No 48 G&M, Jalan Medan Setia 2, Bukit Damansara, 50490 Kuala Lumpur, Federal Territory of Kuala Lumpur

Taste – 7.2
Atmosphere – 7.4
Service – 5.2
Value – 3.4

Sri Lankan food is better than Indian food. Cue the outrage, the keyboard warriors, the aunties clutching their spice tins. But hear me out: it’s fresher, lighter, and far less likely to send you sprinting to the bathroom. Unlike its heavier North Indian cousin, it doesn’t leave you bloated, sluggish, or spiritually defeated. It’s food you can eat and still function afterwards.

Which begs the question: why aren’t there more Sri Lankan restaurants? Why does Indian cuisine monopolise every high street from London to KL? The answer, most likely, is population. 1.5 billion Indians have carried their food far and wide, while Sri Lanka remains an underrated culinary gem waiting for its global moment.

So when I heard about a Michelin Bib Gourmand Sri Lankan spot tucked away in Kuala Lumpur, my curiosity was instantly piqued. Aliyaa sits in one of KL’s odd, mismatched pockets. A so-called party strip lined with a British pub, a couple of clubs, and late-night burger stalls. It feels like the wrong restaurant in the right place: white tablecloths, soft lighting, the sort of setup that prepares you for foie gras.

The menu, however, is charmingly bare and cryptic. Sri Lankan dish names are offered without a single clue as to what they might actually be. A little description would’ve gone a long way. As it stood, it was culinary roulette.

Ordering drinks shouldn’t have been difficult, but somehow it was. Asking for water turned into an unexpected piece of dinner theatre. I felt like a confused tourist negotiating a burger with no pickles, except all I wanted was water. We eventually got there, after some laughs and a few too many apologies.

The food itself required less diplomacy. We ordered a spread of dishes we couldn’t pronounce, and Google became our silent third diner. We thought about asking for recommendations, but given the water saga, we decided not to push our luck.

I’ve always loved the chaos of everything arriving at once, a table full of dishes you grab, swap, steal, and share. So when I noticed the table next to us guarding their plates like a Gavin and Stacey curry-night reenactment, I wanted to tell them: are your stomachs not bored? It keeps your palate awake instead of hammering it with the same bite on loop.

We ordered a selective range: chicken sothie, fish poriyal, tempered okra, pol roti, and Ceylon roti. The chicken sothie was the instant star; deep red, clearly simmered into mellow perfection, rich but not heavy. The chicken was tender, the sauce fragrant and creamy without a hint of clag. Made for a perfect mop up with the selection of rotis.

The pol roti was interesting. Coconutty and dense, it drifted into chewiness, losing a little freshness and edging toward overdone. Still flavourful and unique, but not at its best. The same goes for the Ceylon roti, which was just slightly chewy but had a nice buttery flavour.

And then the okra, my forever favourite underrated vegetable. No, I can’t explain the slimy goo situation; yes, it’s part of the charm. Aliyaa’s okra was exceptional: cooked with onions, garlic, and subtle spices I couldn’t name but definitely appreciated. Bright, savoury, refreshing—the perfect palate cleanser between richer dishes.

In the end, Aliyaa does something rare in KL: surrounded by curry spots, it gives you a curry experience that doesn’t weigh you down. It proves that spice, richness, and refreshment can coexist, that curry doesn’t have to be a gut-punch. For around 180RM, including drinks, you get thoughtful flavours, a relaxed atmosphere, and dishes that leave you comfortably full rather than comatose.