It tastes like mealy and honey apples, using a racy, salty acidity that lingers and resounds. My brain records it as tasty, but the wine is not too soft for my present mood.

(Yes, I’m one of the individuals who holds up the line in the pub by inquiring relentlessly for “flavors.”

“I’m likely to bring you a bit of Chardonnay,” she says.

And there it's. She pours the 2014 Christophe Chablis, a hamlet-level Chardonnay from Burgundy that is northern. It’s a wine that needs to cuddle, but nevertheless gives you an space: concurrently milky and fresh, soft and organized, floral and citrus-y — but its citrus is similar to a jar of lemon curd, with that super-stressed dynamic of sweet abundance and vibrant, sour nip. It.

Like that Chablis, High Treason, this wine bar, is right — not not belabored, yet serious and extensive. It does’t feel overconsulted or storyboarded, but it’s clear this is’t amateur hour. It’s doing everything a wine bar should do, and it’s not messing with the frivolities that lots of wine shops Malaysia apply for their risk.

For me, it will offer great wine in a comfortable setting — it should’t be a Michelin starred eatery expertise — served by a person who knows what she’s talking about, and desires to educate something to me. High Treason is more and all that. And that’s just great with me.