In 2025, malatang was everywhere on our feeds. Trending across Peninsular Malaysia, filling up KL and Penang, spilling out onto weekend queues. But in Kuching — nothing. And for our Muslim friends and neighbours, it was even further out of reach.
We looked around and asked a simple question: why should our community have to travel to Peninsular Malaysia — or skip out entirely — to taste one of the most exciting food trends in the region? Why couldn't it be right here, in the city we call home, made in a way that welcomes everyone at the table?
We didn't have an answer. So we built one.
The gap. And the worry.
We won't pretend we weren't worried.
We were introducing a food most of our Muslim friends and neighbours in Kuching had never had the chance to try — because until then, none of the malatang here was Muslim-friendly. That was the gap. That was the reason we existed.
But it also meant we were starting from a strange place. What if the flavours didn't land? What if the community we built this for never came through the door? We knew the risk.
We opened anyway.
What "Pergh" means.
"Pergh" is a Sarawakian exclamation. The kind of sound you make when something surprises you in the best way — a bite that stops the conversation, a bowl that makes you close your eyes for a second. It's what our aunties say when the food is too good. It's what our friends say when they can't finish, but keep eating anyway.
You say it like "perg" or "purh" — the h stays silent, more of a short breathy gasp than a proper sound. It's a piece of Southeast Asian slang for awe, amazement, wonder. The kind of reaction that arrives before words do.
We didn't want a name that sounded like every other restaurant. We wanted a name that felt like the reaction we hoped to earn.
Made for our community.
From day one, Pergh was built for the community around us — starting with our Muslim friends and neighbours who love bold food but too often have to skip out. Every ingredient we bring in, every soup base we develop, every kitchen decision we make is checked against one question: would we serve this to our own family?
No pork. No lard. No shortcuts on flavour.
We're not halal-certified yet — we're honest about that. But being Muslim-friendly isn't a marketing line for us. It's how the kitchen was built. It's the reason we exist.
Our way.
Our stocks are simmered for long hours — patient, slow, unhurried. That's where the natural sweetness comes from. That's where the creamy body comes from. There's no shortcut to it.
Our mala blend carries three levels of heat: a warm hum, a confident kick, and Pergh. All three carry the depth of aromatics that made us fall for malatang in the first place.
Our fridge is stocked with over 60 ingredients — proteins, vegetables, mushrooms, tofu, noodles, and the good stuff (cheese tofu, jumbo beef balls, fish roe dumplings). You pick what you want. We weigh it. RM6.90 per 100g, flat. No premium tiers. No math to do at the counter.
You choose your soup base. We cook it fresh. You pick up when your number is called.
Metrocity is home.
We're at Metrocity, Kuching. Open Tuesday to Sunday, 12pm–10pm. Closed on Mondays because even the best bowls need a day of rest.
Bigger chains have opened after us. Smaller ones have too. We're proud to have been the first Muslim-friendly malatang in Kuching — but honestly, we're prouder that our community keeps coming back. For the food, sure. But also for the warmth, the hospitality, and the space we've tried to build for people who never thought they'd get to taste this.