How Kopitiams Thrive in Singapore's Modern Cafe Culture
Kopi powder brewing in a cloth strainer. Photo by Lim Eng Lam of Nanyang Old Coffee.
I had my first coffee when I was nine. Without hesitation, my dad turned to the server, an older gentleman with a towel flung over his bony shoulder. “One kopi and one kopi-o,” he said.
Kopi, which means coffee in Malay, is Singapore’s distinctly flavored thick coffee. When ordering kopi at kopitiams, traditional coffee shops, Singaporeans rattle off orders in a mix of Malay, Hokkien and Cantonese languages. There are at least 12 different kinds of kopi orders and most Singaporeans know them by heart. Kopi, my introduction to coffee as a nine-year-old, refers to kopi brew mixed with condensed milk. My dad’s go-to was black kopi with sugar, called kopi-o.
Living in Singapore in the early 2000s, going to kopitiams at eight in the morning for breakfast was nothing out of the ordinary. In loose faded tees, bermudas and flip-flops, we would sit on uneven stools around a round marble table. Most kopitiams that had been there for 30 years or more only had fans to keep the heat and humidity at bay as we sipped the hot kopi.
As a nine-year-old, stepping into a kopitiam felt like entering a place frozen in time, untouched by the modernization that marked the rest of Singapore. Tableware and furnishings were reminiscent of Singapore in the late 1950s to early ’60s, when the nation was on its way to becoming independent from Malaysia. I was always excited to use the iconic small white cup and saucer imprinted with a green floral design, pouring my drink into the saucer to cool it down as I watched other patrons do.
Grabbing a kopi from a kopitiam had always been the norm. For working Singaporeans, it has long provided a much-needed kick at the crack of dawn and, because a serve only sets them back a dollar, the additional hits they sought throughout long working days. On weekends, it was the cup over which they’d unload the week’s stresses with family and friends.
So it’s no wonder, in a city where coffee drinking is etched into the history and culture, that people flocked to the modern third-wave cafes which proliferated in Singapore’s dining scene in 2015.
As they sipped specialty single-origin blends in spaces that drew design inspiration from Australian and Japanese cafes, Singaporeans got the opportunity to feel a part of a global culture. Cafe-hopping began to boom as a pastime among Millennials and Gen-Z. This might have been a reaction to a Singaporean upbringing , that encourages people to be frugal, says Cheryl Chang, author of the paper “Kopi culture: consumption, conservatism and cosmopolitanism among Singapore’s millennials.”
“Now we get a chance to choose more expensive and premium options, we take that chance.” Despite this, Chang says that kopi and kopitiams remain unthreatened, unpressured to change, continuing to draw not only their older patrons but the younger crowds as well.
A cup of kopi. Photo by Lim Eng Lam of Nanyang Old Coffee.
The origin of kopi and kopitiams
The reach of kopi and kopitiams, which sees patrons of Malay, Chinese and Indian heritage, can be attributed to the influx of immigrants to Singapore in the 19th century. Singapore used to be part of the Malay archipelago, says Dr. Khairudin Aljunied, an associate professor at National University of Singapore who has researched the history of kopi and kopitiams. The Malay people had their own coffee culture, and when people from South China and India moved to Malaysia and Singapore, they brought their coffee practices with them.
“In all these coffee shops of different ethnic origins, you have a confluence of coffee preparation, it manifests multiculturalism,” says Aljunied. “For example, in mainland China, they don’t really drink coffee with milk, but when you go to kopitiams in Singapore, since the earliest times, you have kopi-c, which is kopi with milk.”
Kopitiams began as simple roadside stalls where migrants would gather, says Dr. Lai Ah Eng, adjunct senior fellow at University Scholars Programme, National University of Singapore, who has done research into kopi and kopitiams among other cultural heritage issues.
“Whether they ended up in a village or in a town, they would go to the grocery store, opium den, gambling den, prostitution den or kopitiam,” says Lai. The first to show up at kopitiams were laborers, hankering for a strong shot of kopi at six in the morning and needing it fast so they could make it to work early. “Everything was based on speed, accuracy and efficiency.”
Despite having roots in the working class, kopitiams are sought out today by any Singaporean who embraces the country’s food-centered culture. And if you know anything about Singaporeans, travelling to nondescript eateries to hunt down an authentically made dish or in this case, cup of kopi, is a skill they are proud to possess.
Kopi and kopitiams today
According to Lai and Lim Eng Lam, founder of Nanyang Old Coffee, Singapore’s kopitiams generally do not roast coffee beans themselves. They purchase the grounds from a supplier who roasts the beans with sugar and butter first to protect against oxidation, according to Lim. Chang explains that these high calorie ingredients were also chosen to sustain laborers in the past.
The kopi powder is brewed in a cloth strainer which resembles a handheld fishing net without holes, says Aljunied. Brewing methods vary depending on its maker. For instance, Aljunied explains that Singaporeans of Indian heritage may soak the powder in water overnight to create a thick kopi, while at Nanyang Old Coffee, Lim says they do not soak before brewing. Once brewed, the aromatic kopi is poured swiftly into the quintessential white cups. Finally, according to the customer’s order, varying levels of sugar, condensed milk, evaporated milk or ice are stirred in.
“They prepare it in the most elementary way possible, giving agency to the people to enjoy and define it in the manner they want to,” says Aljunied, who dips thickly buttered toast into his kopi to allow butter to seep in. “You develop a sense of belonging to the place through that.”
Being able to come as you are, Chang says, adds to a kopitiam’s allure. “People tend to be more informal in their mannerisms, it’s not uncommon to see an older uncle pop his leg up on the chair, stirring the kopi while talking loudly.”
Third-wave cafes, on the other hand, are associated with business meetings or special occasions because of a higher price point, so while they are attractive, kopitiams, with their culture of “chin chai” [清采] (Teochew and Hokkien for “do whatever you want”), remain a formidable option.
As kopitiams are often found below Singapore’s public housing blocks, called HDB blocks, older residents meet there to chat for hours with friends without fear of being chased out. Lai observes that even during the coronavirus pandemic, there are always a handful of older folk sitting in the kopitiam. “Because they have nowhere to go,” says Lai. “They feel they belong there.”
In addition to the sense of community and laid-back environment of kopitiams, Singaporeans crave the taste of kopi itself. “Even as I’m describing it now, I can taste it,” says Chang. Chang, who conducted research on Singaporeans’ views on local kopi versus single-origin blends, found that kopi was a source of comfort that transported young Singaporeans back to their childhood, especially those whose parents brought them to kopitiams.
“Being able to claim it as your own, saying ‘My father did this or my mother always talks about this,’ creates some sense of continuity,” says Lai.
It is trendy to have heritage in Singapore, observes Lai, and because kopitiams are becoming more historicized, young people remain interested in keeping it a part of their culture. “Singaporeans are pretty serious about food, and if they discover that it's part of their heritage, it makes it even better.”
But people are looking for more than a newly built kopitiam furnished to attain an old-world look. Even as these cleaner, air-conditioned versions of kopitiams have popped up in shopping malls over the years, Singaporeans find themselves choosing to sit in a drenched shirt as they sip the steaming cup of kopi in an open-air establishment.
“When we say something is nice, it has to do with the food itself, but it's also nice because you're in that place,” Dr. Aljunied says. “It’s nice because the uncle is the one who’s preparing it. The uncle may not subscribe to really clean standards that you see in many of these newer cafes elsewhere. But the fact that they are less clean makes people come more often.”
