Know Your Local: Cik Mek Molek
When I swung by SS3’s Selera Wawasan to find Cik Mek Molek closed on a Thursday morning, my heart dropped. Various sources told me that they would be open Mondays to Fridays, 7.30am to 2pm. Yet here I was, standing in front of the hole-in-the-wall stall, its shutters staring impassively back at me. I went back the next day with high hopes, but alas, they were still closed. I have only heard of Cik Mek Molek’s name, seen close-up shots of their brilliantly blue nasi kerabu and read stories about the unlikely duo who runs the shop (neither of them a cik). But there was something about this little nook in a nondescript food court that promised a story I knew I would love to tell.
So, I returned on Monday to find that well, third time’s the charm.
While moving along the stretch of stalls, I noticed a lanky Chinese man speed-walking to serve a plate of nasi lemak, a friendly grin on his face. Following his footsteps, I soon found an open-for-business Cik Mek Molek and realised that this was the man I saw in newspaper clippings. Ong is accommodating, to say the least. He was clearing my table when I ambushed him with an interview request, and it wasn’t long before he sat down with my bowl of laksam and I for a chat. Co-owner Kadri kept to his routine in the kitchen, as customers continued to drop in. I would later find out that they had fallen sick the week before and thus, decided to close the stall for a few days. Ong seemed glad that I came back. So was I.
Kadri bin Sarimin and Ong Seng Thean first met in a restaurant where Kadri worked as a chef some 10 years ago, and it was his delicious cooking that became a topic of conversation with then-customer Ong. The two became good friends and have remained so since. Both 54 this year, they’ve always had business plans in mind and with Kadri who loves to cook and Ong who loves to eat, the food biz was a no-brainer.
It was about two years ago when Kadri returned from his overseas stint that Ong left his longtime job in an FMCG to venture into this humble but honest business of a stall. The location is not an incidental one — it took over a year to sort out the application and another in waiting, before they secured the small lot in this government-owned food court. Ong explains that they wanted to showcase satisfying Malay food and earn just enough to live comfortably; nothing more. A full-blown restaurant or even just a slightly bigger space would mean dealing with staff schedules, fixed overhead costs and other liabilities that they simply didn’t want, especially not at this age.
“Next year I turn 55, I’ll have my EPF and I’m ready to retire! But we’ll still have this place and it will be how we pass time.”
Looking at my bowl of laksam on the table, I asked which one of them was from Kelantan. Ong slipped in a chuckle and replied: “Neither!” He is Taiping-born, while Kadri hails from Johor. So how did the East Coast dishes end up their stall specialties? Ong credits his partner’s experience in the field. Years in the industry left Kadri with an impressive portfolio under his belt — Pan Pacific Hotel in Johor Bahru and Hilton Hotel PJ, to name a few, but the foremost would have to be the time he spent cooking for a Malaysian diplomat in Sweden. The ambassador’s Kelantanese-born wife passed on recipes that eventually developed Kadri’s knack for the cuisine. A few tweaks later, Cik Mek Molek’s nasi kerabu was born.
The dish of blue-tinged rice and eight different types of freshly chopped ulam is a bestseller, often selling out as early as 1pm. At first doubtful of this claim, my thoughts were answered when an aunty came by asking for the rice, and looked remarkably surprised that it was still available near noon. A typical order comes with a fried fish, but some may opt to have the special version with ayam rendang or sambal sotong — that’s how Ong likes his. However, his favourite would have to be Kadri’s nasi lemak, along the recipes that Mak (Kadri’s mother) is to thank for: laksa Johor and lontong. Cheekily, he proclaimed that hers were even better but now that she no longer has the vigour to cook, Kadri’s version will have to do.
Everyone who came by that morning seemed like a regular, calling Ong by name, ordering their usuals and clearing their own plates — a simple practice that makes one feel at home. Customers become familiar faces who drop by a few times a week for a hearty breakfast before they go on with their day. It was the picture of peace: an old, quiet uncle nibbling on his nasi lemak as two aunties enjoy a long, languid conversation after emptying their bowls. I even got to meet Ong’s high school classmates, who patronise regularly for their fill of laksa Johor, as well as to bring their friend news of coming events and a bag of small change that they knew he would need for the business.
Apart from the defaults, a whiteboard of daily specials tell customers what to expect. But by now, most already know exactly what they are here for on the day. Mondays, it’s laksam and Tuesdays, chicken rice. The menu rotates to a mee jawa on Wednesdays and then, nasi tomato on Thursdays. Come Fridays, mornings will begin with a plate of comfort-giving mee bandung. Some have lamented that the men should expand their menu and make these dishes permanent, but they underestimate the tedious tasks that go into these homey recipes. As of yet, the two already wake at three every morning; Ong to begin chopping ulam, and Kadri to debone fish and boil broth. To keep everything fresh, each dish is prepared in small batches so there will be little to no wastage. It is a supreme priority — after all, these dishes take too much time and effort to make for them to watch it go to waste.
When it comes to the food, Ong was adamant I met the man behind it all — Kadri in the kitchen. Dressed in a lilac polo tee with an almost-matching apron tied around his waist, the chef paused for a shy smile before he continued to stir the broth with an intent look.
Behind me, a lighthearted Ong chimed in laughter, “Just take all the photos you want. Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite.”
Not wanting to disrupt the man at work, I shifted my focus to the state of the kitchen. Jars of herbs, spices and condiments line the impeccably clean counter. It was when I commented on how spick and span they’ve kept it that Kadri broke into a brighter smile.
In the kitchen, I also met Alia. A customer’s daughter-turned-helper, the sweet, petite girl is actually an interior designer by profession but picked up an interest in helping operate the shop. Before, Cik Mek Molek (meaning pretty lady in Kelantanese dialect) was a sheerly name that celebrated the Kelantanese elements in their menu. Now…
“Now when people ask me where is the Cik Mek Molek (pretty lady), I say it’s her lah!”
Like in the case of Cik Mek Molek, there is so much more to Malay food than meets the eye. Check out Burpple’s Guide to Best Places For Malay Food in KL.
