KUALA LUMPUR, Aug 16 — The phrase “ugly delicious” gets thrown around a lot to describe dishes from our part of the world. 

It’s meant as a self-aware compliment: this won’t look good on Instagram, but it’s tasty. It’s real. Authentic.

And yet, it’s never sat right with me. Why are some dishes — sometimes entire cuisines — deemed “ugly,” and others not? 

More pressingly: why do “our” dishes make up so much of that first category?

Any wannabe food stylist can turn a charcuterie board or a pasta tray bake into a boring Pinterest tablescape. 

But a well-loaded plate of nasi kandar from Deen Maju, splashed with colour and kuah, looks to me like a Jackson Pollock piece; a glistening, jet-black plate of Hokkien mee at Mun Wah could rival the best of Pierre Soulages. No styling necessary. 

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I suppose. 

But why we’re so quick to call our food “ugly” in the first place is a conversation for another day. 

What I can do today is point to a cuisine that seems to have been granted an exemption: Japanese. 

With the exception of natto — it’s the smell and stickiness that get you, not the look — sashimi, sushi, ramen are all apparently good for the ’gram.

And then there’s monjayaki. If okonomiyaki is Japan’s idea of savoury pancakes, monjayaki is what happens when you abandon the idea of a pancake altogether. 

The batter is loose — closer to a thin, starchy gruel than anything resembling pancake mix — poured onto the teppan with cabbage and whatever else you fancy, then left to sizzle and spread into a shapeless, bubbling mass. 

There’s no clean flip, no golden crust. You scrape at it with a small metal spatula as it cooks, coaxing it into a crispy-edged, gloopy heap that looks — there’s no kinder way to put it — like cabbage slop. 

Tokyo’s Tsukishima area has an entire street dedicated to it, and it has now landed in KL: 

Koboreya, the monjayaki specialist with seven outlets across Tokyo, recently opened its first Malaysian branch at LaLaport BBCC in Bukit Bintang. 

The signature Mentaiko Mochi Monja (RM35) arrives as a neat bowl of cabbage, dashi batter, and its namesake toppings — mochi cubes and mentaiko, pollock roe. 

A server does the work first: separating the toppings, including a block of butter, then oiling the teppan, then pouring the cabbage and dashi mixture over it in a thin rectangle. 

Halfway through, it looks less like food than a spill: a grey, sloppy puddle threatening to run off the edge of the griddle. 

The liquid reduces as the cabbage cooks and caramelises; only then does the mentaiko get chopped up and folded back in with the mochi and butter. 

From there, it’s up to you and the small metal spatula — a gooey scoop, or a firm press to really brown and crisp things up. 

The mochi responds particularly well to the latter, taking on a toasty edge; the bites are fishy and savoury overall, rich with umami.

I enjoyed the Koboreya Seafood Monja (RM40) slightly more. Shrimp, squid, asari clams, scallops, oysters and conger eel are cooked along the cabbage and dashi mixture, giving it a much sweeter, richer seafood flavour that doesn’t have any of the fishiness of mentaiko.

One thing to note: monjayaki isn’t terribly filling. Even shared straight off the griddle, cabbage, stock, and a handful of toppings don’t add up to much of a meal, so don’t be surprised if two orders aren’t enough. 

Like most monjayaki specialists, Koboreya also serves okonomiyaki, so my friend and I decided to try the more familiar, starchier version instead.

After enjoying the seafood monjayaki, I moved on to the Seafood Deluxe Okonomiyaki (RM30), and on my friend’s recommendation, gave the Green Onion & Cheese Okonomiyaki (RM30) a try too. 

Both are made Osaka-style — all ingredients mixed into the batter, no noodles — and finished with a generous amount of okonomi sauce and mayonnaise.

The seafood variant was enjoyable enough, with a healthy dose of shaved bonito on top, but the green onion and cheese combination was revelatory. 

I was sceptical about the amount of cheese that went on — a small saucepan’s worth — but the sweet crunch of the Japanese leek inside complemented it well. 

The best part was watching the okonomi sauce fuse with the melted cheese and caramelise into a sweet, crispy patch on the griddle. 

On its own, the sauce splits as it cooks, leaving you with a mouthful of oil and slightly bitter brown solids; the cheese keeps it bound instead, so the sugars caramelise rather than burn. A perfect match.

Monjayaki, in other words, is Japan’s own “ugly delicious.” But in a country so ready to fawn over all things Japanese — omakase, matcha, shio pan — it remains to be seen whether monjayaki will ever be recognised for what it is: a grey, sloppy puddle on the griddle, coaxed into a gooey, umami-rich heap with a spatula and a bit of patience. 

I suspect it won’t, even though it objectively should be. Says something about the label, doesn’t it?

Tsukishima Monja Koboreya Kuala Lumpur

G-83, LaLaport BBCC, 

Mitsui Shopping Park, 

2, Jalan Hang Tuah, 

Bukit Bintang, Kuala Lumpur.

Open Tuesday to Sunday, 12-11pm

Tel: 017-295 9314

Instagram: @koboreya_my

*This is an independent review where the writer paid for the meal.

* Follow us on Instagram @eatdrinkmm for more food gems.

* Follow Ethan Lau on Instagram @eatenlau for more