"Forget it Jake. It's Chinatown."

For New Yorkers, going to Chinatown must feel like a surreal experience. Block upon block of signage in a foreign hand, streets teeming with Asians and their quick-fire bursts in a foreign language – it must feel somewhat like setting foot in another country. Strangely enough, in Singapore – which is predominantly Chinese – going to Chinatown has a somewhat similar effect.

Chinatown in Singapore refers to the Telok Ayer / Kreta Ayer district, just off the Central Business district (CBD), and in some loose definitions stretches up to the Bukit Pasoh and Duxton areas nearer Cantonment and Tanjong Pagar. Architecturally there is a lot of history here, since it was one of the first few urban areas to be built up in Singapore. There are traces of Singapore’s pre-war colonialism still reflected in the baroque, almost Italianate, shophouses, but the use of slit windows and the preference for pastels may be uniquely local.

But it is the thronging masses of people here that make Chinatown unique. The demographic tends to skew largely older, and many senior citizens over 60 keep making their regular pilgrimage to their favourite restaurant or market stall week-in, week-out. Conversations are conducted largely in dialects, with Cantonese being predominant, giving the younger, cosmopolitan Singaporean the same feeling that the New Yorker gets in his Chinatown – one of foreign-ness. It also doesn’t help that streets are narrow and there are typically large crowds of people willing to fight through other people to get where they are going.

Yet there is a lot of good food in Chinatown, and most of it is cheap. (Just like how the people there are stuck in the 60s or 70s, so are the prices.) Many household names like Ka-Soh originated in this area before moving away, and others like Da Dong are still going strong. These are the restaurants with tradition in Singapore, serving Cantonese cuisine the way it should be done and the way they have been doing it for decades now. I was in Chinatown for brunch one day and hit up some of not all of my favourites.

Smith St Market / Food Centre

My mother gets her fresh fish here, and we usually stop by the cooked food centre, which has several hidden gems. One of the things we always get is XO 鱼片米粉 (yupianmifen – Vermicelli with Fish Slices), which they do a very good job of here. I have no idea what the name of the stall is, but I could find my way there from the elevator blindfolded. They add a lot of ginger, and use XO in the cooking process in addition to just topping the finished product off with it, so you get a very hearty, savoury soup.

One of the Cantonese classics that I have a particularly soft spot for is soya sauce chicken, and there is a stall here called Ming Kee that is worth the long lines for. Tender, roasted chicken parts marinated in a house-secret soy sauce, served over noodles or rice – Ming Kee does the basics and does them well enough to attract a constant line of folks desperate for their fix. It is a shade inferior to the soya sauce chicken at 126 Beer Garden in Joo Chiat, but the noodles are particularly good, and the chef cooks them to perfect al dente doneness (or in Hong Kong lingo: QQ). They also make soup from scratch, with lots of red dates and black wood fungus, and both the skin and the filling of their handmade dumplings are top-notch.

Liang Chen Mei Dian

One of the areas in which Singapore is miles behind Hong Kong is the standard of their baked goods and pastries. Hong Kong has their custard buns and their egg tarts and bo luo baos, and nothing we have here even come close. Even our imitations of the Hong Kong classics come nowhere near either. But there is a shop in Chinatown, on Sago St, which has absolutely fantastic egg tarts; and the rest of the pastries they have aren’t too shabby either. It is hard to talk up an egg tart because the finished product is so simple, but the good ones have a sweet but not overly cloying taste, a smooth, rich and creamy textured filling, and flaky butter-filled pastry. The kind of butter you use also is critically important in making egg tarts (and really, in all pastry) – you need one with a high butterfat content.

Words are not enough, so here are a couple of pictures.



Lim Chee Guan

I remember craving bak gua during my first year abroad at college, and my mother – in her infinite graciousness – sent me a care package with some bak gua vacuum-packed and hidden under a scarf. I did not know how to describe this to my friends at school, so I told them it was a pork jerky. Simon in particular went crazy over it, and with good reason. Bak gua is so sinfully delicious that it needs no description, and Lim Chee Guan is – in my opinion – the best version around in Singapore. No trip to Chinatown would be complete without a trip here.

I felt a little out of place in Chinatown the first time I went there after moving back, but I am glad to say that that is slowly fading. The bustle, the noise, elbows in your face, and the terrible service at restaurants – these are now more likely to put a smile on my face than irritate me. If only it weren’t so hard to find parking.

The Chicken Rice Capital of The World

Mention chicken rice to any Singaporean and it is likely that you elicit a paean to what many consider the national dish of Singapore (there are surprisingly many of those). Originating from the island of Hainan, from which many immigrants made their way to Singapore – the dish is simplicity itself. Whole chickens are boiled in a pork and chicken bone stock liberally laced with cloves of garlic and ginger. Separately, rice is prepared with a similar chicken stock – resulting in an oily but intensely flavourful rice. Both chicken and rice are served together, typically with slices of cucumber and soup broth derived from the stock. It is also common to eat this with chilli sauce and dark soya sauce as dipping condiments.

Because of its simplicity, I am of the opinion that there are no bad versions of this dish in Singapore. You just wouldn’t be in business otherwise – the competition would weed you out. You can’t compete on price because chicken rice is so commoditised that it is cheap almost everywhere. There are mediocre ones, sure, but you would have to know your stuff to tell them apart. And even then, the less fussy among us would definitely still eat those versions gladly.

The good versions, though, are a joy to eat, and take care in the preparation of all the different elements of the dish: the chicken, the rice, the chilli sauce, the soya sauce and the soup. I count myself very fortunate in the fact that in the immediate vicinity of my office there are several stars of the chicken rice world. As if lunchtime decisions weren’t difficult enough. But you don’t see me complaining.

Chin Chin

Chin Chin is located near the end of Purvis St, a (comparatively) large eating house always bustling at meal-times. If I had to pick a representative chicken rice as a first-time experience for anyone, this might be it. Both their boiled and roasted chicken are very good without being spectacular, the soup is very tasty, and the rice decent enough. Neither the rice nor the meats are overly oily, and the portions enough to satisfy without being too much. They also have evolved into a more typical tze char place and have a wider menu of alternative and side dishes than the other places on this review. Almost everything is decent to good, and I have rarely been disappointed going here. A trusty fallback with efficient service.

Yet Con

Directly across the street from Chin Chin, this is an old-school, more traditional Hainanese eating house. The furniture and the décor are both stuck in decades past, and the old man at the counter still insists on tabulating your total bill with the use of an abacus. You feel as if you’ve stepped into a time warp. But no matter what time of day you go there, there is often always a line, and with good reason. Yet Con is a little more traditionally Hainanese in that they use older birds, which tend to be springier and have a stronger poultry taste. Not everybody likes this: the Cantonese tend to like younger birds, which have more tender meat; and most palates in Singapore have been attuned to the milder, more agreeable taste of these younger birds. Yet Con also only does their chicken one style – boiled in stock – so there are no options of the roasted variety or other braised meats. But they do have an assortment of great Hainanese side dishes, including a spectacular Hainanese pork chop in tomato sauce; and the soup they provide with your meal is good and strong and has no hint of MSG or bouillon – which sadly happens to be a common shortcut taken by many others.

Old Swee Kee

There are names, and then there are names. Long before marketing became a management discipline, one brand stood head and shoulders above the rest in chicken rice hawker history. Swee Kee is to chicken rice what Chanel is to haute couture and Cartier is to timepieces: an affirmation of history, tradition and above all, excellence. But the word on the street is that the original Swee Kee clan has long since exited the business and hung up their cleavers, leaving a network of disciples, former cooks and distant relatives to carry on the tradition. And banking on the name is not such a bad idea – I am sure many of the people who come here are drawn by its allure. Old Swee Kee is located on Seah St across from Raffles Hotel – another venerable name in Singapore’s history, but I am unsure of its origins and its connection to the the real Swee Kee. Yet the stall is never very crowded, and from the one time I went there I could see why. All the components of the dish here are quite ordinary – not bad, but just ordinary. And in the chicken rice world, ordinary is a big sin.

Sin Swee Kee

Literally the “New Swee Kee”, this is located down the street from Old Swee Kee and has done a little better. It’s the age-old sales trick of bundling a good product with a bunch of other useless ones to increase revenue. I say this in jest, but in actual fact Sin Swee Kee does offer a “degustation” of chicken together with other various side dishes for parties of 4, 5, or 6. I’m not sure if you can order a la carte, and of the side dishes that I have tried, none have been spectacular apart from the steamed egg, and really, how hard can that dish be? In any case, the chicken here is very decent, and they provide ground garlic laced with spring onions that is a very delectable condiment indeed. The rice is somewhat lacklustre, and the soup almost devoid of flavour, but if you’re not a stuck-up snob like I am, you would enjoy this place very much.

I may have been harsher on the latter two stalls, but in actual fact if you take them in comparison with any other chicken rice versions across the island, I am sure they would be up there. But competition is stiff in the Bugis / City Hall area, and sometimes even good is not good enough. Objectively, I think the best version of chicken rice in Singapore is Tian Tian at Maxwell Hawker Centre; and personally my favourite is the chicken rice on the fifth floor of Far East Shopping Centre, but the versions around my workplace leave me no shortage of very respectable options if ever I crave this dish.

Random mobile uploads

132 mee pok in Siglap, one of the few reasons I am glad to be alive.


A "mantou" at Kim Moh all by its lonely self, after we have polished off the rest of them.


"White" Lor Mee at a Tsinghua coffeeshop in Little India.


Having a beer at Paulaner.


There is so much more fruit in my diet now, I love it.


Longans.


Durians.


Loosely translated as "Saliva Chicken".

The Golden Goose

Yung Kee
32-40 Wellington St
Central, Hong Kong
+852 2522 1624

Almost every culture, every cuisine – wherever in the world you go – has roasted meat of some form. There is something decidedly primal about this, and despite it being theoretically such a simple task – applying heat to meat – it has inspired a wide variety of styles and techniques. From Texas to Tokyo, wood fires to charcoal fires, perhaps the only common denominator is the love of food.

I was recently in Hong Kong for work, and made a trip to Yung Kee. An “establishment” restaurant famous for its roast goose, Yung Kee has been around since World War II and has made the transformation from sidewalk “dai pai dong” to multi-level banquet ball. It is one of those places that generates lots of commentary, some good and some bad; and this has increased exponentially ever since the Michelin Guide awarded it one star. But I noticed that even the people who rail against it and how its standards have slipped often still wind up going there anyway – so I knew it was worth a shot.

Yung Kee is housed in a grand building on the outskirts of Lan Kwai Fong, an area littered with bars and dominated by expatriates. Apparently you get seated – depending on how important you are or how regular a customer – on different floors within the building. The 4th floor VIP area is the most desirable, followed by the ground floor, which is in full view of the street. If you are unlucky enough to get banished to the second or third floors, not only should you expect inferior service but also inferior food. In Yung Kee as in many large Chinese restaurants, this customer segmentation happens very often. Because the average Chinese restaurant does hundreds if not thousands of covers each night, only a small portion of the food is actually prepared, or even passes through the hands of the head chef. The likelihood of your food being prepared by the head, or even the senior chefs, corresponds to where you are seated. That is why locals are so picky about where they sit. As a rule of thumb, if you see any expatriates in your section, always ask to be reseated.

By a stroke of luck, we were sent to the 4th floor even though we were by no means important – much less very important. But we were not complaining. We sat in the general area, facing a wall of doors that led to private rooms; and every time those doors were opened for food to be brought in, I could see and hear much merriment, and half-expected a celebrity to walk out. What recession, indeed. The restaurant was not short on customers, hustling and bustling with families, couples and all manner of food enthusiasts. There is a certain look to the true local Hong Konger - people whose families have been in HK for generations – and almost everyone on the 4th floor had that look.

Ordering tea in a Chinese restaurant when it is the first time you are eating with your dining companions is always tricky. I like to drink puer or tieguanyin; but those are not always to everyone’s tastes. Jasmine tea is always a good compromise, but the lowest common denominator is chrysanthemum. Now, I like chrysanthemum tea, but I get mildly annoyed when I have to drink it when there are other more delicious options available. In my mind, chrysanthemum is for children who have not acquired the taste for more refined teas.

But it is the roast goose we are there for – and it does not disappoint. Goose is similar in taste to duck, but typically fattier and gamier. Yung Kee’s version is smothered in a sweet plum sauce and served on a bed of soy beans. The meat is moist, with just enough fibre to make you chew, and the glossy, lacquered skin is this side short of sinful.


In the background of the photo is their suckling pig, which was decent as well. You can always judge Cantonese restaurants by their roast meats, and for some it seems as though there isn’t much else worth eating. The tofu dish that we ordered was mildly disappointing; I think you have to go to mainland China or Taiwan for good tofu. But everything else was well executed, and while the meal was not earth-shattering one could hardly find fault with it. We ordered a dish of steamed egg with conpoy that convinced me once again, if I had needed any convincing, that simplicity is always better.

The service was calm and efficient, which was quite admirable given that it often seems nigh-on impossible to retain your calm working in an environment like the average Chinese restaurant. The captain who attended to us had a perpetual look of placid composure on her face, and attended to our every need smartly and wordlessly. It made me smile to myself just imagining her walking through the doors leading to the kitchen and yelling at the runners for her food, which I have little doubt she did once out of sight.

When all was said and done there were no regrets visiting Yung Kee. It could have been better, but it also could have been a lot worse. Prices were high, but not high enough to call them exorbitant. If anything, this Hong Kong institution is worth visiting just for the roast goose alone. Just remember to decline if you are asked to sit on the second or third floors.

UPDATE: Another picture:

My kingdom for a Wallaby yogurt!

When I first left Singapore for the US to go to college, it took me a while before I noticed that my diet had fundamentally changed. I suppose I was still a growing boy – concerned with quantity over quality, and blissfully oblivious to the impact of such a diet change to my physique and physiology. That’s right, I’m blaming Nature for putting on so much weight. But about eight or nine months into college, I noticed just what a drastic change I had wrought in the food I was putting in my mouth – and its effect on me.

There was the weight gain, obviously. But fundamentally I had gone from a place where carbohydrates were the focus of the meal (starches like rice and noodles) to one where proteins were the main focus. I ate my vegetables raw (if at all) instead of cooked, and my intake of fruits dropped drastically. It proved surprisingly difficult to get fresh fruit in Providence. I’m not sure how this affected my body, but I’m sure it must have.

I say that because I an undergoing the reverse change right now, and I am now more acutely aware of how I am adjusting to the Singaporean diet. After such an extended period of time away – most of it spent eating well – there are things that I am slowly getting used to again. There is the spice, for example. I am relearning to love eating everything topped with red or green chillies pickled in soy sauce. Cooks here also tend to season everything on a sweeter note, which was comfortingly familiar when I first returned, but now takes some wrestling with. Little things – but for some reason I am so much more aware of them now.

And there are also some things I’ve left behind that I miss. I miss a good sandwich. There are many times when I say to myself that I could really go for a nice sandwich, some honey mustard, chips and a bottle of Nantucket Nectars Big Cranberry juice. And there isn’t a lot of cheese in the Singaporean diet, so I miss that too. But one of the things that I miss the most is Wallaby organic yogurt.

Hunter first introduced me to Wallaby yogurt, and I think he succeeded where I failed subsequently because he did the soft sell on me. Later when I became a fan of the yogurt I would literally grab people by the arm and yell at them to try this yogurt. I don’t think I converted very many people that way. But I remember Hunter telling me, almost offhandedly, that Matthew had turned him on to a new brand of yogurt and it was good. That was all he said. A few days later I was at Whole Foods when I saw the yogurt he was talking about and bought a couple to try, on a whim. I didn’t look back.

According to their website, Wallaby yogurt was inspired by the creators’ visit to Australia (hence the name) and the creamy-style yogurt that is apparently available there. The difference, allegedly, is that gelatins are not added to Wallaby yogurt to thicken it, but instead it undergoes a slow cooking process to give it a smooth, creamy texture.

Back in the days when I was working from home, I would have a Wallaby yogurt most days for breakfast. One of the amazing things about yogurt is that it is a multi-task enabler. You don’t have to be in one place to eat it, and you certainly don’t have to focus to enjoy it. Come to think of it, I was almost always doing something else while eating Wallaby yogurt. I ate it while reading the paper, or my email. I ate it while leisurely strolling out to get the mail. I ate it as I paced around my living room, talking on the phone. I ate it standing up in the kitchen, sometimes with the refrigerator door still ajar. One of my favourite parts was carefully, meticulously scraping the bottom of the cup to get every last drop of the yogurt, and then licking the back of the spoon.

I liked the single flavour ones the best (peach, blueberry, lemon) but the more exotic and mixed ones weren’t too shabby either. The creamy mouthfeel is hard to beat; and they were all just sweet enough, no more and no less, unlike most commercial fruit-flavoured yogurts that are too sweet for me.

There is nothing in Singapore that comes close.

Something old, something new

New Majestic
31-37 Bukit Pasoh Rd
Singapore 089845
+65 65114718

It is always tricky balancing the forces of innovation and progress with respect for tradition and heritage. In Singapore, this is much more of a delicate endeavour because of one, our youth as a nation and comparative lack of history and tradition; and two, because of the incredible pace of change we have witnessed in past decades. New favourites replace old stalwarts in the blink of an eye, and it scarcely takes a generation’s time for new paradigms to emerge. In food, this is a sensitive topic – especially in Chinese cuisine where an almost sacred reverence is paid to the tradition dishes, which are to be done “the way they always have been”. I have nothing but admiration for successful Chinese chefs who can preserve a respect for the old methods and dishes, yet infuse their cooking with new techniques and flavours.

The Majestic hotel is but one example of the pace of progress in Singapore, and how quickly institutions or trends run their course and are forced to reinvent themselves. Built in 1928, it had become one of the premier hotels in the country by the time of my parents’ youth, with a top-notch restaurant that produced classic Cantonese cuisine. It was one of my father’s favourites, and my mother informs me that they held my 满月 (manyue) celebration there. Clearly I have no recollection of this, but it was still an interesting bit of information that gave me a personal context of Majestic’s evolution through the years.

In the late 80s the Majestic hotel fell into disrepair (and disrepute), and what was once a bastion of the Singapore culinary scene fell in danger of becoming a footnote of history. Yet Fate works in mysterious ways, and five years ago the exterior was restored and the Majestic given a makeover as an edgy boutique hotel – heralded as “heritage chic”. The restaurant resumed operations with a new chef at the helm, and the kitchen soon became known for reflecting exactly what the hotel itself was – an eclectic mix of old and new.

Upon my return to Singapore the New Majestic – as it was now called – quickly came back onto my radar. This was thanks in no small measure to Winnie, who had the good fortune of eating there on her company’s expense and raved about the traditional (and traditionally very expensive) soups there. Winnie, for all her good qualities, does not have a particularly discerning palate; and so I had to corroborate her recommendation with Victor and Hsuen among other foodie friends. The general consensus seemed to be very positive, and as soon as a fitting occasion presented itself, I seized the opportunity to organise a dinner with some of my oldest friends. Winnie herself could not make it, but Daselin, Hsuen and Victor could – which in itself may have been cause for celebration. It was probably nigh-on impossible – what with everyone’s busy schedules – to find a time that worked for everyone. Four out of five was not bad, I felt.

The New Majestic was certainly very eclectic, and I didn’t know what to make of it all. The façade was distinctly local, and preserved the swagger of what the roaring twenties must have been like in Singapore. But stepping through the pillars, past the glass French doors place you square in the middle of the lobby, which is decorated in a playful, subversive manner. The ceiling is left unfinished, with metal fan hooks and vintage Compton fans hanging from it. The walls are markedly white, free of adornment, with clean lines. Decidedly modern furniture – sleek couches and long, low coffee tables offer some respite from the white space. Spliced in between the couches are retro dentist’s chairs and theatre seats, and it was on one of these seats that I plonked myself on to wait for the rest of my friends.

The restaurant has a rather fuller, more consistent decor. Clean lines, a chartreuse green theme that is rather splendidly paired with a earthy brown – it nonetheless falls prey to one act of mischief. The restaurant is situated directly underneath the hotel pool, and through clear glass panels in the ceiling of the restaurant, you can sometimes catch glimpses of hotel guests enjoying a leisurely swim.

But really – it is the food that we are there for, and who has the time to look up when in the middle of eating?

One of the things that the new Majestic is known for is its extensive wine list, which is certainly thick, and is evidence of lots of forethought. Pairing Chinese food with wine is a very tricky affair, and I did not attempt to even try. Besides, I have always been accustomed to drinking tea at Chinese dinners – and the captain recommended an excellent varietal. Called 黄金桂 (huangjingui), it had a fragrant and flowery foretaste, which gave way to an insistent honeyed mid-taste yet finally finished up on a light, cleansing note and free from dominant flavours. I could have gone on drinking it all night.

There are degustation menus designed to give you a sampling of the restaurant’s signature dishes – and they cover a pretty good range of price points. But we eschew all that to order a la carte, off the menu. This strategy can be hit or miss, I feel. If you are lucky enough to have a good sense of what the restaurant does well – and if of course, you have the help of your restaurant captain – you can fashion a far better meal than those in the set menus, with more varied options, for a lesser price. But more often than not you are not that lucky. You will have some misses - that is inevitable. The trick is to try to limit your misses and not let them outnumber your hits.

The appetisers that we ordered represented a rather lukewarm start. The 烧肉 (shaorou – roasted pork belly), without being outstanding, had the requisite fattiness and was seasoned rather well. The 盐水鸭 (xianshuiya – salted duck breast) was far too salty and was not improved by the dipping sauce that came with it. The star of our initial trio was the 肉菘茄子 (rousongqiezi – eggplant fritters with pork floss). These were slivers of eggplant coated with pork floss, then battered and flash-fried. It had a blend of sweet and savoury, and the texture of the fried batter contrasted perfectly with the moist flesh of the eggplant.

Next came the soups – which we had high expectations of. One of the components of Chinese cuisine that has not been exported well to the rest of the world is the variety of herbal broths and soups. Indeed, these have not even been passed from generation to generation that well, much less introduced to the rest of the world. The most traditional and most nutritious of Chinese soups use a staggering number of herbs and medicinal ingredients, and are simmered for days. Winnie had raved about the double-boiled soups at Majestic, so we tried two of their signatures the 海中宝 (haizhongbao – double boiled seafood soup with abalone and black truffle) and the 花胶鲨鱼骨 (huajiaoshayugu – shark cartilage soup). Sadly, it must have been an off-night for the kitchen as neither one was very impressive. The ingredients in the seafood soup promised a lot, but we must have received a fresh batch because the broth did not seem to be infused even with the flavours of sea cucumber and fish slices, much less retain the nuances of the abalone and black truffle. The shark cartilage soup had good flavour, but proved much too gummy for continued consumption. One or two tablespoons were all that anyone could take of it.

The rest of the night was a blur, as dishes came and left the table, and a flurry of chopsticks clicked and clacked through the conversation. There were some truly excellent dishes, but for the most part the Majestic was adequate without being amazing. The stellar dishes included the house signature 中式烤羊排 (zhongshikaoyangpai – Chinese-style lamb chop), which came drizzled with a sinful red wine reduction and was paired with the 萝卜糕 (luobogao – carrot cake), another house special that was light, crumbly and terrifyingly addictive. The 家乡豆腐 (jiaxiangdoufu – house-made tofu) was also made to moist perfection and seasoned with just enough garlic.

We also ordered roast duck and roast chicken – staple dishes that can be used to judge any self-respecting Cantonese restaurant. For the preparation that we ordered it in – 香吊烧鸡 (xiangdiaoshaoji) – the chicken at Majestic was very, very good. Crispy skin with trace amounts of fat, and juicy, tender meat that almost fell off the bone; it was technically perfect, and wonderfully flavoured. The duck was a shade behind, but also bore the hand of a master chef at work.

This is one of the reasons I admire modern chefs – because they face the shackles of traditional menu formats and dishes. Cantonese restaurants are expected to have certain staples – roast duck, roast pork belly, dumplings, whole fish and so on and so forth). As a chef who wants to fashion his own menu, his own concept – there are certain dishes you are obliged to have on the menu, certain concessions you have to make to the public palate, which is accustomed to particular incarnations of particular dishes. You are then also expected to live up to traditional ideals of that dish; so whatever innovation you make – adding an unusual ingredient or using another cooking method – has to be truly outstanding or it will fail.

One of the innovations at Majestic is also one of their most popular dishes – the wasabi prawns. Just as the name suggests, these turned out to be large prawns deep-fried and coated with a special wasabi mayo. They were quite tasty, and I admired the skill with which the kitchen found the perfect balance of wasabi spice to complement the natural taste of the prawns. Yet it did not blow me away.

Neither did the 饺子鹅片面 (jiaoziepianmian – noodles with goose dumplings), nor the only treatment of fish we had: 鲈鱼扒 (luyupa – filet of sea perch). These were frankly quite ordinary, and fell far short of the standards that the Majestic had set for itself. We finished with the lobster noodles, which was actually very good – but hardly worth what you pay for it. That pushed us over the edge and we did not have any room for dessert, which probably was the best idea for all of us.

The service at the Majestic was impossible to find fault with: everybody was courteous, efficient and completely mindful of our needs. It made me lament the paucity of “career” service staff around Singapore – people for whom hospitality is a calling and not a pit stop. Granted, there are fresh-faced teenagers who can do a great job of restaurant service, but it really takes an old pro to understand how to fashion an unforgettable dining experience.

Dining at the Majestic was absolutely lovely, no doubt in large part due to the excellent company. The restaurant was a unique blend of old and new and the latest effort in tempering innovation with respect for tradition. I was thoroughly impressed by both the kitchen and the front of the house. Yet I couldn’t help but feel that we had engineered a few too many misses in terms of food ordered, for me to really feel blown away. Perhaps next time – armed with a better knowledge of what is good and what not to get – it will be a lot more enjoyable.

Food Ideas? some prepared, some imagined.

Grilled sweetbreads with blood orange and parsley relish

Seared chicken hearts and fried chicken skin with fennel, shallot, lemon and olive oil

Tripe, white beans and chorizo, over rice, topped with cilantro, red onion and pickled jalapeno

Braised oxtail with cumin and habanero

Fried sardines, borlotti beans, white wine vinegar, parsley

Seared monkfish liver over lentils and frisee

Baby octopus with saffron rice and preserved lemon vinaigrette

Fish head soup, cilantro, lime

Pork liver with crispy shallots, carmelized onions and garlic kale

Striped bass with white bean puree, salad of endive, frisee and grapefruit

Spicy tripe sausage, sweet snap peas, barley

Morcilla, grilled, on a plate

Sandwiches:

Headcheese alla plancha, pickled red onions, arugula, on baguette

Bresaola, parmigiano, swiss chard, red onion, dijon, roasted garlic mayo on pumpernickel

Braised beef tongue, white wine onions, lettuce on rye, bread dipped in braising liquid

Where's the love, or the meat for that matter?

Today featured the grand opening of SAGAL carniceria (1307 Fulton St.) just down the block from my so called home and resting place.  This place is amazing.  Huge counters of fresh, cheap meat.  If I were the sort of person who used multiple exclamation points, this would be the time.  Grand opening specials include: 

15lbs of Oxtail for $29.99

40lbs of chicken legs for $16.99

And my personal favorite:

5 lbs of pig feet for 4.99

Holy crap this is awesome.

However, there is trouble in paradise.  I personally see this as a wonderful addition to the 'hood, but one black woman entered the store and said (for all to hear) "I'm not here to buy anything.  I just wanted to see...  Just like I thought.  Not one black person working here.  Not one black person working here.  In this neighborhood, that just ain't right."   The Hispanic fellow who was selling me pork liver ($1.69/#) just sort of gave her a dirty look.  He then turns to me and says, "She's a racist.  It doesn't matter if there are a thousand black people. It's not about that."

Hear, hear.

I knew that there was some racial tension in my neighborhood, particularly next door in Crown Heights, where the Hassidic Jews and Caribbean populations are classically at odds, but this was a time where it struck me as particularly divisive.  Sometimes I think that New York, and the outer boroughs in particular are America's unmelted pot.  Part of the joy of having so many distinctive ethnic neighborhoods is diminished by this palpable tension.  People really look and act differently from block to block.  These aren't differences that are easy to gloss over.

I'm currently feeling that Spike Lee's "Do The Right Thing" is one of the most perspicacious films I've seen in a long time.  The more I think about it the more there is to think about.  Or one might say there's more fat to chew on.

Too much of a good thing?

Wan Dou Sek (搵到食)
126 Sims Avenue (between Geylang Lor 15 and 17)
Singapore 387449
Tel: +65 67464757

“The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom… for we never know what is enough until we know what is more than enough.” – William Blake

It is a truth universally acknowledged that I will eat too much when I go for dim sum. How could one not? There are so many choices, so many staples to revisit and new treats to try out; and best of all everything is bite-sized. I have been convinced many times over that there can be too much of a good thing, but each time I am asked to make that choice again I fail miserably at doing the right thing.

In Singapore, quality dim sum is still largely the domain of finer-dining restaurants. Cheap and good Hong Kong “cha chaan teng” ("teahouse") style dim sum is very rare here, and there are many reasons for this. Chief among them is that the best dim sum is hand-made, and therefore very labour intensive – and you can only get away with this if you operate at the higher price points of the finer restaurants. At mid-range or cheaper establishments you wind up having to make several tough decisions – procuring commercial supplier-made dough or wraps, cutting corners in the intricacies of the dim sum making process, or reducing the variety of your offerings. With the volume that the kitchen is supposed to manage, you are forced to substitute the raw for the ready-made, and compromise the quality of your product.

The quality of the ingredients in itself is another differentiating factor. In a country that has a negligible agricultural industry and imports most of its food, truly fresh and local ingredients are hard to come by. This becomes more critical in the making of dim sum, where freshness of ingredients is paramount. You have to pay more to get the quality ingredients and to get them fresh, so only the higher-end restaurants can charge enough to make their venture profitable.

This is not to say that there aren’t any good places that aren’t expensive restaurants in Singapore. Red Star in Chinatown has been around for decades and, creditably, has lost little if any of its lustre. Some stalls within hawker centres also do produce very good dim sum. But there also is a place in Geylang that is a great approximation of a true cha chaan teng, and it is open 24 hours.

Wan Dou Sek (搵到食) is a no frills eating place right in the heart of Singapore’s red light district, providing an array of savoury treats amidst a setting of some other not-so-savoury treats. Literally translated as “(I’ve) Found Something To Eat”, the name of the shop is also a clever homonym of the numbers 1-2-6, which coincidentally happens to be their address. When I say there are no frills, I really do mean it. The tables are mismatched, there are no tablecloths, and only 6 out of 10 pieces of the cutlery provided passed a cleanliness check by the naked eye. But if you can look past all that, then you are in for a treat.

The trick that Wan Dou Sek pulls is that they go all out for everything. Dishes are chock-full of the ingredients that make them tasty: the pei dan chok had more pei dan than chok and a sweetness that was strangely addictive. Flavours are intense and pronounced, and sauces are reduced to the bare minimum and seasoned with absolute disregard for personal health. Chee cheong fun, which normally comes drizzled in light soy sauce, came instead in a mixture of soy sauce and oyster sauce that had been thickened, reduced and salted heavily. The sauce was almost unbearable on its own, but when paired with the rice noodle rolls, was sinfully delicious and just this side shy of over-the-top. The taste of garlic was all-powerful in the pai guat, which I enjoyed but may not be everyone’s cup of tea.

The true star at Wan Dou Sek is the cha siu bao. Now this is not a dim sum dish that I normally eat, but the cha siu here is fatty and full-flavoured, and they make the buns “open-top” style here, which is wonderfully old school. I popped a freshly-steamed cha siu bao in my mouth and for a minute struggled to think of what could possibly top the experience.

The staples are executed fairly well here, with more working-man graft than fine-dining finesse. The siew mai and har gao are satisfying not for the lightness of the skin or the freshness of their filling – but because they are stuffed to the brim with ingredients and pack power in their punch. Of course, there are also misses. There is a curry chicken chee cheong fun – an eclectic and innovative amalgam of two Singaporean favourites – that sadly failed to deliver. The braised duck wing tips did not have the fullness of flavour that I expected, and the cha ye fan (glutinous rice wrapped in tea leaves) was markedly disappointing in both its taste and texture.

The place was also less chaotic, less boisterous than the average Hong Kong cha chaan teng. I suppose because of the surroundings (call them rustic or ramshackle depending on how generous you are), few if any actually go there for the atmostphere and almost nobody lingers on after eating. People go there for the food and not to meet or connect with friends and family. While this meant that I could actually hear the music playing in the background and the conversation at our table, and could enjoy my food in peace – I couldn’t help but wish that there had been a little more bustle. After all, that’s part of the cha chaan teng experience, isn’t it?

That being said, Wan Dou Sek’s dedication to excess in all forms was exemplary, and I must say they do a good job of what they do. Best of all, they are open 24 hours, so whether you need a morning brunch or a late night drunken repas – it is always an option.