She was ashamed of her father's restaurant. Now she's preserving his legacy

THE day before he died, a man asked his son to bring him one last meal from his favourite restaurant in Ipoh. It was the black pepper beef he had come to love from the Chinese halal restaurant run by Jen's father. The son went to tapau (take away) the dish before taking his father to the hospital.

He passed away the following day.

For Jen, whose full name is Jennifer Wong, the story is a reminder that her family's restaurant has become far more than a place to eat. For more than 33 years, it has been woven into the fabric of the Ipoh community, serving generations of customers who return not only for its food, but also for the memories and connections built around its tables.

Now, as her father approaches retirement, Jen is taking on the responsibility of keeping that legacy alive. After six years in the corporate world pursuing recognition and professional success, the content creator left her job early this year to preserve the very business she once felt embarrassed by and sought to leave behind.

A PLACE AT THE TABLE

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The restaurant's story began long before Jen considered taking it over.

When her father opened Restaurant Caterbest in Ipoh in 1994, he wanted to make Chinese cuisine accessible to a wider Malaysian audience. Having worked as a cook at Ipoh Swimming Club in the 1980s, he had noticed that many of the club's Malay customers were keen to enjoy Chinese food but had limited options.

"He realised, 'How come there are not many choices for Malays to eat Chinese food?'" recalls Jen, seated across from me at KL's After One cafe.

Caterbest was his answer, serving dishes such as curry fish head, butter slice fish, lemon chicken and Penang kuay teow. Although the restaurant didn't begin with a formal halal concept, Jen says her parents sourced ingredients from Muslim-friendly suppliers and took care to cater to Muslim customers.

Her father's vision was to introduce Chinese cuisine to Malaysians who might otherwise have had fewer opportunities to enjoy it. Over the years, however, the restaurant came to offer something beyond the food itself: a place where friendships took root and generations of customers became part of the family's life.

"Some of them are getting very old and some have passed away already," she says, reflecting on the familiar faces who have been returning since the restaurant first opened in the 1990s.

She speaks wistfully of longtime customers who now arrive in wheelchairs, a poignant reminder of how the restaurant has been a constant in their lives through the years. Jen remembers, too, the Malay aunties and uncles who became familiar faces, their visits woven into the family's daily routine.

"There are so many differences between us that they did not have to come and help us. But they came back and supported us as friends," she confides softly.

For Jen, that enduring loyalty is part of her father's legacy. Caterbest has become more than a restaurant serving familiar dishes; it's a place where friendships have flourished across cultural divides and generations, bound by the simple act of sharing a meal.

ON THE OTHER SIDE

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For Jen, however, the restaurant was not always a source of pride.

Growing up, she was acutely aware of how her family's circumstances set her apart from her peers. At school, she dreaded the prospect of classmates seeing her arrive in her father's restaurant lorry; so much so that she would sometimes ask him to drop her off further away to avoid being spotted.

"It was a mean thing to do to my dad because he was just trying his best to be a dad," reflects the Ipoh native.

Much of her childhood was spent within the restaurant's four walls. With her parents consumed by the demands of running the business, Jen and her three siblings grew up in its 1,400 sq ft premises, doing their homework there and, at times, even showering in the restaurant's toilet.

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It was both their home and the workplace that claimed so much of their parents' time and energy. As Jen grew older, she began yearning for a life beyond the one she'd known in Ipoh.

At university, she encountered peers whose backgrounds and lifestyles differed from her own, leaving her struggling to find her place among them. Eventually, she entered the corporate world, where she spent six years climbing the ranks to become a deputy manager.

COST OF THE CLIMB

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As she works her way through her noodles, Jen reflects on how the need to prove herself helped her navigate the pressures of corporate life. Key performance indicators, promotions and pay rises became measures of her worth, fuelling a constant drive to outdo her peers.

"I just wanted to win over my peers," she admits, adding: "I was a kiasu person because I always compared myself to them. So much so that even if I was promoted with a lesser increment, I was okay as I loved the recognition."

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But her relentless pursuit of success came at a price. She neglected regular sleeping and eating habits and was repeatedly hospitalised for exhaustion. It took the death of a colleague, however, to make her question the life she had been chasing.

Swallowing hard, Jen recalls how he died in hospital with his work laptop still on his lap. "He was someone quite close to me. I remember he was still holding his laptop when he passed away."

His death brought home the cost of a life consumed by work, forcing her to confront what she was striving for and whether professional recognition was worth the sacrifice. "I realised I couldn't do that anymore. If I were to stay in an organisation, I need to make sure that I also learn," she says, recognising that success had to mean more than climbing the corporate ladder.

COMING HOME

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Early this year, Jen officially signed off from corporate life and returned to the family business she had once been eager to leave behind.

Her decision was about more than taking over a restaurant. Having watched her father pour decades of effort into Caterbest, she'd come to appreciate the devotion and relationships underpinning what he had built.

"I see my dad, I see how he put his heart and soul into this," she says, beaming with pride.

But coming home also meant confronting the passage of time. The restaurant seemed quieter, Jen recalls, as she noticed how many of the familiar faces who had supported it since the 1990s were growing old. Some of its longtime staff were ageing, too.

For Jen, learning to run the business is still a work in progress. She works alongside her father, handling administrative duties and marketing while gradually learning the intricacies of a business she once knew only as a child growing up within its walls.

Even her father's recipes hold lessons, as she discovers the nuances behind dishes he has spent years perfecting.

Working alongside her parents has also given her a chance to know them in a different light. Jen describes the experience as being like getting to know old friends, with a new appreciation for the people behind the business that shaped her childhood.

There are, nevertheless, aspects of corporate life she misses, particularly the camaraderie of working in a team and the freedom to make mistakes within an organisation.

Running a family business offers a different kind of independence, she has learnt, but also comes with greater personal and financial responsibility. "In corporate, as long as you're willing to try and you can justify your decisions, you're still okay," explains Jen.

FACING AN OLD FEAR

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Returning to the restaurant also meant confronting a fear Jen has been carrying since childhood.

When she was still in primary school, Jen witnessed a customer berate her mother over a delayed order. As she recounts the incident, her voice falters. "When he came to the counter to pay, he threw the money at my mother, piece by piece, while scolding her loudly," she recalls.

With the family struggling financially, Jen's mother could do little but apologise quietly as she bent to pick up the money. "After the customer left, she went to the toilet and cried," Jen adds.

The incident left a deep impression on the youngster, who grew fearful of one day finding herself in her mother's position if she took over the restaurant.

That fear hasn't entirely gone away. Even now, a crowded restaurant can leave her anxious about whether the team can cope. Having seen customers berate her parents when food arrived late, she knows how quickly frustration can boil over.

"I'm learning to cope one step at a time," she confides softly.

Complaints about slow service remain part of the job. Jen acknowledges that many of the restaurant's employees are older, and says the team is working to improve its service. "We're learning to serve better every day," she emphasises.

For Jen, taking on her father's legacy means more than keeping the restaurant running; it means confronting the childhood fears she once hoped to leave behind and finding the confidence to carry the family business into its next chapter.

A LEGACY BEYOND THE FAMILY

For all the challenges of running the restaurant, Jen's ambitions extend beyond keeping the business afloat. She hopes Caterbest will remain a place where Malaysians from different backgrounds can come together over food, whether it's someone with a Muslim spouse craving Chinese cuisine or a group of Malay friends and colleagues looking for somewhere to dine together.

"I just want to provide a home through food — my dad's food," says the Ipoh-born 20-something.

In many ways, Jen is carrying forward the vision that inspired her father to open Caterbest in 1994: making Chinese cuisine accessible to Malaysians who might otherwise have had fewer opportunities to enjoy it.

Yet she has also come to see the restaurant through different eyes. What once embarrassed her has become something she's determined to preserve, not just for her family, but for the generations of customers who have made it part of their lives.

Some return because their late parents used to dine there, finding comfort in the familiar dishes and surroundings that remind them of time spent together. The man who asked for his favourite black pepper beef before going to hospital is another poignant reminder of the place the restaurant occupies in its customers' lives.

As her father approaches retirement, Jen is still learning what it takes to keep the business going. But she's beginning to understand that his legacy lies in more than the food he served. It lives on in the friendships formed around the tables and in the generations who continue to return, carrying their own stories and memories with them.

It's a legacy Jen hopes to carry forward, one meal at a time.