For Sarawakians living abroad, there are certain flavors that never quite leave our hearts. No matter how many years go by or how far we roam, there’s always a taste that lingers in our memories. And for many of us who grew up in Kuching, that taste comes in the form of a steaming hot bowl of legendary beef noodles from the Open Air Market.
There’s just something about it — the aroma, the texture, the flavor, and most importantly, the feeling. A bowl of noodles, yes, but it’s also a bowl of memories, tradition, and the taste of home.
Recently, I had the chance to revisit this classic dish — a humble yet iconic staple in Kuching’s hawker scene that has been around for decades. But this time, it hit a little differently. It was a bittersweet moment, knowing that the old uncle who used to run the stall — the man who had become a fixture in so many of our childhood food memories — had passed away not too long ago. His presence, once so dependable and constant, is now a memory. But his legacy continues. His son now runs the stall, holding on to his father’s recipes, techniques, and spirit — making sure that Sarawakians, no matter how far they’ve traveled, still have a place to return to.
And what a place to return to.
The Open Air Market in Kuching is no ordinary food centre. It was the first proper food court of its kind in the city — a place where hawkers gathered under a shared roof, offering everything from kolo mee to rojak, sio bee to teh c peng. It was our very own melting pot of flavors before “food courts” became a modern thing. Built decades ago, the Open Air Market sits just a short walk from the old courthouse and central padang, smack in the heart of old Kuching town.
Back in the day, it was where the early risers got their kopi o before heading to work, and where night owls grabbed their final bites after a long day. The market operated from morning until late night, drawing in everyone — families, students, blue-collar workers, even the occasional tourist who had been tipped off by a local.
For many Kuchingnites, Open Air wasn’t just a place to eat. It was a place to gather. It was where aunties brought their children for a morning treat, where uncles sat discussing the news over kopi, where couples had their first cheap date, and where, through the decades, stalls earned reputations, regulars, and in many cases — legendary status.
And among those legends, the beef noodle stall stood out.
The stall didn’t need a fancy name or a neon sign. It was just known. You’d point and say, “The beef noodle stall, that one,” and everyone would know exactly where you meant. Run by a quiet, determined old man, the stall was famous for its perfectly balanced beef broth, springy noodles, and tender slices of beef — often including tripe and tendon for those who loved the full experience.
He was always there. Day after day, year after year. He didn’t smile much, but he served with heart. Watching him work was a kind of ritual — the steady hands, the ladle dipping into the bubbling pot, the slicing of beef, the quick garnish of coriander and scallions. The bowls came out hot and ready, often accompanied by a side of chili sauce that packed a Sarawak-style punch.
He barely said a word, but he didn’t need to. His food did all the talking.
And now, his son carries that conversation forward.
It’s a quiet kind of succession, one that doesn’t announce itself loudly but is deeply felt. The first time I saw the son behind the stall, I stood there for a moment longer, just taking it in. He had his father’s mannerisms — a little more modern in style maybe, but the same steady hands, the same thoughtful focus. And when I took that first bite, I was overwhelmed — not just by taste, but by emotion.
Because it tasted just like it used to.
Sure, maybe the edges are slightly different. Maybe the broth has his own subtle signature now. But the heart is the same. And in that moment, I knew — the legacy lives on.
That’s the thing about hawker stalls like this. They aren’t just places to get food. They’re living history. Every bowl of noodles tells a story — not just of ingredients and technique, but of family, of culture, of time passing and traditions being held tight.
And I want my daughter to know that.
She’s homeschooled, and she has special needs. So we’ve made it a part of our weekly rhythm to explore the food heritage of Kuching — one stall at a time. I bring her to places like the Open Air Market not just to eat, but to learn. To absorb the rhythm of a place that raised me. To see the sights, hear the sounds, and taste the flavors that shaped so many of our lives.
At first, she was a little unsure. The noise, the unfamiliar smells, the crowd. But over time, she’s grown to love it. She looks forward to our little food adventures. And the beef noodles? They’ve become her favorite. There’s something about watching her enjoy that bowl — the same one I enjoyed as a child — that gives me hope. Hope that she’ll carry these memories with her, just as I’ve carried mine.
I point out to her the metal tables, slightly worn from decades of use. The stalls, some refurbished, some still proudly old-school. The faded signs. The plastic stools. The way uncles still call out their orders in a blend of Hokkien and Bahasa Sarawak. And I tell her stories — of how I used to come here with Ah Ma, of the time I spilled a whole bowl and cried, of how this place used to be the go-to after Sunday church.
She listens quietly. She asks questions. She’s learning — not just about food, but about belonging.
Because the truth is, in Kuching, food is never just food. It’s community. It’s culture. It’s our identity.
And this beef noodle stall, tucked into the middle of our city’s first food centre, is a beautiful example of how food binds us to our roots.
Even as the city grows — with new developments, flashy cafes, and big malls — the Open Air Market stands like a quiet elder. Still there, still serving, still holding space for memories. It reminds us that progress doesn’t have to mean forgetting where we came from.
In a time when many hawker stalls are slowly disappearing — either because the next generation moves on, or because the land gets redeveloped — this story of continuity is worth celebrating.
So, to the son who continues the stall: thank you. Thank you for not giving up. Thank you for honoring your father’s legacy, for keeping the broth simmering, the noodles springy, and the memories alive.
To all the overseas Sarawakians reading this — I know your hearts are aching a little right now. Maybe it’s been years since you’ve tasted a proper bowl of local beef noodles. Maybe your kids don’t even know what Open Air Market is. Maybe, like me, you’re promising yourself that the next time you’re back, that’s the first place you’ll go.
Do it.
Go back. Bring your kids. Bring your partners. Sit down at those metal tables. Order the beef noodles. Take that first slurp, and let it wash over you — the memories, the warmth, the connection.
Take a photo. Share it with your cousins abroad. Tell the story. Pass it down.
Because places like this are rare. And they’re precious. And they’re worth protecting.
So here’s to the Open Air Market — Kuching’s first food court, still feeding souls one bowl at a time.
Here’s to the legendary beef noodles — still bringing us home, even from across the world.
And here’s to the next generation — may they taste what we tasted, feel what we felt, and carry on the stories that matter.
Until then, let’s keep Sarawak close to our hearts. No matter where life takes us, may the memory of a humble hawker stall and a bowl of beef noodles always remind us who we are — and where we belong.
