicky as it sounds. Victor walking it out himself, narrating each piece with the intimate specificity of someone describing photographs from a trip becomes less of a performance and more of a conversation.

Leave Room For All Of It

Peaches and Cream is not attempting a manifesto. It is one chef’s affectionate, technically assured love letter to the food of a continent he knows well enough to reinterpret without pastiche. That the menu spans four national cuisines without collapsing into incoherence is itself a quiet achievement — one that becomes more apparent as the meal progresses and the cumulative effect lands.

The tartare and the au poivre will bring you back. The trifle will be the thing you tell people about. But start, always, with the bread.

Peaches and Cream
L1.08 & L1.09, The Grange @ Ampwalk,
218 Jalan Ampang,
50450 Kuala Lumpur (Maps)

Operation Hours:
Open daily: 10.00AM–10.00PM

@peachesandcream.kl | Menu | Reservations

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