The nasi lemak diaries: Lunch at Tanaair in Taman Paramount

Date of visit: 19 April 2025

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If I was rating my nasi lemak experiences on aesthetics alone, Tanaair would win hands down.

It certainly wasn't what my sister and I expected when we schlepped out to Taman Paramount, a residential neighbourhood in Petaling Jaya. I knew that PJ - a city in metro Kuala Lumpur - was teeming with foodie enclaves, but had no clue this was one of them. 

In fact, the once-sleepy suburb of Taman Paramount started trending a few years ago when hip cafés and curated thrift stores starting drawing in Gen Z fashionistas. In 2020, it even made Time Out's list of the world's coolest neighbourhoods, thanks to a single stretch of road called Jalan 20/13 - where Tanaair happens to be.

Even so, the restaurant didn't look like much at first, sitting quietly at the end of a row of drab-looking shops. Only the greenery out front and the terracotta-coloured fascia with muted brown signage gave any hint of the ambience within. 

But when we stepped out of the sun, we found ourselves in a delightful terrace with whirring fans, hanging birdcages and roll-up bamboo shutters. It extended around the side of the building, where there was a more intimate space lined with bistro tables and saplings. 

The inside - a large, airy room - merged seamlessly with the outside, joined by a row of wide-open French doors and a lofty, sloping rattan ceiling, all designed with an eye towards local sustainability.

The space pays homage to the traditional Malay kampung (village) house. Instantly recognisable, these homes are raised on stilts, with pitched roofs, full-length windows and verandas. They're also works of architectural and ecological genius - every element conceived to cool and ventilate, built without a single nail in order to withstand earthquakes and allow whole houses to be relocated with ease, and constructed with minimal impact on flora and fauna. 

In fact, local entrepreneur Ryan Wong started the restaurant as a way for him and his team of young chefs to rediscover their Malaysian roots and culinary heritage. That's also reflected in the eatery's name, a mashup of tanah (land), and air (water), meaning 'motherland' (pronounced TAH-nah ah-yer).

We were seated by a very friendly waitress. I asked for some background about the restaurant (knowing virtually nothing about it at this point). She told us that Tanaair only opened last October, and that the father-and-son team who own it - that would be Ryan Wong and his father - also run a Nordic-inspired cafe and bakery called bröom just a few doors down. 

Tanaair's menu, as you might expect, was chock full of Malaysian classics, from all over the country. But there were also some fusion dishes like curry battered fish and chips, and a version of spaghetti aglio e olio using spices like turmeric and galangal (a relative of ginger). 

We were here, however, for one reason and one reason only: a friend of a friend had told me that Tanaair does one mean nasi lemak. In fact, nasi lemak is far and away the most popular menu item. I'm lucky that my sister, visiting from Canada, likes this dish almost as much as I do, because we ended up having it four times during her holiday. 

So what exactly is nasi lemak? It's Malaysia's unofficial national dish and - practically from the first day I moved here - my official addiction. Rice cooked in rich, pandan-infused coconut milk, served with egg, peanuts, anchovies, cucumber and sambal (chili paste), often accompanied by a succulent piece of fried chicken. What's not to like? To find out more about nasi lemak and what makes it so great, see my post The nasi lemak diaries: Lunch at Ali, Muthu & Ah Hock.

Besides the traditional meatless version, there were eight protein choices on Tanaair's menu, including four types of chicken, as well as beef, mutton, squid and prawns. We went for a classic chicken option - Nasi Lemak Ayam Berempah, which was 23.20 Malaysian Ringgit (RM) or £3.96. 

Ayam berempah - also called ayam goreng berempah - means 'spiced fried chicken'. Unlike its cousin ayam goreng ('fried chicken') - which is another popular accompaniment to nasi lemak - it isn't battered. Instead, it's coated with a spice paste (rempah), which includes lemongrass, shallots, garlic, ginger, curry leaves and spices. Another distinction is that the rempah is itself also deep-fried, creating an irresistibly crispy, flossy garnish that's heaped on top of the chicken.

What came out was the best-looking nasi lemak I've had in KL. The plating was unusual, with the chicken and sambal served separately. The banana leaves were a nice touch too, even if the larger one looked like it had seen better days. And the portions were the most generous I've had - which was a good thing, since we were sharing (in our defence, we were going to bröom and another nasi lemak restaurant right afterwards).

The rice tasted distinctly of coconut and pandan (a tropical herb that tastes a bit like vanilla), and the rempah sprinkled on top was a lovely detail. The grains were wonderfully fluffy and dry, the result of using basmati - which we thought a little surprising for nasi lemak. This is, until a couple of days later when we went to Village Park - one of the most established and famous nasi lemak purveyors in the KL area - and discovered that they use a blend of rice varieties, including basmati.  

The sambal, presented in a pretty bowl with a pandan leaf garnish, was far more plentiful than the couple of tablespoons you normally get (if that). Southeast Asia boasts hundreds of varieties of sambal; in Malaysia, nasi lemak traditionally pairs with sambal tumis. It's a thing of beauty: red chillies, fermented shrimp paste (belacan) and aromatics - like shallots, garlic, galangal, lemongrass and turmeric root - cooked low and slow, then finished off with tamarind water, palm sugar and salt. (I made it a few times back in London, in industrial quantities, and it was so addictive I would eat it by the spoonful, straight from the jar.)

There are probably as many opinions about sambal as there are versions of it. Personally, I prefer sambal tumis mild and sweet. Tanaair's was a bit hotter than what I've usually had and not very sweet, but there was a good balance of flavours. I also loved the chunks of caramelised onion in it; normally, everything is ground up. And best of all, it was free-flow, though we somehow missed the note in the menu (perhaps just as well!).

Nasi lemak typically comes with half a hard-boiled egg. We got a whole one, which was decently cooked, although the yolk could have been a bit creamier.

The deep-fried anchovies (ikan bilis) were as crispy and tasty as any I've had. The peanuts, not so much - they tasted slightly burned, and could have been a tad crunchier. But both were substantial enough to feel like a proper part of the meal, rather than garnish.

The addition of water spinach (kangkung) was unusual, and in my opinion, unnecessary. It didn't have any flavour, although it did carry the sambal very well.

And then there was the chicken: a large leg quarter with beautifully spiced, crackly skin, smothered in fragrant rempah. Disappointingly, however, the meat was a little overcooked. 

Overall, it was a terrific nasi lemak - a 9/10 - not just in terms of taste, but also presentation and portion size. 

Tanaair does a decent cup of coffee too. I had the Kopi Tanaair - RM7.80 (£1.33) - their house brew made with locally roasted coffee beans, evaporated milk and sugar. Kopi means 'coffee' in Malay, but refers specifically to Malaysian-style coffee. It deserves its own post because there are about a million ways to define and customise it, and a whole lingo you need to learn. Even locals get confused about what exactly is in a basic kopi, let alone its variations. Suffice to say that kopi is usually a dark, strong brew made from coffee beans roasted with margarine and sugar, served with some form of concentrated milk and sugar. 

Altogether, we paid RM34.10 (£5.83), including 10% service charge. At RM23.20, Tanaair's nasi lemak was the most expensive I've had in KL. Usually it's around RM15, give or take a couple ringgit, if you get it with fried chicken. But for what we had, combined with the service and ambience, it was worth it.

As we finished up, I googled Tanaair and came across an interview with Ryan Wong - then looked up and saw the man himself rushing past the restaurant, presumably on his way to bröom. We were headed there ourselves - which sadly meant we had to skip the mouthwatering kuih and classic bakes on display at the counter. Kuih are traditional bite-sized snacks which are often sweet but sometimes savoury, and made using just about any process imaginable. To make things a bit less vague(!) I can add that, in my experience, kuih often contains glutinous rice/rice flour, coconut and/or palm sugar.

If you're sensing a theme here, you're not alone. There's much in this country that defies description, whether it's kuih, coffee, sambal or society. Nothing is as it seems - and for me, that's part of the mystery and magic of living in Malaysia. 

Visit Tanaair on their website and on Instagram and Facebook.

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