by Annie Mehra Cannon
Annie Mehra Cannon goes from wet market to kopitiam in the second instalment of her outsider’s insider’s guide to Kuching’s food culture. Enjoy her unique view of the city’s most beloved location, through the lens of this world traveller and global foodie.
Kopi tiam.
Or kopitiam.
“Kopi” literally means coffee (in Malay) and “tiam” means shop (in Hokkien/Hakka). The fact that this one word uses one language for its first two syllables, and another language for the second two, kind of sums up what this part of Southeast Asia is all about. In a word: Harmony.
As far as I know, only in this part of Malaysia do you see a Malay family enjoying their breakfast/brunch/lunch/dinner at one table, a Chinese group wolfing down theirs at the next and an Iban or Bidayuh group of old guys, who have regular catchups here, sipping their coffees and still deciding what to eat. And then, there’s us. I’m not sure if that’s the case in Sabah too but I’ve been told it doesn’t happen across the pond. One of the many, many reasons why I am so proud to live here.
Kopitiams are mostly found in parts of Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore, Brunei, and Southern Thailand. In Malaysia, the kopitiam is usually referred to specifically as Malaysian/Chinese and the breadth of cuisine certainly reflects that, with a few exceptions, but we’ll get to that later.
Make no mistake though, a kopitiam is not a food court, nor is it a hawker centre. And, despite its name, it is much, much more than a mere coffee shop/cafe. I expect to have an almond milk latte and avo toast at a coffee shop. If that’s what you’re looking for, you’re in the wrong place! The kopitiam is a totally unique experience, synonymous with this joyful part of the world, and one that has become an integral part of our weekend ritual. We have a favourite kopitiam of course but, as I’m not permitted to say which one, if you live here then you’ll have to try and guess. Our favourite became our regular when we tasted their laksa for the first time.
Sarawak Laksa, for those who live elsewhere, is a noodle dish bathed in a spicy soup, topped with prawns, chunks of chicken, slivers of omelet, sometimes cubes of tofu, beansprouts, and a sprinkling of coriander. Direct quote from Wikipedia (typo and bad punctuation included):
The late great Anthony Bourdain sure knew what he was talking about when he gave Sarawak Laksa the ultimate compliment, although his favourite laksa in Kuching was widely known to be at Choon Hui Café, which isn’t ours. Keep guessing…
The flavour and composition of laksa differs widely from country-to- country in Southeast Asia, state-to-state in Malaysia (22 variations here apparently), and even our own Sarawak Laksa varies from kopitiam to kopitiam. It’s a hot topic of discussion here in Kuching where everyone is adamant, often inflexible, about their own preference. Serious debate (arguments) can often ensue at face-to-face get-togethers and on various online platforms. There always seems to be someone waxing lyrical on Facebook about THE BEST LAKSA IN KUCHING. But at the end of the day, it all comes down to personal taste. Some like it really spicy, others not so much. Some prefer a thicker broth, fatter prawns, shredded as opposed to chunky chicken, more coconut taste, less coconut taste. Some like their broth red, others prefer it brown. Some want a veritable mountain of beansprouts on top. For us, it’s the extraordinary, layered complexity of the broth that “our laksa lady” at “our kopitiam” manages to achieve that keeps us coming back every weekend. We have tasted a few others of course, on friends’ recommendations, but we always seem to come back to the comfort of our ritual.
Having said that, the BEST LAKSA IN KUCHING isn’t the only reason we keep returning to the same spot. Apart from the huge variety of dishes on offer here, there’s the whole routine of getting up earlyish on a Saturday or Sunday morning (we like to do this at weekends even though kopitiams are also open throughout the week) throwing on our cheapest, darkest shirts, which hide the inevitable laksa stains and noodle drips, and heading out to our local. Sometimes it’s just my husband and me. Other times, we meet up with pals and that’s when it gets really interesting! Unlike we two creatures of habit who tend to order our small repertoire of dishes again and again, when some of our friends join us, we get more adventurous. It’s not always successful but I, for one, am willing to give almost anything a go. (Well, so far not the pork cartilage, stomach, or liver at the Teochew porridge place. Maybe give me another few years.) However, I have to admit I absolutely adore chicken feet, much to my husband’s, and even some local friends’, disgust. That unique tangy flavour, that slurpy, gelatinous texture, spitting out those teeny tiny bones… ah well, each to his own, I guess.
Our local kopitiam buzzes with life at the weekends. Malay and Chinese, Dayak and Indian, babies in highchairs making a glorious mess, elderly folks lovingly assisted by extended families. Yet, somehow, after all these years, we two orang putehs/angmohs fit in. People we don’t actually know greet us with a cheerful ‘Good morning’. Some even offer to share their kaya (coconut jam) toast or, once, runny soft-boiled eggs swimming in soy (very kind, but no thank you). Admittedly, there are a few who stare at us as if we’d just landed from Epsilon Eridani b (it’s another faraway planet – I looked it up) but that’s because they obviously don’t frequent this kopitiam as often as we do. Maybe we should offer to share our kompia (mini-Foochow bagels) with them? But no way are we going to let them have one of our cinnamon beignets (hot New Orleans doughnuts which, weirdly, have nothing to do with Malaysian, Chinese or indigenous food). So, you see, there are Western choices here too like the beignets, chicken chop and rice (still no idea which part of the chicken the chop comes from) and there’s even a pizza guy. But that’s not why we’re here. We’re here for the local stuff…and the hot, crispy, very popular cinnamon beignets at the end.
It’s 8.30am on a Sunday and our (secret) kopitiam is packed as usual. While the other half parks the car, I race in and score a table for 4 under a fan. Two friends are joining us this time. My eyes quickly scan the huge, noisy space. Yes, there are a few familiar faces and lots of smiles. But mostly, I see the older ones greedily tucking into their kolo mee or bee hoon, while the young ones are concentrating hard on their hand phones. Same, same all over the world (sigh).
The drinks lady with the beautiful steel grey bob takes one look at me and Mike and says, “Three-sour for you, madam, kosong (no sugar) and kopi o kurang manis (black coffee, less sugar) for you, sir. I didn’t even have to open my mouth. She just knew. I love this place!
Our pals arrive. This is the first time they are trying our kopitiam so we’re a little nervous. After all we’re just orang putehs. What do we know about their food? Well, quite a lot, as it turns out.
They opt for the laksa, as well as some fish ball soup, popiah (a paper-like pancake, rolled and filled with your choice of meat or crunchy vegetarian filling and then drizzled with a sweet sauce) and hor fun (flat ricenoodles filled with pork, prawns, or veggies). Mike goes for the dry spicy wontons with soup on the side. I’m in the mood for Malaysian/Indian so instead of our usual susu (naughty condensed milk) or pisang (banana) roti canai (Indian flatbread served with a side of curry sauce), we go for the sweet pani puri, perfectly round crispy balls of sticky sweet roti with a hole in the middle for the curry broth. (Word of warning: if you decide to order this, pop the whole sphere in your mouth at once or man up to the messy consequences!)
Everything arrives at roughly the same time. The table is groaning with food, drinks, plastic spoons, chopsticks, and little containers of chilli padi (diced fiery chilli in soy sauce), belacan (shrimp paste) and limau kasturi (local limes) for squeezing onto the laksa. There’s chilli vinegar too for the wontons. Apart from the laksa and the fish ball soup, we share the rest. Our friends are quite impressed although, being fusspots, they find our laksa a little on the watery side. Okay, we’ll try theirs next time. No one keeps a tab of what it all costs. Here, it’s C.O.D. – a few ringgits for each dish or drink. Whoever has the smallest change and chucks it at the server first, pays.
We naturally end the feast with the cinnamon beignets, as good as, if not better than, any you would find in New Orleans, I’m quite sure. Now that’s an oxymoron if ever there was one: “Sarawak beignets”. Our guests are now very impressed.
Finally, it’s over. Reluctantly, we all troop toward the entrance and our respective cars (free parking at the weekend is another bonus). The irresistible aroma of pork, chicken, beef, and lamb chunks on skewers, roasting over an open fire, wafts into the kopitiam and the car park from the stall outside. These will be served with a spicy, sweet, nutty satay sauce. It’s very tempting, but one more mouthful of anything and we’ll explode.
Looking at each other’s expanded waistlines, we make a pact with each other not to eat another thing until next Sunday.
Privately, we are each considering where to go for dinner that night.
All part of the gorgeous ritual.
