NOVEMBER 14 — You could hear the chuckle across Kuala Lumpur the morning the 2026 Michelin Guide for KL & Penang dropped. Not applause. Not outrage. Just a long, collective Malaysian “Aiyo…” — the kind you reserve for a friend who has well and truly embarrassed himself.

Because this year, Michelin didn’t just stumble. They face-planted into the sambal, rolled into the longkang, and emerged holding a Select certificate… for a restaurant that has been closed for more than a year.

Qureshi at KLGCC.

Closed. Shuttered. Packed up.

Yet awarded.

It’s the culinary equivalent of giving a Grammy to a band that broke up in 2023 and whose lead singer moved to Ipoh to start a vegan bakery.

And with that single moment, Michelin revealed what Malaysians have suspected since 2022: they’re barely paying attention.

The good ones deserve it — but that’s not the point

Let’s be clear: Malaysia has brilliance, real brilliance. Restaurants like Dewakan by Darren Teoh and DC by Darren Chin continue to push boundaries with technique, terroir and a uniquely Malaysian philosophy that marries precision with soul. Nobody disputes the value of their stars or the work of the other exceptional chefs who treat ingredients with the kind of devotion monks reserve for sacred texts. The issue isn’t who Michelin recognised — it’s the vast universe of Malaysian talent they somehow failed to even notice.

The street food blind spot

In Thailand, Michelin hands out stars to noodle carts.

In Singapore, to hawkers in kopitiams.

In Taiwan, to beef noodle stalls.

But Malaysia — the actual street-food superpower of Asia?

The country whose entire national identity is glued together with sambal, sotong, char kuey teow and arguments over who invented nasi lemak?

Not. One. Single. Stall.

Not one Penang hawker.

Not one KL mamak institution.

Not one Ipoh taugeh chicken stall.

Not the pasembur uncle with forearms stronger than a powerlifter.

Not the Klang bak kut teh clans who’ve been perfecting their broth since before Michelin even made tyres.

Michelin came to Malaysia, sat down, looked at our street food — the greatest living culture we have — and said: “No thank you, we’ll stick to French plating.”

And here’s what makes it worse

And let me be very frank here: I am particularly upset that nasi kandar — the beating, aromatic, gravy-flooded heart of Penang — isn’t recognised by them. How do you talk about Penang and somehow skip the one dish people literally cross state lines for? Nasi kandar is not just food. It is ritual. It is pilgrimage. It is morning queues, midnight cravings, stainless steel trays, “banjir tambah kuah”, and a lineage that goes back generations.

But no. Michelin looked at all that history, all that complexity, all that cultural weight… and shrugged.

At this point I’m convinced the “inspectors” must simply dislike Indian or mamak fare — because how else do you explain this level of blindness?

And while we’re at it, how does the world’s most famous food guide exclude the entire Greater KL region? Leaving out Klang BKT — the real BKT, the OG, the herbal-rooted pot of our collective soul — while giving recognition to some watered-down KL versions is just absurd. It’s like awarding the best pizza in Italy to someone microwaving a frozen slice in Venice. You just don’t do it.

Penang has more restaurants than KL? Really?

Then there’s the comedy portion of the evening.

Penang, a city of 800,000 people, somehow has more Michelin-listed restaurants than KL — a city of over eight million when you count Greater KL.

Mathematically, this is like saying Monaco has a livelier nightlife than Tokyo.

And yes, Penang is a wonderland — char kuey teow that should be a national treasure, prawn mee that can resurrect the dead. But even Penangites rolled their eyes this year. KL folks nearly dislocated their eyeballs.

You’d think Michelin would, at minimum, learn where restaurants exist before ranking them.

The reputation collapse

When Michelin arrived in 2022, Malaysia buzzed.

Restaurants posted the red logo.

PR teams erupted.

Foodies debated, argued, fought — glorious chaos.

Today?

Silence.

The loudest reaction is indifference.

Because Malaysians know food.

We’re born with palates sharper than political memes.

You can’t con us with shallow reconnaissance masquerading as expertise.

And after this year’s awards?

Not even Michelin’s PR team can pretend the system is credible here.

Why Michelin failed in Malaysia

Let’s call it out clearly:

They don’t allocate enough inspectors. Industry insiders estimate as few as four to six inspectors for the entire country — laughable.

They over-index on Western fine dining. Malaysia does not revolve around foie gras. We revolve around sambal, smoke, wok hei and the divine chaos of flavours.

They do not understand our street food culture. Street food isn’t an “option” here. It is the heart of our culinary identity.

They recycle data across countries. This is the only way a closed restaurant receives an award.

They cannot figure out Penang vs KL scale. Basic population and economic logic alone make their distribution ridiculous.

What this means for Michelin

Two words: long-term damage.

In Singapore, Michelin matters.

In Hong Kong, Michelin matters.

In Tokyo, it’s practically religion.

But in Malaysia?

We’ve checked out.

KL and Penang restaurateurs aren’t chasing the Guide anymore.

Consumers aren’t relying on it.

Most Malaysians didn’t bother watching the announcements.

Michelin came into the greatest food country in Asia — a country where everything is evaluated first by taste, second by value and never by plating — and somehow managed to misunderstand the assignment so completely that it’s almost impressive.

What Malaysia should do next

Honestly? Stop waiting for Michelin to validate us.

We don’t need a French tyre company to tell us our street food is world-class.

We don’t need stars to prove our culinary identity.

We never did.

Malaysia should build its own recognitions:

• A Street Food Canon

• A People’s Choice Award across states

• A Cultural Heritage Food Registry for stalls over 30, 50, even 80 years old

Something real.

Something rooted.

Something that honours the aunty frying kway teow at 3am in a Bukit Bintang alley with more skill than half the fine-dining chefs in Europe.

Final word: The great Michelin misread

Malaysia isn’t perfect.

Our politics are spicy.

Our roads have occasional craters large enough to start a koi pond.

Our weather has moods.

But our food?

Our food is sacred.

And if Michelin wants to play here, they need to respect that.

They need to do the work.

They need to actually understand us.

Because right now, Michelin in Malaysia is like a tourist ordering “mild” sambal and declaring it too spicy before the spoon even reaches the mouth.

A joke.

And Malaysians — the real food people of this region — aren’t laughing.

* This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of Malay Mail.