It’s a sweltering afternoon and I’ve trekked halfway across the country for one thing: Heap Seng Leong’s famous kopi gu you (coffee with condensed milk and butter). I place my order at a counter lined with a large abacus, orange coin-operated phone from the ’70s and plastic jars filled with assorted snacks. The soot-spotted walls, strung with stained cotton kopi (coffee) filters, have seen better days. Bottles of soy sauce and pepper furnish each marble table, accompanied by repurposed medicinal jars used as makeshift sugar bowls. In the far corner of the kopitiam (coffee shop), an elderly man hunches over his afternoon pick-me-up—pausing between loud, appreciative slurps to gaze out through the shop’s entrance at nothing in particular.
The owner, Shi Pong Hsu, 80, is dressed in striped light blue pyjama bottoms and a loose white singlet. As regulars filter in, he churns out cup after cup of kopi—funnelling the liquid with just the right flick of the wrist to prevent spillage. His movements are deft, methodical and executed with a sense of familiarity, the product of having honed his trade for more than 40 years. The kopi itself is delicious. Velvety and robust, with the salt from the butter cutting through the sweetened condensed milk.
As Singapore’s continued urbanization transforms the very texture of the city at a staggering rate, places like this are increasingly harder to come by. But in this modest establishment, amidst the scraping of corrugated metal on burnt toast and the vigorous clinking of spoons, I’ve found a slice of old Singapore and a pretty good cup of joe.
Kopitiams have long been a quintessential aspect of local public life. According to Jahan Loh, author of the book One Kopi at a Time, which explores Singapore’s coffee culture, they were initially frequented by immigrant workers who couldn’t afford the tea enjoyed by their colonial British employers. Over the years, these social spaces evolved into “eating houses” that also served a range of food, though the kopi—which retails for just over $1—remains the star of the show.
“Local blends are actually only 90% coffee. The other 10% is butter and sugar,” Loh discloses. He adds that the unique roasting process used by the kopitiams suits Singapore’s humid climate, as the butter and sugar work to caramelize the beans and lock in the flavour. One proponent of this roasting method is Tang Chew Fue, 52, the fourth generation owner of Tong Ah Eating House on Keong Saik Road.
Having worked at his kopitiam since since the age of 13, Tang’s had a front row seat to the gradual gentrification of his neighbourhood. Over a spread of kopi drinks and kaya toast done four ways, he tells me how this used to be a residential area and popular red light district. Today, its shop houses accommodate chic new bars, brunch spots and offices spaces.
After rental disputes forced Tang to relocate from the shop’s iconic original location in 2013, the property was sold to foreign investors for a tidy sum. Yet when I ask if business has been affected by the growing popularity of specialty coffee shops, Tang downplays the competition. “We’re doing completely different styles of coffee,” he insists.
Although Tang reckons that the specialty coffee shops cater to a different market, there’s no denying that their rapid influx over the past few years has injected the local coffee scene with fresh energy. Aligning themselves with the third wave coffee movement—which focuses on the quality and sustainability of the beans and knowledge of the supply chain—these coffee shops have tapped into a customer base that’s thirsty for more than a local kopi or standard Starbucks latte. Aluminium filter pots and chipped glass cups are shunned in favour of sleek La Marzocco espresso machines and Chemex and AeroPress brewing equipment, while their interiors often draw inspiration from Scandinavian design.
“Two demographics that I hoped to cater to were locals who returned from living abroad and couldn’t find good coffee and people who wanted to learn more about specialty coffee,” says Ryan Kieran Tan, the owner of Curious Palette on Prinsep Street. After developing his craft at a slew of Melbourne cafes, Tan set up an operation that prioritizes educating customers about where the coffee they’re drinking comes from and how various growing regions and brewing methods yield contrasting tastes. “The surrounding soil, altitude, atmospheric composition, temperature and secondary crop all play a huge role in developing flavour,” he tells me. True to form, the Costa Rica coffee I order comes with an information card detailing the provenance of the beans. Prepared using a Kalita Wave dripper, it has a rich chestnut hue, red apple tasting notes and lingering sweetness—despite not containing a single grain of sugar.
This focus on the coffee’s source is shared by Adrian Khong of Jewel Cafe and Bar, which only serves single origin Arabica coffee from countries such as Ethiopia, Brazil and Guatemala. “I wanted to give customers a range of choices instead of just serving a house blend,” Khong reveals. “Some like a heavier body, while others prefer a more acidic taste.” Khong, like most specialty roasters, adopts a lighter roast in order to enhance the flavour of the beans without denaturing them. He also notes that his customers have become more discriminating and are now able to distinguish between coffees with different origins and brewing techniques. “Initially, people were a bit sceptical as to whether we could deliver a better cup of coffee than the chains,” Khong says. “I think that question has pretty much been put to rest.”
Connoisseurs with discerning palettes also flock to The Tiny Roaster in Clementi, founded by former home roasting enthusiasts Tiffany Joy Chan and Alex Chong. Instead of serving espresso-based drinks, they’ve chosen to limit their focus to black coffee brews. Chan tells me that this is the best way to appreciate coffee in its purest form, given that “you can really taste flowers and fruits in a black coffee.” Serving black coffee also motivates them to deliver a superior product, as Chan believes that adding sugar and milk has the potential to mask bad roasting techniques. “Black coffee is so translucent, so we have to put all our energy into roasting the beans well and producing the best cup,” she says.
Looking to the future, Tan and Chan see a gradual narrowing of the specialty coffee market as those trying to make a quick buck off the third wave trend—and without a true passion for coffee—will eventually shutter. But Khong has a slightly different take. “Although it’s getting more crowded, we are far from that saturation point,” he says, reckoning that more coffee shops will open in the outlying heartland areas to cater to customer demand.
While the future of specialty coffee looks bright, the jury’s still out on whether kopitiam culture will be able to keep up as Singapore speeds into the future. “The problem is the sunset nature of the kopitiams,” Loh says. “After this generation, none of the younger ones will want to take over the trade. It’s a dirty job and it’s not exactly glamorous.”
In order to ensure the longevity of the kopitiams, Loh thinks that Singaporeans need to “start making heroes out of their own culture” by supporting such historic institutions instead of limiting their patronage to specialty coffee shops. One can only hope that both coffee factions will be able to thrive for years to come, continuing to caffeinate the local population the best way they know how.