Rashidin Abd Rashid

Rashidin Abd Rashid was born in Kuala Lumpur, the eldest of five. He was just a boy when he learned to love the heat of the kitchen. His aunt owned a restaurant, and every morning he helped. He watched, he listened, he learned. At night, his father took him to the markets, where the air smelled of grilled meat and fresh spices, and he touched the fish, the vegetables, the fruit, learning the weight of quality in his hands. It was there, between the heat of the stoves and the pulse of the market, that he understood food was more than survival – it was an art. It was a way of life, a language of its own, a means to connect without words.

By 2001, he had mastered the science of food. He left university with honors, but real learning happens with fire and steel. The Hilton, the Shangri-La – big names, high expectations. He cooked for thousands, and each plate had to be perfect. It was hard work, and he loved it. He learned the rhythm of a professional kitchen, the discipline, the chaos. He saw how a dish could change with the smallest touch, how technique mattered as much as instinct. And he learned that perfection was never a destination, only a pursuit. The chefs around him were relentless, the competition fierce. He thrived in that pressure, knowing that every mistake was a lesson, every success a stepping stone.

Then came the sea. The Maldives, a private island, cooking under a sky so wide it swallowed time. Kate Moss, Alexander McQueen, men with money, women with power – he cooked for them all. He learned the way of the private chef: precision, patience, the ability to stand on a yacht and make magic with nothing but a knife and a flame. He spent days at sea, feeling the salt in the air, adjusting to the rolling of the waves beneath his feet. He made do with what he had, turned limitations into creativity. The ocean was another kind of teacher, one that taught him that adaptability was just as important as mastery. He learned to listen—to ingredients, to the whispers of the waves, to the expectations of those who demanded perfection.

Then Russia. The cold, the language, the challenge. Eight years in Novikov Group, mastering pan-Asian cuisine, building menus, leading teams. Moscow tested him, and he passed. He moved again, Kazakhstan this time, and built something of his own. EAST was his kitchen, his vision. His food won awards. His name meant something. He shaped menus that told stories, dishes that carried memories of every place he had been. And people noticed. Recognition came, awards followed. But more than that, guests returned. They remembered his food, the way it made them feel. That, more than anything, was his measure of success.

But success is never final. He pushed forward, reinventing dishes, challenging expectations. He studied flavors like a scholar, blending traditions with innovation. He took risks. Some worked, some didn’t. But he always moved forward. His kitchen was his battlefield, his sanctuary, his home.

He worked hard. He always worked hard. His hobby was sleep because there was no time for more. But sometimes, he played badminton. Sometimes, he traveled. He went to Georgia, and the food, the people, the warmth – they stayed with him. He would go back. He knew it. Every journey fed his craft. Every taste, every smell, every conversation found its way back to his kitchen.

He never stopped pushing forward. He built restaurants from nothing. He made them matter. He still does. He stands in his kitchen, fire at his back, knife in his hand, and he creates. Because food is not just food. It is memory. It is connection. It is life. It is a story told in every bite, a piece of himself served on every plate. And for him, it is everything.