The Mei Keng Fatt version of chili crab, a Malaysian institution, is easily the best we’ve had yet here in KL

Our ongoing search for better chili crab has taken a turn for the amazing.

Chili crab is a staple of Malaysian cuisine, and we’re always on the hunt to find the best version of it we can (previous attempts we’ve enjoyed were here, here and here).  Our requirements for a delicious crab have evolved over time, as our palates have become more developed for crab tasting and we’ve started noticing subtle, but important differences in what we’re eating.  Of course, the crab itself has to be fresh; if it’s not, even if the crab is just the slightest bit mushy or mealy, there’s no amount of deliciously thick chili sauce that can make up for it.  A silky egg white swirled into the sauce at the last minute provides not only an important textural component, but also unites the tangy, spicy and sweet flavors in the sauce.  I like the versions with tamarind, which adds sourness to the sauce that’s a nice complement instead of straight up vinegar.

This past weekend, with my sister in town, we visited Mei Keng Fatt, a place that’s been on my list for months.  We’ve heard from expats and locals alike that Mei Keng Fatt is one of the best places in town for crabs, and boy, they were right.

Above, left: just so there’s no confusion, multiple neon signs light the way to Mei Keng Fatt; top, right: lightly battered butter prawns with flash-fried curry leaves were solidly delicious, if only they hadn’t used margarine; bottom right: my sister’s teeny tiny hand illustrates the hefty mass of the Australian mud crab

When we arrived, crates of live Sri Lankan and Australian mud crabs were stacked up outside the restaurant, which was the first good sign.  The hubby and I struggled to recall whether we’d seen live crabs at the original Fatty Crab we’d visited last month and sighed in dismay when we realized that those crabs were probably previously frozen.  My sister and I gawked at the sheer enormity of the crabs, and I kicked myself for not insisting on dragging more friends along so we could order one of the larger monsters.  With only 3 of us, we’d have to settle on the smaller Sri Lankan crab and limit ourselves to one or two other dishes on the rather extensive menu.

After much debate, we settled on ordering some butter prawns that I thought would be coated in a rich sauce and a stir-fry of Chinese okra, long beans, eggplant and kailan (also known as Chinese broccoli) with belacan, a pungent fermented shrimp paste that’s prevalent in just about every stir-fried vegetable or fried rice dish here.  The paste comes in brick form, and it’s the kind of smell that permeates your brain and invades the pores of your skin.  I’ve considered keeping a briquette in my purse when I come back to the States and using it in lieu of pepper spray by lobbing it at any potentially nefarious attacker’s head.  Such is the strength of this odor.  Once you come in contact with it, you never forget it.  Even more strange, I thought I’d never be able to stomach a dish with belacan, but I’ve actually acquired a taste for it.  There’s something about that odorous substance that, combined with some fresh chilies, makes veggies more … interesting.  I can’t explain it, exactly.

The buns that accompany the chili crab come in either a steamed or fried version; both are meant to be dipped into the spicy chili sauce and smeared all over your face, or something like that

The prawns arrived first and surprised me when they were lightly battered and fried instead of drowning in a butter sauce, as I’d imagined them to be.  They were delightfully crunchy and not at all greasy. Unique to Mei Keng Fatt’s version, though, were some flash-fried curry leaves, crispy and paper-thin, sprinkled on top of the prawns.  They added just the right amount of curry flavor and texture, and were fun to eat on their own, without a bite of prawn.  My only beef with the dish was that either the batter or the butter itself was a little too sweet, to the point that the buttery flavor tasted almost like margarine, but it was a minor quibble.

When our chili crab finally arrived, so did the most exciting accompaniment: steamed and fried buns for dipping into the sauce.  These little buns were reminiscent of hua juan, a yeast-y steamed bread with scallions eaten in Northern Chinese cuisine, although the Mei Keng Fatt version are smaller than traditional hua juan and don’t have scallions.  They also came in two versions: steamed or lightly fried.  I had a hard time deciding which of the two I liked better.  It’s really hard to play favorites when they’re both so tasty and serve such an important function of delivering chili crab sauce to my mouth.

And as for the crab — oh, Molly, that crab.  Perfectly cooked, tender, flaky crab meat poured out of the shell as soon as you cracked it, along with briny water that diluted the thick, sticky sauce surrounding that particular piece.  I cracked one of the claws and clapped my hands when the claw emerged completely intact.  My sister, the hubby and I each took turns yelping in excitement every time a gleaming piece of white crabmeat emerged from our sticky fingers, and we showed off our bounty to each other like hunters in a game war.  I took my claw, freed from its shell, and swirled it around in the chili sauce, then sandwiched it into my little steamed bun.  As I took a bite of my impromptu sandwich and chili sauce dribbled down my chin, I thought to myself, “Can it get any better than this?”

Actually, in a place like Kuala Lumpur, where around every corner there’s something delicious to eat, I’m sure it can, and you can bet that I’ll keep on looking.

Mei Keng Fatt | 1 Lorong Awan 6, just off Jalan Ampang and MRR2 | Kuala Lumpur | Malaysia