Ibu Nira Hendrawati
Grew up on her grandmother's fruit stall in Lembang. Ran the pastry section at a hotel in Jakarta for eleven years before quitting to open this place with Hans. Keeps the bread log.
We are a small dining room and juice bar on Jalan Progo. We cook from a short list that changes when the fruit changes, and we keep the kitchen open from breakfast through dinner. Everything here starts with the same question: what came in this morning, and how do we not ruin it.
The menu moves with the calendar. This is roughly when things show up at our door — peak weeks marked in rust. We lie a little in dry years and a lot in wet ones. October is persimmon month.
The first time I ate the Hachiya on milk toast I emailed a friend in Tokyo to apologise. I'd been eating persimmons wrong for thirty-one years.— Putri Handayani writing for Manual Magazine · Issue 48, 2025
The room sits inside an old 1950s shophouse. We left most of the original teak and the crooked floor tiles alone. There's one long zinc counter, a corner for the juicer, and a courtyard out back with four tables and a tree that occasionally drops fruit on guests.
We don't take large parties — it breaks the kitchen. Six is our ceiling. Walk-ins get priority between 14:00 and 17:00.
Grew up on her grandmother's fruit stall in Lembang. Ran the pastry section at a hotel in Jakarta for eleven years before quitting to open this place with Hans. Keeps the bread log.
Dutch, ex-chef from a tiny place in Utrecht that closed during lockdown. Showed up in Bandung in 2020 "for three months." Now runs the cold-press station and argues with farmers about elevation.
The one who gets here at 5:40 AM to light the oven. Came in as a dishwasher in 2022, now runs the grain bowl station and brews the persimmon-leaf tea. Best palate in the room; don't tell Hans.
Most Hachiya sold in Indonesia are shipped too early. We hold ours for four to seven days on a wooden rack in the back, window open, until the skin is translucent and the fruit is almost a liquid. It's the difference between a bitter fruit and a custard.
Read note →We tested eight loaves. The condensed-milk version wins every morning. It is not a sophisticated breakfast. It does not need to be. The persimmon on top does the work; the toast just has to stay out of the way and be warm.
Read note →A cold-press juice loses roughly 40% of its character inside a plastic cup on a motorbike for 30 minutes. Either come sit down, or we put it in a glass bottle and you drink it within the hour. Those are the two honest options we found.
Read note →I have eaten at Percimon four Saturdays in a row now. I am not proud. The Hachiya on milk toast is the single best breakfast in Bandung and arguing about it is a waste of everyone's time.
Small room, short menu, enormous heart. They remember your order. They tell you when something isn't good that day. Rare here.
The cold-press N°3 ruined every other juice for me. Also: the courtyard tree dropped a persimmon on my phone and somehow that made me love it more.
Walk-ins welcome — but between 18:00 and 20:00 on weekends, a note ahead of time is the only way we can save you a seat.
The form below sends a WhatsApp message straight to the kitchen line. We reply within a couple of hours, usually faster.