"WE serve cow patties!" says Yong Ri Lin, better known as Linn, seriously.
"What?" I'm not sure if I've heard her correctly.
"Cow patties!" she repeats, eyes sparkling with humour.
"Can you spell that for me?" I ask.
"P-A-T-T-I-E-S!" she patiently spells it out.
It's incongruous. Crazy, even. Here's a chef, with three restaurants under her belt, telling me blithely about a signature dish. Only, she's using cow and patties in the same sentence and I'm gobsmacked.
She breaks into laughter at my expression before explaining: "It's not exactly cow patty, but it looks like one!"
Continues Linn: "It's a heritage pastry, originating from a baker in Sandakan." The history is quite funny.
In 1955, Fu Ah On, a Hainanese baker, was baking tarts in Sandakan, Sabah, when he stepped out of the kitchen to chat with customers. Distracted, he lost track of time, and by the time he returned, the tarts were burnt.
Nevertheless, he decided to serve them, and surprisingly, they were an instant hit. Because of its shape, with a twisted tip, it was initially given an unflattering Cantonese nickname: ngau si dui or "cow dung pile". The name persisted for years until the younger generation, eager to embrace this local treat, began referring to it by the more appealing name "UFO tart".
"It's truly unique to this town. In fact, the original shop selling this tart was located diagonally across from my restaurant, San De Gan Kopitiam!" she adds, smiling.
Linn, who also operates Ba Lin Roofgarden Bar & Restaurant at the iconic Hotel Nak in Sandakan and Limau & Linen in Kota Kinabalu, is unfazed by the demands of juggling her home life — she's married with two children — while being an active part of Sabah's growing food scene.
"It took a lot of negotiating with my husband," she confesses wryly, adding: "I needed his support and help with the kids as I travel between the two cities (Sandakan and Kota Kinabalu) a lot!"
EARLY PASSIONS
If I'm expecting a heartwarming origin story about a girl from a small kampung in Sabah who worked her way up to becoming a chef, I'm in for a surprise. Grinning, she says: "Oh, I'm from Johor Baru! I'm one of those who travelled daily to Singaporelah!"
Linn, the middle of three siblings, didn't start out on the typical path to becoming a chef. After finishing school, she decided to pursue a diploma in industrial and product design, drawn to the creativity and innovation of the field.
However, her true passion was always in the food and beverage industry. "I secretly dreamed of working in this field," she confesses with a smile. "I took on a lot of part-time jobs to get my foot in the door, including stints at places like Starbucks. It was a way for me to learn more about the industry and fuel my love for food."
Lin chuckles, imagining her mother, a homeopathic doctor, reacting to her culinary passion: "I can just picture her saying, 'I supported your education in Singapore so you could end up cooking in a kitchen ah?'"
But life took an unexpected turn when love came knocking at her door. Linn met her Sabahan husband during her final year in college. Not long after, he received a call from his parents asking him to return to Sandakan. The family business needed help, and they wanted him to be part of the effort to rebuild it.
"It was quite hard for my mother to let go," Linn admits ruefully, adding: "She had supported me throughout my studies and had hopes for my future. But I understood that being away from family can be really challenging."
Continuing, she confides: "My husband had been living away from his family for many years, and it was clear that it was time for him to return to his roots and support them. It was a significant change, but it felt like the right thing to do."
SLEEPY TOWN
Reflecting on her adjustment, she says: "Moving from the big city to the sleepy town of Sandakan was quite a shift. The first few years were tough. It was definitely a '10 p.m. lights out' kinda place!"
The culture shock was significant. Sandakan had been bustling with activity in the 1970s, with a thriving economy driven by the timber industry. Giant timber companies had set up operations around the town, and logs were shipped out from Sandakan port, contributing to a vibrant and prosperous community.
However, by the 1990s and beyond, the landscape had changed dramatically. "The development in this town has been minimal," she notes, adding: "Most of the younger generation had moved to larger cities like Kota Kinabalu in search of better opportunities. As a result, Sandakan became predominantly populated by the older generation, which was quite a contrast to its once lively and bustling past."
It was a bit of a shock to the system, she says wryly. "Back then, there wasn't even a fast-food restaurant!"
What's more, there was the "family business" to contend with.
The business that Linn and her husband were entrusted with was an ailing hotel in need of revitalisation. Nak Hotel, a historic landmark in the heart of Sandakan, was more than just a building — it was a local heritage.
Named after Ngui Ah Kui, a humble clerk who ascended to become a member of parliament, Nak Hotel has been in her husband's family since it was built in the 1960s.
Despite its long history, Nak Hotel has continuously adapted to its surroundings while preserving the essential qualities that travellers seek. Over the decades, the hotel has seen numerous changes, reflecting shifts in both the local economy and the broader travel industry.
The challenge for Linn and her husband was not just to restore the hotel's former glory, but to modernise it in a way that honoured its rich legacy while meeting the expectations of today's guests.
"I got conned!" she laughs, shaking her head. "'It was a charming project,' he told me. Since we were both trained as designers, he figured we'd be adept at identifying and solving problems. That's just how we're wired!"
Despite the challenges, the hotel showed some promise, the couple realised. "We decided that hey, it had some rough edges but we could definitely try and make something work," she recalls.
One of the first steps they took was to create a rooftop bar and restaurant, giving the hotel a much-needed facelift. "That felt like a special haven for me," she admits, adding: "Everything else was a huge adjustment, but this space became my sanctuary of sorts. It was something I could build that would offer a sense of comfort and familiarity — a home away from home."
Her first restaurant, Ba Lin Roofgarden Bar & Restaurant, was born.
BECOMING A CHEF
She hadn't planned on stepping into the kitchen initially. "I knew nothing!" admits Linn candidly, adding: "Aside from managing the bar, which I had some experience with from working at Starbucks, I didn't know much else."
Their first chef showed up to work drunk, and the second had a violent streak. "He actually punched a hole in the wall!" she recalls, chuckling. "It wasn't funny at the time — it was downright frustrating. But I'm pretty feisty myself. So, I thought, you know what? I'm going to figure this out on my own!"
By "figuring it out", Linn embarked on an intensive self-taught journey into the culinary world. She immersed herself in YouTube tutorials, learning from chefs and cooking experts online.
She spent countless hours experimenting with recipes and ingredients, turning the kitchen into her personal laboratory. This hands-on approach allowed her to quickly acquire the skills and knowledge she needed to run the kitchen effectively, transforming her initial lack of experience into a burgeoning culinary expertise.
"Were there any failures?" I ask. She nods before replying with a laugh: "All the time!"
There was one time when she decided to experiment with squid ink pasta, which resulted in a striking black dough. Unfortunately, customers were perplexed and mistook it for burnt pizza.
"That didn't go well at all," she recalls, adding: "I found myself thinking, 'Oh God, how am I going to make this work?' It felt like my creative ideas were just a bit too ahead of their time for people to appreciate. It was a real challenge to find the balance between innovation and what customers were ready for."
Despite the early hiccups and missteps, Linn gradually found her footing and developed a growing passion for creativity in the kitchen. As she settled into her role, she began to build a team of local chefs, bringing in talented individuals from the community. One notable addition was Ellyas Jeffrynn, a former warong (stall) cook who eventually became the head chef at Ba Lin.
"He hadn't attended culinary school either," she says with pride, "but he quickly became my most trusted chef. Ellyas has been with us for 11 years now, and his dedication and skill have been instrumental in our success. His journey from a humble stall cook to a key player in our kitchen is a testament to how local talent can thrive and grow in the right environment."
Since then, Linn has launched two more restaurants, marking significant milestones in her culinary journey. Each new venture reflects her continued growth and unwavering commitment to innovation. With these additional restaurants, she has firmly established herself as a prominent figure in the local food scene.
PASSION FOR NATURE
In addition to her culinary pursuits, Linn and her husband have been pivotal in founding a non-governmental organisation called Future Alam Borneo. Living in Sabah has given her a profound appreciation for the stunning natural beauty right in her own backyard.
"Didn't you have enough on your plate already?" I tease her.
"Oh, I'm just following my husband's lead," she replies with a grin. "He's the real nature enthusiast! I'm more of an enthusiastic supporter, helping out where I can. It's his passion for the environment that drives this initiative, and I'm excited to be part of it."
Her voice takes on a serious tone as she continues: "When you're surrounded by such natural beauty in your own backyard, you come to realise what a true blessing it is. My friends from Kuala Lumpur often visit and remark, 'Why is the air so clear here?'"
She pauses, then adds quietly: "This place really grows on you. You start to understand that you have a role in protecting and preserving it."
The NGO has since organised several festivals, aimed at uniting conservationists with the public to promote environmental awareness and education. These events have become a platform for sharing knowledge and fostering community involvement in conservation efforts.
"We're planning another festival this month," she shares enthusiastically, adding: "It's a great opportunity for people to learn more about protecting our environment and to get involved in the cause. Each festival helps to build a stronger network of advocates and educates more people about the importance of preserving our natural heritage."
"Food and nature," I remark, and she nods in agreement.
"It's all interconnected, isn't it?" she replies thoughtfully. "Looking ahead, I'd like to tackle issues like food security and carbon footprint.
"There's also the pressing concern of microplastic pollution. A recent study revealed that Malaysia ranks the highest among 109 countries for microplastic ingestion.
"As a chef, I believe our work should have a purpose beyond the kitchen. These are critical problems that we need to address with the skills and resources we have."
There's no predicting what's next for this indefatigable 40-year-old; but if her journey from a city girl to a trailblazer in Sabah's culinary and environmental realms is any indication, she's as adaptable as they come.
With a flair for mixing food and conservation, she proves that blending passion with purpose isn't just a recipe for success, it's a full-on feast for the senses. What's next on her plate? Only time will tell, but it's bound to be anything but ordinary.