Auntie Mei

I grew up watching my mother and my Nyonya grandmother cook every weekend in our Katong shophouse. The kitchen smelled of candlenut, galangal and belachan from first light. By the time I was twelve, I was pounding rempah alongside them, learning which spice went in first and why.

Peranakan cooking takes patience. Buah keluak needs to be soaked for three days. Babi pongteh simmers until the pork falls off the bone. There are no shortcuts — and I wouldn't want any. These recipes took decades to perfect, and I feel responsible for keeping them alive.

When you book a table with me, I come to your kitchen with everything: the rempah, the preserved tamarind, the fresh coconut milk I've squeezed that morning. You sit with your guests. I cook. The food lands on your table the way it landed on mine growing up.