The Malaysian Watering Holes: Kopitiams & Mamaks
- JY
- Jan 18
- 4 min read
For Malaysians, kopitiams and mamaks are part of who we are. The post-badminton supper stop, the weekend breakfast ritual. In this Food and Travel piece, JY reflects on his experiences in these beloved Malaysian “watering holes".
Most people probably don’t remember their first time at a mamak or kopitiam.
They have always been ever-present spots; reliable places for a quick snack or a convenient hangout with friends and family. They aren’t exactly fancy or glamorous, yet they carry a warm and inviting atmosphere to gather and share memories together. The same could be said for warungs – small eateries typically owned by families. All these places hold the steady beating of community and life, where anyone could visit to find friendship and comfort from both familiar and unfamiliar faces.
While I can scarcely recall my first time at a mamak, I do remember which mamak it was. While it has been unfortunately replaced by a laundromat during the lockdown times, I do still remember it as one of the go-to places for breakfast with my family in the past. I recall the constant hum of diners’ conversations and the buzz from the shaky ceiling fans. At the back, several workers manned an open-air griddle, cooking and serving up a never-ending variety of rotis. From the basic roti kosong to the looming roti tisu, they would work tirelessly over the heat, tossing and flipping doughs into their crispy savoury forms.
This place was also where I occasionally got to drink teh tarik, or even more rarely, a chilled glass of bright pink sirap bandung. When I was younger, I didn’t often get to enjoy both cold and sweet drinks — partly due to asthma, and partly because these were likely some of the sweetest beverages imaginable. These glasses of drinks likely had more sugar content than an average jar of honey, and yet I savoured every sip like it was ambrosia.
The mamak was frequented by the same old faces, from the uncle reading a newspaper in the corner to the group of bikers who would always stop by on weekend mornings for breakfast. Perhaps it was the inviting feel of a mamak, status and age always seemed to fade away whenever you step in. Everyone came here to eat and enjoy good hot food, be it elderly patrons, teenagers and young adults. Sometimes, I wonder what happened to those people.
In my youth, kopitiams were always a must-visit after my badminton practice. There was a kopitiam right next to the badminton courts where I trained, making it the perfect spot for a quick meal or a soft drink. One of the hawker stalls was owned by my teacher’s husband, who was kind enough to occasionally sell my friends and I chicken rice at a discount. Sadly, I haven’t eaten there in a year, but I can still remember what made the spot special.
I remember playing the old Plant vs Zombies 2 at the oversized round tables, shouting over the clamorous din of workers and customers. To me, that kopitiam was a place of community, where people felt seen without being noticed. You could simply just join a stranger’s table if it was too busy, and easily strike up a conversation with them while enjoying an Ipoh hor fun or some Penang char kway teow. Without realizing it, you could make a lifelong friend in such a place.
Nowadays, times have changed. I visited a mamak with some friends last month far from campus. We were served by short robots in an air conditioned room. Cold, unfeeling automatons with about as much depth and soul as a metal could hold. We even had to place our orders through a QR code pasted on the table. If not for the few workers milling about, I would have thought the mamak was entirely automated. The machines couldn’t even properly serve our meals; we had to reach into their compartments to fumble and yank out our dishes. It’s understandable that restaurants want to save costs by adopting robot workers, but I believe that human workers contribute to the soul of a diner. Sadly, I suspect that in 50 years, most restaurants would likely shift toward automation. After all, why pay a human worker for decades when one could just buy a robotic one once, and never pay it again? Still, I hope the mamaks and kopitiams as we know and love will continue to exist for the foreseeable future.
To lose these iconic mamaks and kopitiams would mean to lose part of ourselves. They are part of our country’s culture, and part of some of our fondest memories. As long as someone wishes to fry up an Indomee under the heat, and as long as someone wants to enjoy a good cheap meal with friends, these Malaysian watering holes will continue to live on despite the test of time.
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