[Photos] 50 Years Of Kai Si Hor Fun On Jalan Sultan, One 75-Year-Old Owner, And No Interested Heir In Sight

For 50 years, Ho Wai Ching and her husband ran a shredded chicken rice noodles stall from a pavement in Kuala Lumpur’s Chinatown — no shopfront, no air-conditioning — until he passed away during COVID-19, leaving her to carry on alone. She is 75 now, and she still shows up every evening.

Fernando Fong

In Brief

75-year-old Ho Wai Ching has run Cing Kei for 50 years, serving unchanged kai si hor fun with hand-wrapped prawn wontons and rich Ipoh-sourced noodles.
With both daughters choosing accounting careers, Cing Kei faces an uncertain future, reflecting a wider trend of Malaysia's hawker heritage quietly disappearing.

Subscribe to our FREE Newsletter, or Telegram and WhatsApp channels for the latest stories and updates.

Every evening, 75-year-old Ho Wai Ching arrives at her stall on Jalan Sultan, sets up in front of a KK Mart, and begins making kai si hor fun (shredded chicken rice noodles) the same way she has for the past 50 years.

清記 (Cing Kei) — the stall she has run since her husband, Yok Choi Chong, passed away during the COVID-19 pandemic — is one of Kuala Lumpur Chinatown area’s most enduring fixtures.

Even through the grief of losing him and the uncertainty of a city under lockdown, she kept the stall going.

Jalan Sultan is not short of competition.

The street is lined with food stalls, each vying for the same hungry crowd passing through one of Kuala Lumpur’s oldest and busiest commercial strips.

Cing Kei has no shopfront, no air-conditioning, and no particular flair for presentation.

It is a pavement stall in front of a convenience store, and yet, it has outlasted most of what surrounds it.

The noodles come from Ipoh — silky, smooth, the kind that only hold up if the broth is right. At Cing Kei, the broth is a deep amber, rich with prawn shell and slow heat, the kind that coats the back of a spoon and lingers long after the bowl is cleared. (Pix: Fernando Fong)

The hands never stop, but neither does the conversation. Five decades of customers from every walk of life — and Ho has made time for all of them. (Pix: Fernando Fong)

Seventy-five years old, red shirt, hands still moving. In front of her, the sign says Prawn Mee — but anyone who knows Cing Kei knows the sign is just the beginning. (Pix: Fernando Fong)

Same Broth, Five Decades

The signature dish is a silky Kai Si Hor Fun, served dry or in soup, topped with fresh prawn wontons and a rich prawn-infused broth.

According to Ho, the hor fun is sourced from Ipoh — a city long regarded as producing Malaysia’s finest rice noodles, a quality attributed to the naturally soft water filtered through its surrounding limestone hills.

Each wonton is hand-wrapped with a whole prawn inside.

The broth, regulars say, has not changed.

Each wonton is wrapped by hand — plump prawns, thin skin, the same recipe Ho has used for fifty years. No shortcuts. No supplier. Just her. (Pix: Fernando Fong)

The broth is not made quickly. It simmers, it deepens, it becomes something that cannot be rushed — and Ho has never tried to rush it. (Pix: Fernando Fong)

Poached chicken, oyster sauce, fresh chives. No flourish, no plating tricks — just clean cooking that lets the ingredient speak. At Cing Kei, that has always been enough. (Pix: Fernando Fong)

Educated Away from the Stall

Ho has two daughters, aged 42 and 38, both of whom are accountants.

She has four grandchildren; none of her children works the stall.

But Ho does not say this with regret.

Like most parents, she wanted her children to have options — and they took them.

Hers is not an uncommon story.

Across Malaysia, family-run hawker stalls and traditional restaurants are quietly disappearing — not from a lack of customers, but from a lack of someone willing to carry the work forward.

The next generation, better educated and with more options, often chooses a different path.