Page 30 - foodservice Magazine July 2019

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DINING
It’s not just Malaysians in there looking for a slice of nostalgia, or former backpackers looking to relive their post-party street-side noodle dreams, it has gone beyond just being a good place to eat, and is on its way to becoming part of the city itself.
“My grandparents were the only people who believed in me, in school, through uni, only they would say, ‘you know what, maybe this guy will grow up to be a chef’. No one else said that, not even my parents,” he says. “The reason it gets me every time is I know she would be proud of me.”
His restaurant is a love letter to his grandparents and the
life they gave him. The downstairs dining room is modelled on the street he grew up on, with its lego-coloured window frames and murals of what life was like outside his grandparents’ house. Upstairs is the family home, with Khoo’s family portraits dotting the walls.
While you can still find Strathfield’s best sellers on the menu, the rest is either a direct translation of Khoo’s grandma’s recipes or his best recreation of them. Some, like the assam gulai (a spicy, sour wok-fried fish stew) are distinct in pungency and power, while others are distinct in their homely quality. Dishes like the poached lettuce; fried bean sprouts with salted fish; or the steamed eggs with preserved radish are daily peasant foods so unsexy in their basicness it’s no wonder other Malaysian restaurants in Sydney have ignored them.
Left to right: Junda Khoo and William Xie standing outside Ho Jiak Haymarket.
That’s why Xie and Khoo were scared. “We were suffering for the first three months. We were bleeding cash, we were dying,” Khoo says. They were running the 111-seater at less than $27 per seat over an entire day, and panicking. But gradually the word spread, first in the
Malaysian community and then among Sydney’s online media.
It’s come a long way since day one. Beyond street food and Khoo’s family recipes, the menu now touts Malaysian staples like nasi lemak
and nasi goreng luxurified with grilled marron, 6+ marbled Wagyu and, when the season is right, truffles.
Khoo is also exploring lesser-known specialties from Malaysia’s Indian and Malay communities. He’s already started with assam laksa (a tart, mackerel and tamarind broth generally coupled with thick, elastic noodles) and nasi kerabu (a herbal, mixed rice dish that’s blue from the use of butterfly pea flower essence, and often served with fried chicken and fish crackers). “When I talk to other chefs about it, they say ‘yeah, good luck converting people to eat it,’ but that’s my responsibility to take on,” says Khoo.
These days, seeing Ho Jiak close to empty would mean something seriously bad has happened, like a global apocalypse, or a new light rail line being constructed out the front. It’s not just Malaysians in there looking for a slice of nostalgia, or former backpackers looking to relive their post-party street-side noodle dreams, it has the same wide mixture of ages, cultural groups and class that makes you think the restaurant has gone beyond just being a good place to eat, and is on its way to becoming part of the city itself. An institution, one that eventually every Sydneysider will know.