🍲 My Theory of Soup Nazification

I hope using that word in the title doesn't send this to spam🤞

We were just in George Town, a UNESCO World Heritage Site on the island of Penang, in Western Malaysia. It’s very much a food city, and people within the region take pilgrimages there for Penang-style laksa or nasi kandar, a huge mixed plate of rice, meat, sauce, and more. The food typifies the long-simmering fusion of Malay, Chinese, Indian and Peranakan cultures here. One pillar of Penang cuisine is Restoran Hameediyah, churning out nasi kandar since 1907.

I waited in line, which snaked down the block out of a small, colonial shophouse. It was raining, but luckily many George Town sidewalks, including the one outside Hameediyah, are covered by porticos. When it was my turn, the man dishing out heaping plates had some fun with me, the only person speaking English. I had read curry chicken was the thing to get, but that doesn’t scratch the surface of their offerings, and he reeled off the options. “Rabbit?” he offered, gesturing with his fingers at the side of his head. The line laughed along.

I was handed my plate and a plastic card that I brought to the front of the shop for the cashier to scan. I paid and carried my food out of the storefront and down a couple doors to another shophouse that’s dedicated to seating and drinks. My curry chicken over biryani with okra and potatoes was ladled with the sauces from all of the different meat options. It was creamy, rich, and spicy, and it left my hands yellow. Sweet iced masala tea with milk was perfect with it. 

It was a great meal, but something about the setup was deeply familiar. Then it hit me: You remember the “Soup Nazi” episode of Seinfeld, right?

It’s obviously a sitcom story, but it depicts a very real phenomenon in the food world. I worked in food service for about a decade, and I’ve been lucky enough to travel and eat in great places. I suspect you’ve also encountered some version of this, in your own life, maybe even in your town or city. But what I’m theorizing here, is that Soup Nazi establishments are all over the world, across very different cultures, but with many of the same attributes. So here, for you, I lay out my Grand Unifying Theory of Soup Nazification, with examples. 

The customer is not always right

The first principle, underlined by Seinfeld, is that a Soup Nazi restaurant is so popular that it inverts the typical service relationship. I’ve worked at places where we agonized over Yelp and Instagram reviews, knowing that poor SEO or ratings can actually affect the bottom line and create financial hardship for a small business with razor-thin margins. But at a Soup Nazi place, that all goes out the window, and it informs everything else.

The place must be old and good

With all due respect to fads like the Cronut, a true Soup Nazi establishment is more than a trendy phase — it’s about legacy. Pat’s King of Steaks in South Philly has been slinging out cheesesteaks since 1930.¹ Hameediyah was selling curries from a carried pole long before the British allowed brick and mortar restaurants in Penang. A true Soup Nazi place, to me, must be old and still cranking out great food.

There are rules

The other thing that the Seinfeld episode really gets right is that these places all have firm, established rules. Often, that means knowing exactly how you’re going to order and not hemming and hawing. At Pat’s, my friend once overheard the woman in front of him getting yelled at: “Lady, get back in your minivan and go back to Ohio or wherever the fuck you came from!”² This is, of course, hilarious, but obviously has a darker edge. At Geno’s, another historic cheesesteak place across the street, the rules have sometimes deviated into overt racism and exclusion. 

The staff are usually skilled, funny, and impatient

Generally, strict rules exist at Soup Nazi places because the line gets long and the staff wants to keep things moving and managable. Because they handle a never-ending line of hungry people who may have waited a long time, as well as responsibly uphold the reputation of the place itself, the staff at Soup Nazi places tend to be some combination of high-functioning, high-strung, and extremely social.³ In my experience, while there is often a sense of urgency, the staff is usually proud to be working at a beloved food institution and has a good sense of humor — unless guests break the rules, knowingly or not.

A different kind of “atmosphere” is valued

For Soup Nazi places, everything that other restaurants work so hard for: comfortable seating, any condiment you might want, convenient places to park… all that is less important. The point is the food. Over time, some parts of the experience can become ritualized and overhyped, but if the food’s not amazing, people will stop coming. I could write a whole other essay about what happens when a food culture stops evolving and becomes calcified and stuck in place.

These places are everywhere

There are Soup Nazi places that are revered by millions of Americans and have become essential tourist stops, like the original Nathan’s Famous in Coney Island and Café Du Monde⁴ on Decatur Street in New Orleans. Places like this are iconic, and virtually every American city of some size has a Soup Nazi place like this. But Hameediyah in Malaysia has made me realize there's nothing especially Western or American about the idea. Everything comes back to the dynamic of unforgettable food becoming legendary over time.

Tell me your unmissable Soup Nazi places in the comments.

1. It may also be necessary that people argue about whether they live up to the hype. I still like Pat’s and will happily eat a steak from there but my favorite is John’s Roast Pork.

2. Sorry to steal your story Rich, I hope I’m getting it right!

3. Think about the different characters that work at the restaurant in The Bear. It’s a fascinating show with a lot to say about this topic.

4. Even though it has table service, I think Cafe Du Monde fits the bill. Fight me.