I · Origin
The Story
Two people, one wok, and a refusal to compromise the way Thai food is supposed to taste.
Two people, one wok, and a refusal to compromise the way Thai food is supposed to taste.
Sasifood did not begin in a boardroom. It began at a kitchen table in Ljubljana — and long before that, at a family table in Kalasin, in Thailand's northeast, where Sasivimol Phubua learned that a dish is a promise: four flavours in honest ratio, or nothing at all.
We are outsiders to this industry. No franchise lineage, no restaurant pedigree, no playbook handed down. When we looked at how things are usually done, the usual answers did not compute for us — so we stopped borrowing them.
"We knew nothing about how the industry works. We knew no one. We were no one. Then we decided to become someone — and today we want to be the one!"
So we built differently. We removed the dining room. We removed the fifty-item menu. We removed everything a guest does not actually need — and concentrated what remained until it earned the right to exist. What was left: her wok, a short line of dishes, and a system lean enough to carry the weight that decor traditionally bears.
SASIVIMOL PHUBUA · CHEF— Chef · The Hand Behind Every Recipe —
Born in Kalasin, Isan, and trained across the open kitchens of Bangkok's Sukhumvit district from 2004 to 2018, Sasivimol carries an intuition for Thai flavour that no manual can teach — the kind learned over a thousand services, where the wok does not wait for second thoughts.
Today she cooks in Ljubljana. First at home, for family, while Dunajska 87 takes shape: a wok on a home burner, a fried egg laid over rice the way her mother did it, photographed at the family table. The kitchen before the kitchen. That is where this brand actually lives — and where you can already watch it grow.
Every recipe on the Sasifood line passes through her hands before it earns a number. Nothing exists because it tested well in a meeting. It exists because she said it could.
Four canonical Thai flavours — and the silent fifth that decides whether a dish works at all.
Fish sauce, shrimp paste. The anchor that opens the palate.
Lime last-second, tamarind cooked in. Never interchangeable.
Palm sugar over refined. The aroma matters as much.
Bird's-eye heat, calibrated per guest. Never a mask.
Not a taste. The judgment that holds the four in ratio — every dish, every service.
A recipe is the four. A chef is the fifth. A system is the fifth, codified.