Reality Bites is a feature series focused on the relationships people have with food, what kinds of cooking they’re inspired and sustained by, and the ingredients and tools that help them along the way.
Rahel Stephanie can often be spotted at the “Big Tesco” — she’ll go in for oat milk and end up spending hours there. It’s therapeutic, she says. Her emotional connection to food goes back to her childhood in Indonesia, where food functioned as a way to connect with community. This same ethos drives her work today; through her supper club, Spoons, her food zine, PEDAS, and her radio show, she brings Indonesian food and culture to a global community. We caught up with Rahel about food as a language, her grandfather’s impact on the way she approaches food, and Saturday morning noodles.
What is your morning routine like?
My alarm clock is the radio — it switches on to the news every morning. In summer, I usually wake up with the light anyway. I brush my teeth, then have a banana to line the stomach ahead of making myself a coffee. I’ll cycle along the river to the gym, come home, then make a breakfast and another coffee (if I deserve it).
Tell us a little bit about your background. Where does your interest in food stem from?
I was born in Jakarta and grew up between there and Singapore, in a very emotional and often chaotic family. There was a lot going on — but food was the one thing that grounded us. It was the constant. Meals were the main event, always. No matter what was happening, we’d come together around a meal. Growing up in Southeast Asia gave me access to a wild variety of cuisines — I feel really lucky to have absorbed that from such a young age. My granddad had a huge influence on me. He was endlessly curious about food, always trying new places, hunting down hidden gems before it was a thing. That hunger for discovery really shaped how I approach food now. We didn’t just eat, we obsessed and bonded over it. Food wasn’t just nourishment, and still is my language for love and belonging.
what is your earliest food memory?
Indomie. My first love. From around the age of four, I was completely obsessed — so much so that my mum had to put me on a one-pack-a-week limit. It was my Saturday morning ritual: a bowl of noodles, a cartoon, and an attempt to eat as slowly as possible to stretch out the joy. Like loads of Indonesians, we had a whole cupboard just for Indomie.
How is food, for you, related to community, culture, and ancestry?
In Indonesia, food is a language and it’s very widely communal (as opposed to more ceremonial). You don’t ask to share — you just do. A bite offered, sambal nudged across the table, an unspoken ease in the act of eating together.
This shows up most clearly in makan tengah, a shared, family-style way of dining that’s everywhere — homes, warungs, lunchrooms. It’s understated, but intimate. It’s the everyday act of trust, of dissolving distance between people.
how would you describe your diet?
I’d call it intuitive. I eat what makes me feel good, physically and emotionally, and I stay curious. Food is my greatest joy, so I don’t put myself in a restrictive box. I try to keep my relationship with food soft and generous, not rigid. It’s less about rules and more about rhythm. What do I need today? What will feel good to eat, to cook, to share? That’s the guide.
what does a typical day of eating look like for you?
It depends, but on an average midweek day: granola, fruit, and yogurt for breakfast. Lunch is often rice, pan-seared salmon, some greens, and a big spoonful of homemade sambal (I always keep a jar). Evenings I’m usually eating with friends — cooking something together, or out at a favorite spot.
what’s your go-to snack?
Grilled seasonal fruit, it really deepens the flavour. Also, I keep a personal stash of fried crackers from Indonesia.
can you tell us a bit about your career in food? how did you get to where you are now?
When I moved to London over a decade ago, I was stunned by how little people knew about Indonesian food. There were almost no restaurants, and the ones that existed didn’t reflect the diversity or depth of our cuisine.
So I started cooking for myself, and then for friends, just to feel close to home. A friend suggested supper clubs, and in late 2019, I gave it a go. That became Spoons. What started as a way to feed people has grown into something bigger: reclaiming narrative, correcting misconceptions, and showing that Indonesian food isn’t monolithic. Now I cook, write, and speak about our food and culture — all in the spirit of cultural clarity, pride, and connection.
How has your relationship with food changed during different times in your life? Has it always been positive or were there more difficult phases as well?
I had a pretty toxic relationship with food growing up. I was overweight as a kid and placed into Singapore’s state-run TAF (Trim and Fit) program, notice TAF spells FAT backwards. They monitored our diets (they made us take snacks in plastic ziplock bags so they could see what we were eating) and made us jump rope during recess. It laid the groundwork for a lot of disordered eating and shame. But I’ve unlearned a lot. In my adult life, especially in the last few years, I’ve come to experience food as joy, as care, as celebration. Eating with people I love is genuinely one of my greatest sources of happiness.
who’s your dream dinner guest?
My sibling Becky. My soulmate and forever favorite person to eat with. No contest.
Can you tell us a little bit about an especially memorable meal you’ve had? What made it so enjoyable, where was it, and who were you with?
For my birthday a few years ago, I ate with my parents and Becky in Laguboti, the North Sumatran village my grandmother grew up in. We had a full Batak spread — grilled pork, sambal andaliman, Naniura ceviche, the works. It was emotional. Eating food in ancestral land surrounded by people I love — that meal wasn’t just nourishment, it was remembrance, loving, grounding, belonging. It meant everything to me.
what’s always in your fridge?
A jar of homemade sambal and my gua sha. Priorities.
what do you do when you don’t feel inspired to cook?
Eat out. Call a friend. Talk about food. Share a meal. That’s usually all it takes.
do you have any go-to recipes?
I have this pandan and berry blondie I call my "rizz cake." It's never failed me, friends, lovers, strangers. But the recipe is classified, and I’m taking it to my grave.
essential cookbooks?
Sri Owen’s Indonesian Food & Cookery. She was the first to publish an Indonesian cookbook in English, and she gave our cuisine the depth and dignity it deserves. She once wrote, “I hope to rescue the average Indonesian menu from its familiar litany of nasi goreng.” That line lives rent-free in my head.
essential cookware?
Mortar and pestle or food processor. Essential for making bumbu, the aromatic spice pastes that are the backbone of Indonesian cooking.
favorite servingware?
Placemats and napkins my mum had made from Indonesian textiles.
do you have any table-setting tips?
I love a communal set-up — makan tengah style. Dishes in the centre, no fuss, just connection. Let the food do the talking. It’s interactive, casual, but intimate. The ideal dinner table energy.
what are your favorite restaurants, cafés, and bakeries?
Café: Café OTO
Restaurant: Eat Vietnam Bar B Grill Deptford
Bakery: Chinatown Bakery
Takeout: Three Uncles
all images provided by rahel stephanie, edited by meghan racklin