Surekha Ragavan

If you're up for a sushi experience where the food does the talking, sit back and submit to the will of these sushi chefs for the best omakase and sushi meals in the city. RECOMMENDED: Best Japanese restaurants in KL

Tired of your usual iced coffee? Here's a guide to some of the many different cold coffee in KL and where to have them, including ice-drip coffee, Vietnamese drip and more.  

Long before food trucks became hip and Western, food trucks in KL were mostly all about pisang goreng, rojak, nasi lemak and tau foo fah. Here, we get to know some of the faces behind KL's original food trucks. 

Sit down to scrumptious curries, butter chicken, naan and chapatti at these top North Indian restaurants, which will have you huffing and puffing for more. 

Thousands rise in the dewy hours of daybreak with a conscious resolution – to have their flesh pinched, tugged and skewered, their shoulders groaning beneath the weight of 30kg kavadi structures. This is Thaipusam, a bewildering Hindu festival that excites, confuses and tires over a million devotees and spectators every year. Lord Murugan is the reason for Thaipusam, the son of creator Lord Shiva. Literally conjoining thai (month) and pusam (star), the January/February period marks the most auspicious timing for Lord Murugan devotees. Observers throng the famous Lord Murugan shrine, Batu Caves, to present offerings, pray, or simply revel in the carnival-like atmosphere. But it’s the devotees’ peculiar piercings and virile strength to perform the unthinkable that draw people in. Whenever did the concept of extreme pain become affiliated with holiness? The answer: It isn’t. Outside of those familiar with the genesis of Thaipusam and the kavadi, the theory of ‘suffering’ for God is often perceived as archaic if not self-punishing. Vijiandran Kassey (Vijay), a lawyer who has carried the kavadi every year since 1989, refutes this suffering. He does it for sadhana – spiritual practices carried out to conquer ego, anger, lust, greed and hatred. Carrying the kavadi helps him surrender these ‘sins’, something he has learnt to achieve year after year. Not everyone carries the kavadi for this primal yearning for goodness, or the supposed purification of the soul. ‘Some people do it if t

The food in a country is only as complex as its history – and in Vietnam, it shows. Signs of French influences are as clear in their food as they are in elaborate cathedrals and pastel-hued block houses in Hanoi’s Old Quarter. Pâté chaud (savoury pastry filled with meat), bánh flan (similar to crème caramel) and bánh mì (a pork pâté sandwich using the French baguette) are dishes of Vietnamese pride but showcase the French’s penchant for technique. Of course, regional variations appear within Vietnam itself. Up north, the cooler climate means more heat in the form of black pepper, but the food is well-balanced in sweet, salty, sour and bitter notes. Central Vietnam sees more use of spices and a focus on presentation, while the South is dependent on ingredients like coconut milk and palm sugar. If there’s one thing that ties up Vietnam’s cuisine, it’s that it’s generally fresh. Most street food are quick-cooking and don’t require long hours of simmering or braising.

From sturdy European-style breads and buttery pastries to nostalgic Asian soft buns, these are the best bakeries in town for freshly-baked goods. 

The genesis of mobile food in KL KL’s street food scene is quite literally accelerating. Our city’s latest food frenzy is the new-wave food truck, the modified café model that operates solely from the inside of a truck. Spaghetti, meat chops, tacos – we’re slowly coming around to the fact that KL’s street food is breaking out from pisang goreng stalls and Ramli burger vendors. But while we may not yet be used to digging into pasta by the roadside, we’ve long been eating from mobile operations.‘The tricycles our grandfathers used to ride were our first-generation food trucks,’ says Cavin Ng, founder of SpagMe, a truck based in Damansara that focuses on fried spaghetti. He recalls a time when vendors would load a container on the back of a tricycle or motorbike to carry fried items, fresh vegetables or tubs of ice cream. The quintessential Malaysian roti man is a fair representation of this. Then came the second wave in the last few decades – the moving truck or SUV selling the likes of cendol, tau fu fah, nasi lemak, Ramli burgers and luk-luk. Soup kitchens often distribute food with the help of wheels as well, as the added mobility ensures that the food gets to where it’s needed most.But the new wave of food trucks – which experienced a boom this year – takes from the mobility of our forefathers’ methods but adds style, innovation and branding to the mix. New trucks are strikingly labelled and modified to showcase a brand; they often push past the margins of traditional stree

A spin-off of the regular iced coffee, the cold brew trend has the industry clamouring for the title of 'the best'. And just like a steaming cup of foamy latte with a panda etched on top, the cold brew process is complex. Here are some of the best coffee shops in town to get your cold brew fix. 

Tired of the usual suspects when it comes to banana leaf rice? We bury our fingers in rice and curry to track down some of Klang Valley’s lesser-known banana leaf restaurants, plus a few old favourites. 

All teas are made from the leaves of the camellia sinensis plant. The different tea types are determined by the fermentation and processing after which the leaves are plucked. Here's a guide to the five different types of tea.

Get your fix of old-school tarts, biscuits and cakes at some of the last-standing Chinese bakeries in town.

Table & Apron – formerly The Kitchen Table Restaurant & Bakery – doesn’t exist to disrupt the scene. From the outside, it barely stretches the boundaries of what is an already saturated restaurant-and-bakery scene. But none of it matters. Because right from its birth in 2014, Table & Apron has proven to be a restaurant that has in spades a component so elementary yet so rare – heart. Through hard work, dedication and all the boring old-fashioned virtues of an honest operation, owner Marcus Low and his team have carved for us a little treasure in Damansara Kim – credit must also be given to former co-owner Mei Wan Tan. The narcissism you’ll find in so many KL restaurants is refreshingly stripped off here; there’s no time and place for vanity if the team is worrying about what’s going on your plate. If it’s all sounding a bit ingenuous to you, therein lies the restaurant’s charm. Of course, a large part of the restaurant’s ‘soul’ is owing to the service led by one gracious Nelaton Ong. Even at peak brunch hour on a Saturday, the floor staff are efficient, attentive and willing to provide customised service whether in the form of a complimentary cookie for your restless kid or an informed recommendation for your diet-restricted friend. There’s a sense that they actually want to take care of you. There are signatures that have stood the test of time, cementing their place on the menu. If you’ve been even once to Table & Apron, you would have tried the fried chicken (three pieces

Uroko has a bit of everything. It’s a party box of choices – nigiri and maki rolls, sashimi platters, noodles, tempura, yakitori, nabe and donburi, all packed into a massive hardbound menu that requires ample table space to flip through and about 15 minutes to grasp from cover to cover. So far, it’s not unlike Sushi Zanmai, but an affluent man’s version, if you will. Commonly, a large menu can come across as unfocused or lacking of speciality dishes, but Uroko turns out to be an exception. Case in point: the salmon ball salad (RM22). Salmon sashimi slices finished with salmon roe are draped around a zesty, crunchy mound of watercress. It’s all the things a salad wants to be – bright, sprightly and textural. Many of the entries at Uroko are similarly exciting and sometimes, original. While it may be tempting to opt for a sushi moriawase, it’s far more rewarding to try the more out-of-the-box rolls swathed in flavoured mayo, roe and badassery. For instance, the Uroko Maki (RM38) is a glitzy display of salmon, crab sticks, avocado, mentaiko and caviar – it’s about as much as fun as you can have in Seksyen 17. Look out for the page in the menu titled ‘Chef’s Specialities’ where most of the restaurant’s playful items reside. As its name suggests, the baked oyster with cod roe and cheese (RM12) does no wrong. The prawn stick (RM24) – marked as a recommended dish – is skewered prawns slathered in a mysterious creamy, enigmatic garlic sauce and liberally topped with cod roe. The praw

The metamorphosis of Jalan Batai is one that hasn’t been taken lightly by those who clutch on to the street’s halcyon days. But if the effect of gentrification is a restaurant as fun as Ekkamai, it helps to take away the ache, even if only slightly. The restaurant on Batai’s flashy strip bathes in mood lighting on a Friday night, intensified by heavy drapery and pops of Pantone colours. To match the setting, the service is brisk and unobtrusive. Ekkamai claims itself to be a contemporary Thai restaurant, but really, it’s a Thai restaurant in a modern setting. Classics are not mucked about with, and the proof is in the seafood homok (RM26). It’s Thai-style otak-otak, or fish cooked into soft, velvety, persimmon-hued mousse scented with lemongrass and swaddled in a banana leaf parcel. Prawns, squid, mussels and scallops are folded in for a tender, salty bite. This little starter had me thinking about it so mournfully that I find myself returning two nights later for a second whiff. I also order the Josper-grilled squid marinated in coriander and garlic, and stuffed with chicken and prawns (RM22). If it all sounds like a strange mélange of meats, it isn’t. The charcoal from the oven reflects in the squid, whose bite is both delicate and substantial. The Chiang Mai chicken wings (RM24) – also given time in the Josper – are more forgettable even if they’re cooked well and come with an arrestingly spicy raw papaya salad. The duck and lychee curry (RM32), meanwhile, is sweet from lo

If your ideas about coconut have been limited to santan and gula Melaka, Kayra is the lesson that will change everything you know about the humble fruit. At TTDI’s bearer of Keralan cuisine, coconut is put on a pedestal, bestowed a gold crown, and praised with kind words no matter the form or colour it takes. All good meals here should begin with the Kerala Cooler (RM12), a milkshake-like beverage with a base of coconut milk, laced with brown sugar and cardamom. The Spiced Konju (RM18), tiger prawns marinated with crushed fennel and coriander seeds and grilled to a char, should follow closely. You will suck on the prawn head until the juices run out, you will chew on the fractured seeds that graze the sweet flesh, and you will reach for raw red onion to soothe the palate. It’ll be one of the best things you eat in any Indian restaurant in the city. The clear fish soup with pumpkin, tapioca and raw banana (RM12) is less rousing in comparison but is indicative of a clean, sparkling fish stock. Because of Kerala’s coastal setting, seafood is heavily featured in its cuisine, so I’d suggest focusing on prawn and fish over chicken or mutton. You won’t miss the meat when fronted with the Kerala fish curry (RM30), hunks of tenggiri carefully folded into a smooth, coconut milk-tinged gravy. 'Coconut is the true celebrant here' In a similar vein is the Chemeen Mangga (RM32), a curry with coconut-marinated prawns and raw mango slices. It’s creamy once again, and a dream when serve

The Row on Jalan Doraisamy is Singapore-like in its manufactured prettiness, a concept more attractive in theory than in practice. A cute photo The Row might make, but aside from Limapulo, it doesn’t lure the Saturday night owls as say, Jalan Batai does. So, it comes as a surprise then that 2OX – run by the team behind Maison Française – is any good at all. The best thing about the restaurant is the set menus – you have the choice of a three-course menu for RM88, or a slightly more premium menu of the same at RM120. With only one single main course below RM65, the sets seem a rationale choice for those who don’t want to pay RM98 for a leg of duck, which comprises most of us, surely. I start with the Provence-style vegetable terrine – fridge cold and loosely packed. There’s eggplant, yellow zucchini and red peppers; they’re fine on their own but much better with a smear of basil cream cheese. Like a ratatouille, but… cold. The niçoise salad, meanwhile, is let down by a tumbling in of a limp supermarket salad pack. While the niçoise could easily be one of the best salads ever invented, it isn’t treated as one at 2OX. It picks up when the deep-fried oxtail meatballs arrive – each ball is filled with pulled meat filling and plenty of seasoning, while the side mash is lifted by loads of herbs. I particularly enjoy the red wine jus that floods the plate, the stuff of simple luxury you come to expect at a French restaurant. It’s a deliciously unfashionable main course, and what I ca

I suppose when it comes down to it, we all want to eat nice food in nice places that don’t cost the moon. Sure, we have French restaurants in KL where caramel is served upright in tangled webs; restaurants where the silverware is as shiny as the right side up of tinfoil; and of course, those that bestow themselves upon celebrities and socialites. But oftentimes, we don’t want the theatrics; we just want good, honest food in generous portions. We want thick hunks of bread to tear alongside juicy slabs of meat. We want to laugh until red wine squirts out our noses. Well, you get what I mean. And this is where French Feast comes in, like the bumbling, doting grandmother KL never had. Run by Jean-Michel Fraisse, formerly of La Vie En Rose, this restaurant is a celebration of all things tried-and-tested in French cuisine. Think Troyes tripe sausages with onions and mustard, braised rabbit with white wine and sautéed potatoes, and country-style terrines with onion jam and pickles. It’s a vintage French cookbook come to life, and frankly, it’s a hoot. Because I’m feeling a bit ’80s, I start with the French onion soup (RM28). And it’s just what the doctor ordered, if the doctor was Julia Child on a crackly television box set. The broth is not overly sweet or jammy, and the Comté cheese topping on the bread becomes sticky and chewy when pushed down into the soup. The next thing I order is irrespective of the chef’s skills because it comes straight from a can – ‘vintage’ mackerel confi

The night is tiresome, and the city is feeling the effects of post-work grogginess. It’s instances like these that a Korean meal of sizzling meats reassures. KL’s ‘Little Korea’ calls, and I answer its pleas at Chung Wa Dae. From the get go, it’s a piercingly blithe restaurant that’s loud and proud about what could be Korea’s best export – pop. On the signage are photos of rosy-cheeked teenage boys clad in matching all-white ensembles, and inside, suspended TVs looping Korean girl bands competing for superstar status. Coupled with wooden chairs and covered in cloth of baroque prints, it’s all so inadvertently kitsch. Along the five-foot path, I notice a man flipping thinly sliced meats on a grill, a (mildly disappointing) signifier that my meal won’t be cooked tableside. There’s nothing like the fog of steam rising from smoky meats and their dramatic hiss and curl when smacked on the grill, and all the better for the senses to get warmed up if the meats are cooked below your nose. But never mind, because I’m armed with a cold pint of Hite beer (RM50 for a large bottle for two) and a smorgasbord of colourful banchan. There are at least ten varieties, laid out lavishly like a spread for a family of miniature figurines. Most things are great save for the cold, limp omelette, and a gloopy sausage concoction with peppers and onions. I particularly like the soybean sprouts – crunchy and slicked in sesame oil. The blocks of konyaku taste perfectly of nothing but are delightful in al

This Hong Kong superstar has its share of Malaysian screaming fans, as the hype surrounding its opening proved. There were many blogger reviews, many full house nights, and many stylised Instagram shots. When the smoke settles many months later, I make my way to 1 Utama for many bowls of ‘authentic Cantonese wantan noodles’. It begins with the (soup) noodle with the signature sea prawn wantan (RM12.90). The highlight here is the wantan – plump, fresh, and filled with prawn instead of pork. I particularly enjoy the shrivelled, translucent skins around each morsel that so delightfully pop to reveal almost-crunchy sea prawns. They may look like embryonic terrestrials, but in taste, they’re far more pleasant. For good measure, I also order the same noodles with larger prawn dumplings (RM14.90), this time reinforced with bamboo shoots and mushroom. While tightly packed and well formed, they carry a bitter aftertaste that I can’t attribute to anything in particular. But the broth – made of dried halibut, pork bones and prawn roe – is sweet and clean. Meanwhile, the beef tendon and brisket noodles (RM15.90) carry an addictive peppery sauce that slicks the noodles nicely, while the meat itself is tender. One of my favourite things to order here are the dry prawn roe noodles (RM14.90), another Hong Kong speciality. The roe – dusted atop the noodles in powder form – are less crunchy than I expect, but when tossed with the sesame oil-dressed noodles, the dish as a whole is an excellent

The surprise when you encounter a café in the Klang Valley with properly decent food is akin to discovering a fifty in your jean pocket. The very revelation has the power to redeem all the days wasted on café after café of tediousness and sheer soul-sucking duplication. Classic Rebel – our case study – is a saviour much needed in the current café climate, a modest operation that impressively veers from multi-stack pancakes, but manages to retain a sense of comfort and familiarity. All of it while completely zapping out pretention. You’ll run into squad-pose types, no doubt. But serving my table on a weeknight is a lovely lady who runs through the signatures with a tireless smile, like that of a kind stranger in a children’s fairy tale. In fact, she’s so lovely I think of all the extra stars I could’ve handed out in the past if all the ladies in all the cafés were as lovely. With her recommendation, I start with the salmon gravlax (RM28), a Scandinavian classic brought to the fore of the café scene by Nutmeg. Here, the fish is placed atop hash browns, looped within a crunchy bouquet of pickled onion, fennel, radish and dill, and upon it, dollops of sour cream. Texturally, it’s textbook perfect, but I wish for the hash browns to be less oily. The main of lamb confit pasta (RM28) knocks it out of the park. It’s spaghetti, threads of lamb, caramelised onion, coriander and tomato tossed in a punchy garlic and olive oil combo. It’s exactly the sort of pasta you’ll want to throw tog

Sometimes, the oldies are just what you need. That’s the case at Portofino, where everything seems to have come from a time long ago. The (upstairs) dining area is embellished with framings of Italian landscapes, the flooring a comforting wood, the hotel-style chairs stiff and heavy, and the music on a perpetual loop of your dad’s mixed tape of love songs. Even the menu design takes a nostalgic turn with dish entries printed over photos of rolling pins and flour-dusted counters. Suitably, both the food and its presentation sustain Portofino’s retro style. Amid so many Bangsar restaurants trying so hard without ever getting anywhere, Portofino is a little charmer with its heart in the right place. I start with the caprese salad (RM28) – a classic that’s been over-primped far too often in our city. This version – I’m happy to report – is well worth a mention. The tomatoes – although not of the sweetest variety – are juicy and on the firm side, the mozzarella both perky and milky, and the pesto blob is potent in its fragrance of fresh basil. Through it all, the saltiness from the Parmesan only but teases. However, the baked onion soup (RM16) – the chef’s recommended starter – is far too oily, gloopy and sweet. As much as I wouldn’t opt for the soup again, I would a hundred times for what comes next – spinach and ricotta ravioli (RM36). The paper-thin pasta is stuffed with a decadent ricotta mix speckled with chopped spinach. The basil and tomato sauce draped around each pasta pe

On my every visit to Sin Kee, nearly every table is adorned with a portion of the signature mun fan or steamed rice (RM9.50). Some go in at lunchtime, loyal patrons who walk in with a frayed pair of Japanese slippers and a copy of the papers, just for a lunch of gravy-laden rice and a cup of herbal tea. I’ve also had to share a table with a fair number of couples, and I now have compelling evidence that a dinner of braised meats is the best way to get to know someone. There’s good reason a dish so deceptively simple has brought so many people back time and time again. There’s a sense of innocence in removing the upturned plastic bowl to reveal a generous mound of rice, positively squelched beneath the pile of vegetables, stewed pork, lap cheong, prawns and egg. The sauce – a familiar blend of light soy sauce, oyster sauce and rice wine vinegar – binds every shortgrain into small, tight packs. Now to imagine it with glutinous rice… The chicken chop (RM13.50) too is something of an institution here. The meat is bashed for even cooking, breaded, fried and doused in brown gravy. Also on the plate are all the feel-good things you expect with Hainanese chicken chop – peas, fried potatoes and thickly sliced onions. At Sin Kee, I much prefer the chicken variety over the pork for the latter is curiously made with pressed mince pork rather than a large chop. If you’re after the more common dai chow dishes, I can safely report that the butter cream chicken (RM22) – also a Sin Kee favour

Biryani, the stately leader of all rice dishes, steals the show at this shadowy alley restaurant. The kitchen – led by a Hyderabad chef – prepares a large pot everyday, an aluminum vessel large enough to fit a crouching teenager, or the ego of three Boris Johnsons. The waiter uses a plastic plate to pile on rice and meat – enough for two – topped with rings of red onion and a wedge of lime. The biryani (RM15) here is painstakingly layered with rice and meat for the chicken- or mutton-specific versions. At other Indian restaurants in the area, you may find that the rice is cooked separately from the meat, saving the kitchen multiple batches of biryani. If you’d rather a base of yellow rice with meat tossed in, allow me to point you in the direction of a nasi kandar restaurant. Most importantly here, the rice is very, very good. Each long, slender grain separates cleanly from its peers for soft, fluffy results. It’s also difficult to be dispassionate about the saffron-tinted shade of gold that coats the grains, sometimes broken by patches of white from the layering. In between, you’ll find chicken or mutton chunks, caked in a thick marinade residue that moistens the rice. It’s wise to pick up a couple of bowls of sides from the display trays, specifically the mutton gongura (RM5) on weekends, a curious blend of fire and tang contributed by the magic of red sorrel leaves. The egg bhurji (RM3) too is worth a try – a dry, scrambled egg dish with loads of diced onions, spices and s