A Johor family, a rented corner house in PJ, and the food our mothers cooked. Weekend mornings the whole spread comes out as a buffet.
That's our real family home in Johor Bahru — the terracotta roof, the two arches, the white gate. When we drew the logo we didn't invent anything; we just drew home.
We've rented a corner house in Petaling Jaya and rebuilt that feeling inside it: long tables, the kitchen door open, someone always making another pot of kopi.
Every weekend morning we lay everything on the long table, the way it used to be when relatives turned up unannounced. No menu, no waiting. Sit, eat, go back for more.
Aiza learned to cook standing on a stool beside her grandmother in that house in Johor Bahru, stirring the asam pedas before she could reach the counter. She still refuses to measure anything.
After years of cooking for the family every Raya and every kenduri, she's cooking for everyone else. The kitchen door stays open; she'll probably come out to ask if you want more sambal.
Chef. Runs the kitchen, and most of us.
Tastes everything, approves little.
Front of house. Knows every regular by their order.
Kopi, kuih, and the occasional song.