COMMENTARY, Oct 31 — Be it a cup of robust kopi-O or frothy cham, there is nothing quite like a kopitiam brew to wake one up good and proper.

But why, you ask?

I will tell you why: For some mornings are more difficult than others.

We don’t want to wake up and rise from our comfortable beds. We rue our decision the night before to set the alarm clock. Why didn’t we get blackout curtains?

Let’s be honest; we have all had mornings like these.

However rough the previous day, however calamitous the week has been, we still get up. We have to. We have work and we have responsibilities. We have people who count on us.

No shame in making things just a smidgen easier on ourselves though. For me, at least, this is where my kopitiam mornings are a salve. This is how a Malaysian breakfast ritual sustains me in the long hours ahead, come rain or shine.

If the former takes place — say a heavy monsoon shower right after dawn — one might regard a trek to the neighbourhood kopitiam to be inconvenient at best, insanity at worst.

But when the sky is pouring, I would argue all the more reason that we need something more than just a simple caffeine fix (easily remedied at home with instant coffee or pour-over brews for those with more time on their hands).

The toasty aroma of kopitiam coffee is inimitable: the caramelised notes of sugar added during the roasting process; likewise the rich, nutty flavour of butter or margarine ensuring a glossiness to the beans and a slick, appetising sheen to the final cuppa.

Forget flat whites or long blacks. There is more creaminess to a kopi sweetened with evaporated milk or condensed milk (sometimes both in the case of a kopi yin-yong-lai). There is more depth in a charcoal-black kopi-O.

And if we are missing the morning sun, then surely a golden army of "egg pots” will help to fuel the day ahead. You know the ones I’m talking about, the ones with a canary-yellow base and lid, reminiscent of the most cheerful rays of sunshine.

Perhaps the true draw is the translucent middle vessel holding the hot water and the eggs. Shaped almost like a rotund hourglass, it beguiles us with the slow drop in water level, promising a treat once it’s done.

How enchanting and enigmatic: it’s a performance you could watch for hours, not unlike the ebb and flow of the tides, but this one is over in minutes. We are hungry, after all.

I know I am. Removing the lid might sometimes reveal a surprise... and a lesson. Sometimes there is a fracture in the shell and some egg white manages to escape.

Cooked in the hot water, the rascally runaway now resembles a snow-white cloud suspended in mid-flight. The rupture isn’t a defect, then, but an opportunity to discover the beauty in imperfection.

Water drained, we pick an egg up and marvel at its shape. How smooth. No edges to speak of.

(Fans of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll might remember Humpty Dumpty in its sequel Through the Looking-Glass. Most will also recall the anthropomorphic egg’s fate; in which case, consider this foreshadowing.)

Now comes the fun part: We crack the egg and let its contents spill out onto the prepared saucer. Not one to waste, we spoon out every bit of goodness.

No, this isn’t macabre; it’s mouthwatering.

But patience! We are nearly there but the dish is not quite complete. A dash of ground white pepper for the fermented perfume and mildest hint of spice. A splash of light soy sauce to coat the gold and the ivory with ebony-umami savour.

Our half boiled eggs are now ready, to slurp as they are, or better yet: the wise ones amongst us would have already ordered some roti bakar with aromatic kaya and rich butter for dunking.

The fragrant pandan and coconut milk infuse the sometimes smooth, sometimes grainy kaya with a taste no Western jam can hope to match. The cold butter slowly melts in the embrace of the hot, crunchy toast.

All of this soaking up the runny, rhapsodic wholesomeness of the half boiled eggs. Every mouthful is a race against time before our food gets cold. How thrilling!

This is, as I have told family and friends alike many times before, the breakfast of champions.

(Family and friends, but poor strangers too, if I can ensnare any long enough to listen to me babble. Indeed, dear reader, if you have come this far, you may count yourself amongst their number.)

All I need to start my day: a hot cup of kopi O (when I’m feeling resolute) or creamy cham (the melodious marriage of coffee and tea a balm when I’m indecisive). Half boiled eggs and roti bakar.

And I suspect all you need too, to start yours.

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