This scene is a familiar one in Malaysian neighbourhoods: the coffee shops, affectionately referred to as kopitiam, are packed to the brim with people getting breakfast as early as seven in the morning. It’s steamy and noisy, with patrons yelling out their orders to hawker stall owners along with a vague gesture in the direction of their seats—the owners nod without looking up, hands busy blanching noodles or chopping up poached chicken. Surprisingly, they will remember the orders down to the detail and know where the patrons are seated. At times, you may not even get your own table—but it’s okay. Just seat yourself at an empty seat with another party because nobody really minds.
Later in the morning, the kopitiam slows to a lull. Most people would have already left to start their day, having had their sustenance. The only ones remaining would be a table of elderlies who have no real plan for the day, sipping on a cup of thick local coffee, reading the newspaper, and engaging in conversation with each other and stall owners. The kopitiam is their third place; not home, not work, but a third spot to spend time at, where they will reliably find companionship in others.
Beyond being a third place, hawker stalls—and by extension, kopitiams—have become an institution so entrenched in Malaysian society. Every neighbourhood has at least one, with some people making pilgrimages to famous shops just to try that one stall specialising in a specific dish. Generations of family members living in the town may visit the same stall for years, with some having grown up with the hawker stall owners’ kids as well.
One such chicken rice hawker stall in Kota Kinabalu, for instance, has 37 years of history. “And it still has the same, good old taste I remember from 20 years ago,” said Eugene Chiu who owns Mizumizu Coffee, a cafe in Kota Kinabalu. “The owner, nicknamed Botak by his regulars, is a character who’s very loved by the local community.” Chiu then regales a story from one recent visit, where he saw a 100-year-old man who came to dine at the stall. Botak, he said, took the effort to debone this centenarian’s chicken wings and gave him extra cucumbers according to his preference. In a conversation later, Botak told Chiu that this centenarian had been his customer for more than 30 years. “Honestly, this was an amazing sight to me. These sorts of customer connections are irreplaceable—I really have the utmost respect for them [hawker stall owners].”
Just another job
Heartwarming stories like these are not uncommon, yet the reality is that the future of hawker stalls is shaky. After all, hawker stall operators started out as that because it was a low-entry way to earn a living. They would wake up in the wee hours of the morning to begin preparations such as heading to the wet market for supplies and cooking the bases needed for the food they were serving. Margins were low and these hawker stalls opened nearly every day with no rest just so they could earn enough money to feed their families. Some would even bring their young children to work, with these kids learning from a young age to count money and carry trays of piping hot soup noodles to tables. If they were lucky enough to be successful, the owners could even pay their children’s way to universities, in hopes of giving them a better future with a lucrative career, not needing their kids to work as hard as they did. These parents likely imbued it in their children’s minds to not follow the same path they did—after all, a cushy office job was the standard back then.
While it isn’t wrong for them to want their children to live comfortably, this sows the seeds of a future where hawker stalls may not be part of. Second, maybe third-generation children of hawker stall owners may not want to take over the business. Heritage family recipes get lost, and in the process, a part of our culture too. How often have you heard people lamenting that they missed a grandparent’s signature dish, but could not recreate it because their parents did not care to learn it? “Old recipes” are an intangible part of our cultural heritage, increasingly disappearing from our modern world in light of quicker options and trendier cuisines.
Returning to our roots
That said, not all is lost. Not every child or grandchild of a hawker stall owner decides to pursue a comfortable office job. Some grew up with the business—quite literally—and began helping out at the stall, never stopping. Others forged their own path, learning new things, and then returning to the family business to help out or make things better. For third-generation owner Anthony Koon of Sin Kiew Yee Shin Kee Beef Noodles in a kopitiam in Taman Tun Tan Cheng Lock in Kuala Lumpur, his goal was to preserve exactly the flavour and legacy that his grandfather left behind. The hawker stall had been in existence since 1949 and recently attained a Bib Gourmand at the Michelin Guide Kuala Lumpur & Penang 2025.
“The customers that come aren’t just new faces. I’ve had people telling me, ‘You know, my grandfather used to patronise this stall’ and it brings them a lot of good memories every time they return,” said Koon. Seeing these returning customers gives Koon a lot of nostalgia and encourages him to continue on with the business and maintain the same flavours people remember the store for. “I hope this flavour allows people to keep coming back and tell others that their grandparents or relatives used to visit our stall,” he said hopefully.
Balasivam Neelamegan, also a third-generation owner of recent Bib Gourmand awardee Ravi’s Claypot Apom Manis in Penang agrees with Koon. The century-old sweet appam stall in Jalan Burma has a long legacy, and Balasivam’s father—Ravi himself—inherited it from his father. “My goal is to preserve and maintain my father’s recipe that he cultivated from my grandfather,” he explained. When asked if he would want to carve his own legacy for the heritage stall, he said that he would not want to create new dishes or invent a new taste. “I think it’s enough for me to maintain the [inherited] taste of our claypot apom manis.”
Will hawker stores continue to be a Malaysian institution in the future? The landscape may change in decades to come, but for now, we remain hopeful that there are still enough people who want to continue this bit of cultural heritage we have left.
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