Early Mornings at the Laksa Cafe by Janet Tay is a rich, emotionally layered book about family, legacy, and the quiet tensions that build between generations.

Every morning before sunrise, Lim Ah Hock opens his small laksa shop in Kuching, guided by tradition, ritual, and a belief that his family’s ancestral broth is the source of both their success and protection. The broth, said to be a gift from a deity, represents everything Ah Hock values. Continuity, loyalty, and respect for the past. As his health declines and the quality of the broth fades, so too does his sense of control over the future.

His son, Wei Ming, has chosen a very different path. After years working as a chef abroad, he returns home burdened with debt, failed ambitions, and personal turmoil. When father and son are forced back under the same roof, old resentments resurface and long held disappointments come painfully to the surface. Their conflict is not loud or explosive at first, but simmering and relentless.

One of the great strengths of this book is its sensory detail. The descriptions of food are vivid and mouth watering, clearly grounded in careful research and cultural respect. Food becomes both a point of connection and a battleground, representing love, pride, and inheritance. The slow build of tension is handled with great skill, with small moments of friction gradually erupting into emotional confrontation.

I found myself frustrated with both Ah Hock and Wei Ming, and I think that is entirely intentional. One clings too tightly to the past, the other chases a future shaped by flawed ideals. In doing so, they risk losing what they already have, including their talents, their dignity, and the wellbeing of the mother caught between them.

Sensei, Wei Ming’s mentor, was a standout character for me. He acts as a moral anchor, offering guidance when ambition threatens to override integrity and trust.

This is an addictive, thoughtful, and beautifully written book about pride, sacrifice, and the difficult work of reconciliation. It lingers long after the final page, much like the memory of a meal shared at dawn.

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