Insatiable Guy
Google
Nestled among the sensory overload of Bukit Bintang — where bars throb with bass, clubs ooze sweat and regret, and restaurants compete like street performers for your appetite — sits El Cerdo, a temple to the noble pig. “The Pig,” in Spanish. A name so bold, so proudly unapologetic, you know you’re in for something decadent. And possibly pork-induced enlightenment.
I arrived hungry, curious, and faintly suspicious. KL isn’t short of dining spots, but El Cerdo doesn’t so much invite you in as lure you, like a seductive matador waving a bacon-scented cape. From the moment you're seated, you’re hit with a warmth that’s not just from the lighting, which glows like golden hour in Madrid, but from the walls themselves — decked out in piglet portraits and pig figurines behind glass cabinets like some surreal porcine museum. It’s whimsical, slightly unhinged, and completely charming.
Then came the bread. Now, I’m not one to get emotional over starch, but this was served with a pulled pork spread so rich, so gloriously meaty, I briefly considered proposing to it. It made butter look like a dated ex. My only complaint? Not enough to go around. A tease. Like a Netflix trailer that ends right as the good part begins, leaving your bread tragically underdressed.
And then — oh then — the starter arrived. Rolled bacon wrapped around anchovies, piled on a crisp, gloriously dressed salad, and crowned with a tartar sauce that was less condiment, more personality. This dish didn’t just arrive — it burst onto the table with jazz hands. Salty, fatty, acidic, fresh — it hit every note like an enthusiastic mariachi band in your mouth. And the portion? Generous. Almost suspiciously so. You half expect the waiter to whisper, “Don’t tell the chef we gave you this much.”
The main course strutted in confidently, well-composed and artfully plated. Crushed potatoes flecked with lardons gave it all the right texture and attitude. The pork itself was full of flavour, seasoned with skill, but — and I say this with love — it had lingered in the oven just a touch too long. Not ruined, but a little past its prime. Like a once-great matinee idol doing panto. Still enjoyable, just not as juicy as it could’ve been.
Service throughout was a masterclass in warmth and efficiency. No robotic smiles or vacant stares — just genuine attentiveness, real pride in the food, and a few charming flourishes that made you feel looked after. It’s the kind of place where the servers actually seem happy to be there, which, let’s be honest, is rarer than it should be.
Dessert came calling, and I was more than ready. The churros with chocolate sauce sounded like a surefire finale — and they were good, just not great. A little stiff on the inside, lacking that glorious fluffy centre that churros are meant to sing with. The chocolate, though, was lush and velvety enough to make up for it, coating each bite like a silk robe on a Sunday morning. But the true plot twist? Keiserschmarrn. Yes, the Austrian shredded pancake had somehow wandered into this Spanish menu and made itself at home — and honestly, it worked. Like a surprise cameo that steals the scene. Strange? Yes. Delicious? Also yes. The dessert menu in general felt like a well-curated playlist: surprising, eclectic, but totally in tune.
All in all, El Cerdo is a fabulous ode to pork, pleasure, and personality. Yes, there was the minor sin of reused cutlery and a slight pork misfire, but these were footnotes in an otherwise satisfying chapter of gluttony. It’s a place that knows what it is — unpretentious, full of flavour, and just a little bit mad. And in a world of sterile dining experiences and identical Instagram cafes, that’s exactly what makes it unforgettable.
If you love pork, good food, and a dining room that looks like Babe the Pig got a gallery show, then El Cerdo should be inked into your KL bucket list. Come hungry. Leave slightly fatter and considerably happier.
