09/10/2025
Every time we break another glass ceiling for a small country like ours, we are reminded of the giants whose shoulders we stand on.
We remember the cooks who wake before dawn to get dosas ready, the makcik and pakcik setting up their nasi lemak stalls from the trunks of their cars, the char koay teow stalls where the wok never stops cling-clanging, and the abang flipping burger specials under flickering lights late into the night.
We remember the cooks in schools, in hospitals, and in prisons. The ones in orphanages and boarding schools.
We remember the matriarchs and the custodians of our traditions, in our cities, towns, villages up and into our jungles who worry that this blessed knowledge may one day be lost.
We remember the chefs who came to this country 40, 50 years ago, full of hope and excitement for a new hotel in a new land; the ones who taught us so we could express our own hospitality.
We remember the chefs representing our country at the world stage, making bread or pastry competitions or having their own restaurants.
There is a mistake in how awards are often understood: they place the spotlight on a single chef, as if the work of a kitchen could ever belong to one person. In its very nature cooking is never solitary. A big idea is nothing without the discipline to execute it. And ex*****on is never the work of a lone hand.
These three knives are not mine alone. They belong as much to the cooks and servers, administration, management, stewards at Dewakan and Bidou as they do to me. They belong to the unique journey each one of us has had that has led us to this one point, like a trickle of water etching its way across the terrain into a mighty river.
There has never been a time when food and the people who make it are held in such high regard. Yet, at the heart of it all, sharing something to eat should still make us smile.
Even if it’s only from the inside.
Thank you
Congratulations to our fellow Malaysians 0 of
of
of .kl siri of
of .asia
Thank you