In Penang, even breakfast carries the quiet poetry of travel. This plate — two generous toasts layered with diced vegetables and a fan of avocado, a soft heap of scrambled eggs, a handful of greens on the side — feels like the kind of pause I often look for when wandering through George Town’s humid streets. There’s something intimate in the way morning light falls on a simple meal, the way wooden textures of the café table frame the scene, hinting at the slow rhythm of a place that has learned to blend cultures without losing its soul.
What I love in this image is not the food itself, but what it suggests: the contrast between Penang’s chaotic markets, where hawkers shout over each other, and this moment of stillness where the world reduces to colour, texture, and quiet appetite. The avocado, sprinkled with spices, echoes the city’s layered identity — Malay, Chinese, Indian, expat, wanderer — all meeting on a single slice of bread. The scrambled eggs, imperfect and warm, carry the comfort of routine amid the unpredictability of travel.
It’s a breakfast you taste, but also a breakfast you remember — because in Penang, even the ordinary becomes a story.
I spent a week in Penang last September, together with my Brother Aik Beng Chia, moving from photography to beers, back into photography. Shoot with Leica Q3 43 at the Been Sprout Cafe (link)
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