Standing the test of time

In a corner of Capital Cafe, a muggy colonial era kopitiam where little but the light bulbs have changed since his father’s times, sat Abdul Kadir Jalawi, 63, alone with his walking stick. For the past 35 years, this blind singer from the 1960s lunches here several times a week – he’s obsessed with the rojak (mixed fruits with prawn paste) and roti stim, or steamed bread, which he usually downs with a cup of strong black coffee.

Kadir’s presence has become as familiar as the cafe’s marble tabletops, wooden chairs and tiled flooring, but he’s certainly not the only customer to visit regularly.

Since its opening by Lin Kuat Hin, a Hock Chiew businessman who hails from Fuzhou, China, and his wife some decades ago, Capital Cafe has welcomed a steady stream of the famished, be it Malay, Indian or Chinese.

It is a place where corporate bigwigs eat next to mechanics, where three generations of families on shopping sprees stop for a quick bite and where occasional tourists pop by out of curiosity.

The food, meanwhile, is as diverse as the people who visit. There’s a Malay stall serving one of the best nasi padang (rice with curry) in town, an Indian stall which specialises in rojak and mee rebus (noodles in peanut sauce) as well as a Chinese stall selling pork-free Hailam noodles that’s owned by the Lins themselves.

Now 90 years old, Lin has passed on his business – and recipes – to his children, choosing instead to live out the rest of his twilight years in their family home upstairs.

Since his son Kit Yue has inherited everything but his father’s love and talent for cooking, the task had fallen on one man, a 70-year-old Chinese man with over 30 years of experience. But Teng retired several weeks ago and a Myanmar man has since taken up his spot behind the wok. Whether or not he has a knack for preparing a Hainanese speciality remains to be seen.

Lin, meanwhile, presides over the cash register, eyeing customers with an air of nonchalance. The years have been kind to him, but not to his competitors.

As Kuala Lumpur developed from a mining boomtown into a bustling capital, small kopitiam businesses on Jalan Tuanku Abdul Rahman, where Capital Cafe is located, began to fold, one by one.

Asked why Capital Cafe was spared from the ravages of time, Lin shrugs, grinning.

What was clear, however, was that the cafe has cheekily given 21st century Kuala Lumpur the middle finger by proudly flaunting its many relics. Behind Lin, old black-and-white photographs of the city taken by his brother, an avid photographer, were tacked onto a grimy cabinet while to his side hung an ageing menu written in Malay and Jawi. The former – once filled with liquor bottles – is now stuffed rusty antiques. These serve as poignant reminders of the good old days, when a piece of chicken used to cost 80 sen (US$0.25) rather than 3 ringgit ($0.95).

Bearing witness to this change was Sharil Wahab, also known as Pak Ngah by the cafe’s many visitors. Together with his younger brother Nasril, this straight-talking 60-year-old runs the cafe’s most popular stall.

The Wahabs have been around almost as long as the Lins, thanks to their father Wahab Amin, an enterprising man who started selling nasi padang to support his family after arriving from Sumatra, Indonesia in 1947. He began renting from Lin and – despite their differing languages and background – the two soon became buddies. Two generations on, that friendship is still strong. Just like their Chinese counterparts, the two Wahab brothers have dutifully taken over their late father’s business.

Every morning at 4am, Nasril heads out to the local market to buy ingredients. He then passes these to the family cook, who churns out more than 50 varieties of dishes like daging cincang (minced beef), petai rendang (bitter bean curry), bergedil (potato cutlets) and dendeng (sliced dried meat).

However, not all traditional recipes left behind by their late mother, Rahimah Tamin, have survived. Certain dishes like otak lembu (cow brains) have been discontinued to keep up with the times.

The origins of the third stall, meanwhile, is rather sketchy. Word around town is that there was an Indian man who used to wander the streets in front of the cafe selling pasembur (mixed prawn crackers and vegetables with peanut sauce) and rojak.

Lin Snr then offered him a permanent stall, and the stall has been doing brisk business at the front of the kopitiam ever since.

The Indian man has since returned to India, and the man who has replaced him is ever smiling, ever busy.

As another pre-Independence kopitiam in Kuala Lumpur had to vacate its premises last week – Yut Kee in Dang Wangi – this nondescript little cafe in the middle of the city has become even more precious.

It is one of the last remaining kopitiam outposts serving to remind us that the spirit of peaceful co-existence is with us all along.