Jewels of the East, Part 1

After living in the US it seems a little silly to refer to the opposing ends of Singapore as the East Coast and the West Coast, since you really only need an hour to drive between them. I grew up in the East, and like many other friends who did, have a certain amount of Easterner pride. I like to think that our surroundings have a large part to do with who we are, and that is why so many of my close friends are also Easterners; but in reality it probably has more to do with going home from school together and bumming rides from each other's parents. I think we all can agree though, that nobody likes the folks from Bukit Timah.

What I refer to as the East Coast (whatever runs along the parallel arteries of the ECP, Mountbatten/East Coast Rd and Geylang Rd/Sims Ave) is really a hotbed of culinary excellence and diversity. Geylang - the most well known of the red-light districts in Singapore and oozing a certain underbelly charm - is not coincidentally also a wonderful area for late night food. Bedok Town Centre, in what is a traditionally Malay-dominated residential area, houses many hawker stalls among which I would be hard-pressed to pick a favourite. The Eunos/Sims Ave district has amazing Malay staples. But what I thought I would do is compile a short (and ever expanding) list of some of my favourite foods and the best places to get them on the East Coast.

Curry Laksa

I have always been fascinated by Peranakan culture - a mix of cultures brought about by the assimilation of traditional Chinese immigrants into the historically Malay populated Straits Settlements. Peranakan food tends to be spicy, a little on the sour side, and dominated by such exotic ingredients as kaffir lime, coconut milk, galangal, lemongrass and belachan. The resulting palate is almost overwhelmingly intoxicating and overpoweringly flavourful. One of the traditional Peranakan dishes is laksa, a spicy noodle dish served in a coconut curry broth and garnished usually with coriander and sambal.

The best place to get laksa on the East Coast, and maybe even all of Singapore, has to be Katong, on East Coast Road right across from Roxy Square. Spurred by the phenomenal success of the original 328 Katong laksa, several other imitators have sprung up around the area - one even bold enough to set up shop right across the street. To be fair, I once tried all the other places that claimed to be the original Katong laksa, and they were all actually pretty decent. The original, though, beats them all hands down.


Katong laksa is served with shrimp, fish cake, and a healthy dollop of sambal belachan on the top. The latter is a chili paste, made by pounding red chili peppers and shrimp paste in a mortar and seasoning with salt, sugar and lime juice. True believers can eat sambal with anything. Absolutely anything. If done well, it has a spice and a tang that adds heat to any dish and elevates its flavour profile. The sambal is done well here, but the true star is the coconut curry broth, dominated by the distinct flavours of kaffir lime and lemongrass, but rounded out with the sweeter notes of the coconut milk. This place is one of my first stops whenever I return to Singapore, and with good reason.

Bak Kut Teh

Traditionally eaten as a breakfast food, bak kut teh translates literally as "meat bone tea" and is basically a broth boiled with pork ribs and spices like star anise, cinnamon, cloves as well as a whole host of medicinal herbs the names of which I never knew and never will. When I was younger my family would take road trips up to Malacca and my father would always take us to this ramshackle roadside shop just off the highway, about an hour or so outside of Malacca. He had discovered it once making the same trip by himself, and had made it a point from then on to make a stop there whenever he could, regardless of who he was with. That bak kut teh remains the best I have had and was miles better than anything you can find in Singapore, but there is a place on Joo Chiat Road that almost approximates it.


Sin Heng Bak Kut Teh is closed on Mondays but open 24 hours the rest of the week, and I have spent many a late night or early morning there winding down a night of drinking. It has a spartan layout - tables, chairs, an open kitchen - but in my mind it is the 4am Shangri-La. They do it the right way here, in that they make the broth a lot more medicinal than most places, use more garlic than most places, and also boil it with beef bones so you can occasionally find bits of marrow in your broth.

I brought the lovely Karen Lee here, shocked that she had not been here despite it being a two minute drive from her house. It was remarkable how quickly we reached an agreement on our side dishes. One of the downsides of ordering food "family-style" is that one always has to make compromises on the choice of dishes. It is very rare that everybody at the table ends up with their first choices. Invariably somebody will be allergic to shrimp, or won't touch liver - so when Karen and I spontaneously agreed on what else we wanted, it made me very happy.

In addition to the bak kut teh, we also ordered a side of braised pig's trotters in a dark soy sauce. There were heaping amounts of fat on the trotters, which fell away almost instantaneously at the tenderest of touches.


We also got a side of brinjal (also known as aubergine or eggplant) in sambal belachan. I came late in life to the eggplant - when I was younger I used to shy away from it with a vehemence that my mother always found funny and frustrating. Now I am trying to make up for lost time - I can't get enough of the stuff.


Bak kut teh is typically eaten with white rice, and is not complete without both dark and light soy sauce as a dipping condiment for the meats, spiced up by crushed garlic (optional) and thinly sliced red chilies (not optional).




Sin Heng did not disappoint. The broth was undoubtedly the star of the show - intense garlic and medicinal herbs, and a dark, mysterious colour not typical of the dish. We asked for a refill of the broth, and because Karen has a winning smile and a charming manner the waitress kindly obliged. Every time I eat there I enjoy myself, yet every time I eat there I can't help but think of that ramshackle roadside stall on the road to Malacca.

Black Bean Beef Hor Fun

Karen repaid the favour by introducing me to her favourite version of beef hor fun, at Kim Moh in the Laguna Park estate. I personally have always gone to Geylang for my beef hor fun, but Karen assured me that the standard there had dropped, and that this place was much better. Her opinion was borne out as we took another lunch trip on a lazy Friday afternoon.


Hor Fun is a dish of flat, wide rice noodles, typically stir-fried with meats or seafood and most times covered in a sauce that has a gravy-style consistency. One of the most popular local versions of beef hor fun involves preparing it with a sauce made from fermented black beans, which have a unique sweet and salty taste to them.

Karen waxed lyrical about how in the perfect beef hor fun - the sauce should be a little gummy but not overly starchy, while the noodles should each be individually coated with the sauce, so much so that they slither and slide about as you try to maneuver them into your mouth. This sometimes makes for a messy meal, but I am sure babies around the world agree with me when I say that food you can play with - always tastes better.

We ate this with a side of kang kong - a green leafy vegetable also known as water spinach. I think kang kong is not grown much elsewhere in the world because it looks like a weed to some. But it has a natural mildly sweet taste - unlike the bitterness of other vegetables like kale or chard - and is a perfect foil for many local flavours.


One of the things that they do right with the beef hor fun at Kim Moh is that they do not skimp on the sauce. The noodles are submerged in it - a rich, thick soupy mix of black beans, garlic, red chili peppers, soy sauce and oyster sauce. They gave us so much that we hit upon the brilliant idea of mopping up the remains with some zha man tou - basically sweet bread rolls that have been freshly deep-fried. There is something almost primordial about mopping up sauces with bread - it is truly one of the joys of eating.

To Be Continued.....

In the next installment of our food tour of the East Coast, we'll take a look at Still Road pepper crab, the Beach Road hae mee that is now on East Coast Road, and the beef noodles with soup at Laguna hawker centre.

A taste of Singapore, part 1 (Classic Edition)

The culinary landscape of Singapore is a testament to how specialisation and the theory of comparative advantage can yield tremendous quality and quantity at low cost. All over the city, in food centres, coffee-shops and restaurant rows, you can find what we refer to as a hawker, or a street vendor. They typically sell one dish, and one dish only - and it is a dish that they have no doubt spent decades hunched over a stove or a grill perfecting. The result is fabulous food, prepared fast, and at ridiculously low prices. You can have a full meal in Singapore, non-alcoholic beverage included, for SGD$5 (USD$3.20).

The story of Singapore food is the story of immigrant cultures, and in that respect is a story not unlike that of America's. Fortune-seekers arrived in Singapore from Mainland China by way of Thailand and Malaysia, and brought with them their local specialties that soon evolved into distinctively Singaporean versions. As a people we love food, and each individual is on a lifelong quest to build up a repertoire, a repository of knowledge - where the best versions of each local dish are. It is as much a mark of pride as it is fodder for conversation. The best bak kut teh? That 24-hour place in Joo Chiat. The best laksa? Got to be Katong laksa, and make sure you go to the real deal at number 328, not the imitation ripoff across the street.

Upon my return to Singapore I arranged with fellow foodie and friend Victor to embark on a day's worth of eating - an expedition to traverse the tiny island in search of good food and good times. We decided that since I had gone so long without them, that this expedition would cover the basics of local food, and we would save the rest for future trips. Victor, like me, is a huge fan of roasted meats, and we started off with a place we had both been to before and loved for the basic cuts of roast pork - char siu and siu yoke.

Both char siu and siu yoke are barbequed cuts of pork that have their origins in Cantonese cuisine. The former is usually the shoulder - glazed with honey, five spice powder, soy sauce and all manner of other spices before roasted at low heat and sliced thinly. The results are slices of pork that have a deep red exterior charred to a crisp, and a tender, succulent pinkish interior. The latter is the pork belly, first roasted at low temperatures and then finished off at high heat to get the exterior layer of fat crackling and crisp.


Loon Seng, on Kellock Road in River Valley, was our chosen destination for these delicacies, and they did not disappoint. Deep red slices of char siu, coated in a tangy, sweet sauce and glistening even in the warm midday light, and strips of siu yoke with crunchy skin crackling to perfection, yet moist, juicy meat that almost melted on the touch of the teeth.


Like any good Chinese boys we ate this with a generous helping of rice, and it made me think that the reason Singaporeans tend to over-season and over-salt for strong, bold flavours, was because we typically eat our foods with starches that have minimal seasoning. The slice of pork that may be overwhelming to the tongue by itself would be perfect if consumed in the same mouthful as plain white rice, or noodles, or with bread.


There was no conversation as we scarfed down the roasted meats, pausing only to periodically close our eyes and savour a particularly succulent piece, or to bite down on the black char. There was nothing to do but finish every last bite of it, because the meat at the bottom of the platter is always the best, since it has been soaking in its drippings the longest.


One of the Singaporean staples is a dish that utilises char siu as a topping to egg noodles, served dry or in a soup with pork wontons. Called char siu won ton mee, it is simple, but delicious in its simplicity. We tried a version of this from Kallang Food Centre at Old Airport Road, and while the sway gao (boiled meat and shrimp dumplings) in the soup (not pictured) was less than impressive, the noodles were tart and vinegary, coated with a thin layer of soy sauce, chili oil, and sprinkled with a healthy dash of white pepper.


What makes this dish is the accompanying condiment of sliced green chili peppers marinated in light soy sauce. Green chili has a sourness to it that rounds out the noodles and the pork; and a different kind of spice that complements the chili oil.


While we were there we also tried another Singaporean classic - Hokkien prawn noodles. This is the dish that I missed the most while living abroad. Brought to Singapore by Chinese immigrants from the Fujian province, it is a dish of egg noodles and rice noodles boiled in a seafood stock, then stir-fried in lard with shrimp, squid, fish cake, spring onions and lime. The secret is all in the stock, typically made with both fresh and dried shrimp - the latter being similar to kelp in its intensity of flavour. I am sure that there are stocks out there that have been simmering for months and years and decades, never really thrown out but reheated and reconstituted each day. The accumulated flavour of those stocks is what makes a truly transcendent dish of Hokkien prawn noodles. The one we tried, Nam Sing at Kallang Food Centre, was reputedly one of the best around, but we found that it had lost its lustre after the renovation of the food centre, and we walked away thinking that we had other favourites around town (Victor preferred Bedok Town Centre, while I was a staunch supporter of the Still Road place across from the black pepper crab stall).


I would be remiss if I did not also mention char kway teow, a dish of flat rice noodles stir-fried in lard, light and dark soy sauce and with bean sprouts, Chinese sausage, fish cake, cockles and green onions. The best part about this dish is that if done the proper way (as opposed to the healthy way), it is also fried with zhu you cha - crispy fried croutons of pork lard. These miniature heart-attacks impart another level of flavour to the dish and are delicious by themselves. You can usually ask for these to be removed, but then you risk being judged by the discerning Singaporean, and dismissed as a real connoisseur of local cuisine. The version here is from No. 18 Zion Road Hawker Centre, which was very good and usually has long lines of people queuing up for it:


It was regretful that we had so little time (and only one stomach). To get through all that we did in a day was impressive, but there were so many other classics that we passed over - Hainanese chicken rice, fried carrot cake, lor mee, fish head noodles, the list goes on. As we parted ways Victor and I agreed that we would do this regularly, and come up with themes for our future expeditions. A taste of Singapore: Offal edition. A taste of Singapore: Malay edition. A taste of Singapore: Dessert edition. It was an ambitious plan that we laid out, but I had no doubt in our commitment and drive to accomplish it.

Feast of Burden

"That is not our burden, honey. That is our gift." - Coach Taylor, on having to pay for daycare for baby Gracie (Friday Night Lights)

Cooking for someone is a tremendous responsibility. This is even more so if that someone happens to be a discerning eater with a knowledgeable palate, able to tell the amazing from the amateur. And it is especially so if that person happens to be your mother.

I recently moved back home to Singapore, giving up my kitchen in Washington DC and my numerous state-of-the-art kitchen appliances, and packing my knives and other implements. It was a bittersweet moment leaving, for I had been able to call that kitchen my own (Clayton rarely used it, and if he did his usage was limited to the microwave and the coffee maker). Moving back home meant moving back to the kitchen I grew up in, which was a good thing; but it also meant moving back to what was now my mother's kitchen.

As I have written before, I did not cook much growing up. Both my parents worked, and we had live-in help prepare our meals. Our maidservant ran the kitchen with ruthless efficiency, and had little tolerance for disturbances. She seemed to be able to do everything ten times quicker if she were doing it all herself, as if relieving her of a simple task was actually removing a crucial component of the process she had mapped out in her mind - so we gradually learnt not to bother helping out, and ceded control of the kitchen to her. She alone could operate the heavy machinery, she alone knew where everything was kept. It was amazing what she could squirrel away out of sight with just a lazy Susan and several leftover peanut butter jars. It was her castle, her domain, and we were just lucky beneficiaries of her daily sacrifices.

When we were all grown up there was then no need for live-in help, and my mother gradually took over the reins of the kitchen. She delegated little and had impossibly high standards for what she did allow others to do, and so she wound up doing almost everything herself. After all those years she still seemed intensely energised by that maternal drive to feed her children, which manifested itself in an unwillingness to accept assistance, and a propensity for self-sacrifice that was deeply humbling.

My mother alone knows what each of us like and do not like to eat, and how our tastes run; and looking back, I realised that she had spent a large portion of her life subjugating her desires to accommodate those of her children. We are all of us picky eaters and we take after our father in that respect; so managing to feed us a constantly varied, healthful diet that we all enjoyed must have been no easy task.

Morgan told me a story one time of how he and his brother absolutely loved this lemon chicken dish growing up, and made his mother make it so many times that the dish became patella non grata in their household. I can only imagine what I have similarly ruined as a culinary experience for my own mother. I realised that I had never seen her out of the context of being my mother, as an individual eater, with her own set of preferences. Thinking back, I seem to recall that in restaurants she more often than not liked to say, "I'll just have what you're having." Whether this was out of indecision or a deference to our knowledge and palate, it was very worrying. I could not live with myself if it were because she had gone so long without eating what she really liked, that she had forgotten what that was exactly.

Yet upon coming back from DC, I noticed a subtle shift in the dynamic of my mother's kitchen relationship with her children. Maybe I had been oblivious to it before, but she has slowly begun to extricate herself from that maternal provider role, and to cast off that burden of self-sacrifice. In the numerous meals I have made together with her since coming back, I have discovered so much more about her palate I either did not know, or had not noticed before. She prefers her food lightly seasoned, cooked with minimal fat, and only mildly spicy, yet had spent so much time and energy cooking to please a family that enjoyed rich, savoury flavours and spice so hot that it bludgeoned the tongue. She is alone in the family in her taste for soups, and prefers her meat off the bone and against the grain. Unlike me she is not a fan of shellfish, and turns her nose up at some of the more exotic cuts I want to prepare - pig's trotters, sweetbreads, even liver.

It was tremendously difficult to infiltrate my mother's kitchen. I felt like I was in high school all over again and begging to use the cars. When I did manage to, the pressure to perform was enormous. Would it be up to her standards? Would I enjoy it? How do I reconcile our different tastes? How do I apply what I have learnt of Western cuisine? What is this thing we call a wok and why does it so dramatically alter cooking times? Where's the damn salt!? Why can't I find anything around here?

And that's when I realised what I had missed out on in my cooking education - cooking as burden, cooking as responsibility. I had hitherto been so enamoured with cooking largely because I did it for my own pleasure: I made what I wanted to, and to hell with anyone else. Even as I organised dinner parties for friends or cooked for significant others, I only made what I wanted to eat, and nobody else had any say in the matter. Sure I dealt with the occasional twist and catered to the occasional preference - Kellyn's lactose intolerance, Amanda's love of scallops and (worst of all) Laura's vegetarianism. But I did not deal with them every day, and I sure as hell did not alter what I ate, only what they did.

And so I adjust, and accommodate. It makes the cooking process a little more challenging, I must admit. Before, I did things because it was the way things should be done, or the way I liked to do it. Monter au buerre, why would we NOT do it? Why would anybody NOT want us to do it? I suppose I never truly cooked for others so much as cooked for myself. The food I made came out of the kitchen filtered through my palate, not that of anyone else's.

Now I try to think about every action I take in the kitchen. Take adding salt - how much, and at what juncture? Should I balance the dish out with sugar? And so on and so forth. I cook with restraint, with care. Most of all I cook with the knowledge that the act itself is one of great responsibility, and not to be taken lightly.

Home is where the 'Weck is

America has had a reputation as a culinary wasteland. We saw ourselves and were seen as having no true character, no soul, no history. Somehow, tuna noodle casserole and meatloaf became iconic American dishes. And yet, what lay and lies a bit under that stereotype is a truly imposing variety of regional cuisines, all of which have their own history, and often, their own ingredients, on account of the climate and location. I can't think of Maine without thinking of lobster and shrimp. I can't think of Maryland without craving crab-cakes. Living in Rhode Island I loved the fried calamari you would find in dozens of variations, the Portuguese chorizos and seafood stews, the deep fried clams I ate at the beach. The pacific northwest has its wild salmon, and incredible variety of produce. So-cal and the Southwest have their Mexican influence and BBQ traditions. Jason has often mentioned his love of Louisiana Creole cuisine.

There's no shortage of regional flavors and recipes, but one that is particularly close to my heart and is the iconic food of my hometown, Buffalo, NY. Buffalo has had a number of waves of immigrants in its history including Poles, Germans and Italians. Some of the great butcher shops in Buffalo are remnants of these old school food-cultures. One great hold over from a more German era is the Kummelweck roll. Supposedly brought from the Black Forest to Buffalo by immigrants working on the Erie Canal in the 1800s, this kaiser-esque bread is studded with caraway seeds and sprinkled with sea salt. In Buffalo the roll is then turned into what is lovingly known as Beef on 'Weck, slow roasted beef, kummelweck roll, beef jus, and as much prepared horseradish as you can stand. There are only 4 components really, the roll, the meat, the jus and the horseradish, but it is shockingly delicious. Heart clogging and sensational. If you didn't make a mess, you didn't do it right. To cut straight to the chase, I wish I was eating one right now.

The Shanghai Cocktail Chronicles

"If I'm not wasted, the weekend is." - Jimmy Lerch (attributed)


It is easy to lose yourself in Shanghai, both literally and metaphorically. The city is steeped in history as diverse as it is rich, and the people who have come and gone have left marks on the city as varied as they are indelible. It is an incredible confluence of both old and new, both foreign and Chinese, which creates a narrative that is perhaps unique to the city.

I had the good fortune of spending a weekend in Shanghai being hosted by a couple of old college buddies who have made the city their home, and it was a great pleasure to see them again. We had changed much - that was certain - but as we raised our glasses to one another it kind of felt like the old times again.

It was perhaps appropriate then, that in a city such as Shanghai, such a blend of cultures and influences - that I rediscovered the magic of the mixed drink, otherwise known as the cocktail. I have never been one to be terribly partial to liquor; beer is more often than not my poison of choice. And I suppose I have never really had a really transcendent cocktail. But Jose, Jimmy and Angel brought me to one of their favourite lazy Sunday hangouts: a French restaurant, owned by an New Zealander, in an area formerly known as the International Concession. They swore by the talent and palate of the resident mixologist - as they are called these days - and JImmy sold me on the place by claiming that it was the perfect place to pass a rainy afternoon. It did not rain, but once we got there I saw what he meant.

The Hamilton House is located on the first floor of one of the beautiful buildings that litter the strip known as the Bund, on the banks of the Huangpu River. It was here that the turn of the century saw a building boom of French, British and American banks and trading houses in many different architectural styles. I saw some beautiful Art Deco and Beaux-Arts buildings, somber in their ornamentation and oozing both history and character. It was not lost on me that directly across the river was a stretch of modern glass-windowed skyscrapers, each one trying to outdo each other in the race to the clouds.

What Jimmy meant by his comment was that the Hamilton House was a cozy place with tall windows, through which you could see out into a busy intersection. Evidently he had spent several rainy afternoons here - either by choice or by necessity - tracing the rivulets of rain as they trickled down the glass and watching the world go by, sipping on a cocktail and forgetting about life for a while.


As I browsed the cocktail menu I marveled at the variety of ingredients that went into each drink, and lamented the sad state of the much maligned mixed drink. Most of what gets ordered at bars today does not deviate much from the standards - rum-and-coke, gin-and-tonic, vodka-and-soda. The Hamilton House made me yearn for an era gone by, where a bartender worth his salt could draw on the flavours and tastes of different types, ages and brands of liquors, bitters, aperitifs and juices to make a tasty concoction. If done right, the cocktail can be a creation in itself, a mini-feast for your senses of taste and smell and sight, in addition to that all-important responsibility - to get you drunk.


I started out with a Sun Wukong (above, foreground), made with kiwifruit-infused vodka, passionfruit liqueur, dragonfruit, lemon, lemoncello and green tea. Jose ordered his regular drink - called an Oriental Mule (above, background) that had passionfruit-infused vodka, coriander, lemongrass, ginger, lime and ginger beer in it. I thought these two were the standouts of the evening - just sweet enough to satisfy the palate, just bitter enough to be worthy of an alcoholic beverage. Not only were the flavours well-balanced, but they were local, and seasonal. Evidently a significant amount of thought and effort had gone into the making of these drinks. I should imagine that drink creation is quite enjoyable, for you can always drink your mistakes. Everyone's a winner.


As day turned into dusk, the conversation flowed as freely as the alcohol. I feel like the older I get, the more time I spend reminiscing. Not that there is anything wrong with the present moment, but thinking and talking about the past is a habit easy to pick up and difficult to shake off.


There was a drink on the menu called the Soixante Quinze (above, left) which I absolutely had to try - Bombay Sapphire, Calvados, absinthe, lemon and champagne. For me it was a jolt back to the days when people drank Sazeracs, or Negronis, or pounded any manner of stiff drinks like their life depended on it. I absolutely loved it. It was hair-on-the-chest strong, with the licorice taste of the absinthe and accents of apple thanks to the Calvados. Also pictured is the Cha-tini (above, right) which was similarly delightful, but in a more refined manner. "Cha" being the Chinese character for tea, it was a mix of jasmine tea-infused Bombay Sapphire, Martini Bianco and lemongrass. The two drinks were Yin and Yang together, and disappeared far too quickly.


My last drink was a Henley (above) - Bombay Sapphire, Pimms No. 1, guava nectar, apple juice, lime and mint. At this point you could probably have fed me turpentine and I wouldn't have noticed the difference. It had been the perfect lazy Sunday: we had gotten up late, had brunch on Wujiang Lu*, walked the French Concession, stopped for cocktails and were now headed back home for dinner and then movie night, curled up on the couch or sprawled on the floor in front of the HD TV, drifting in and out of an alcohol and food-induced coma. Truly, life does not get any better.

* Back alley off the main artery of Nanjing Xi Lu, famous for outdoor food vendors and dive restaurants selling all manner of grilled meats and steamed dumplings, among other delicacies

If my trip to Shanghai did anything, it gave me a renewed faith in the cocktail. I have always been a fan of the culture of the Roaring Twenties, and as we sat and watched the cars buzz past, looking out through the window at an intersection of four Art Deco buildings, I felt transported. It was Prohibition all over again and people treated the cocktail with reverence and respect. Everyone, men and women, drank hearty drinks with absinthe and pastis and herbsaint and Pernod and Pimms, with whiskey and bootleg gin. Bartenders made your drinks with care and a sense of purpose. The night before the Hamilton House expedition we had made the acquaintance of a gentleman at one of Shanghai's finest bars, who introduced us to another delicious cocktail called the Scottish Crush - basically a Mojito with Scotch instead of rum. It got a few of us a lot drunker and a lot faster than we expected - and was roundly celebrated and cursed at in equal measure the next morning. Shanghai certainly loves its cocktails, and so do I.

Of wine and wine-making

While we were in San Francisco we decided, like millions of others every year, to make the pilgrimage out to wine country. It would have been plain silly of us not to do it while we were in the area, and we could not have picked a better day for it, really. The sky was cloudless, and despite the sun beating down upon us there was a balmy breeze that kept us cool. I had just left a city that was beginning to get into the throes of winter and this was more than welcome.


For over on the left coast the leaves were just starting to change colour, and it was rather nice to get out into the country. The air was certainly different - fresher and cleaner, and it was nice to see a little topographic relief after being in Kansas much of the previous few months. One of the vineyards we visited was located at the foot of an extinct volcano, which made for some impressive landscaping.


I had never previously visited a vineyard or winery and had at best only a hazy notion of how wine was made, so I found the tours very informative. What left the greatest impression on me was the tremendous pride and passion everyone had for their wine-making. They knew it and they knew it well, and when they waxed lyrical about each little step in the making of their wines and why they made the choices they did, you could not help but respect them. It made me a little sad; I could not hold forth on the intricacies of my profession for longer than several minutes - and even then it would be probably only to complain about it.


But it ultimately gave me a greater appreciation of wine. As one of our tour guides put it, it gave you insight into the "story" of a particular wine. The knowledge and appreciation of how even the most minor decisions could affect how the wine eventually drank - when to harvest the grapes, what oak to store it in, etc - made me pause to think. Despite the commercial nature of the wine-making industry today and its highly mechanised process, at its heart it was still a labour of love. The product that finds its way to your lips was - if done correctly - a product of someone else's care and dedication.

We had the good fortune of meeting Kathy Inman - of Inman Family Wines - a small producer of hand-crafted Pinot Gris and Pinot Noir in the Russian River Valley. We were interrupted twice during our conversation by her phone ringing - first her husband wanted to know about dinner and then her daughter called about getting a ride home from band practice. It was quite funny at the moment but it did underscore the human element of these winemakers - faces you never see, hidden behind the labels on the bottles.


It was late in the season when we went, and the grapes for most wines had already been harvested. We did, however, manage to sneak a taste of some grapes fresh off the vine at one vineyard. Because of the intense heat of these dog days of summer some of them had already dried up considerably, but the good ones that I bit into were tart and not overly sweet.


The wine tastings themselves were also great fun, but more than once I wished for some proper food to accompany the wine. The latest Opus One, for example, called desperately for a bistecca alla fiorentina. I wished for raw oysters while drinking the Miner Family Vineyards Chardonnay. I suppose, in the wise words of the philosopher Jagger - you can't always get what you want.

I came to wine late in my relatively young life: my parents were not drinkers, and neither popularity nor knowledge were widespread when I was growing up in Singapore. These days I am quite the snob myself, and wine culture has definitely taken a few large strides forward in my hometown. The past few years have seen many wine bars and local gourmet wine shops sprout up in the unlikeliest of neighbourhoods. I find, though, that there tends to be a lot of Australian wine (the proximity of our countries goes some way to explaining that), which is not my favourite. An Aussie mate of mine once told me that Australia does not export any of what the locals consider good wine, and so what the rest of the world gets is the swill that they themselves will not drink. The same thing applies with that other famous Australian alcoholic export - Fosters lager. No self-respecting Aussie will touch the stuff.

But even then, we don't get a lot of what I consider the good stuff in Singapore - the Bordeaux, the Burgundies, the Brunellos - the Old World stuff that I love so much. I attribute this to two reasons. One has to do with limited supply; and I think the EU and the US, which have been buying wine for ages, get first dibs on these wines - which in turn does not leave much for the rest of the world. This is something that can hopefully be remedied by the globalisation of demand - the increasing wine savvy of the Asian market and the potential for untapped markets may shift the balance of power this way across the globe. The second reason, though, is one of taste. I think the average Singaporean palate is partial to spicier wines, with more fruit, which make New World wines like Spanish Riojas, South Africa Syrahs, Chilean Cabs, and Argentinean Malbecs generally more popular here - and I'm just talking reds. In many respects these wines stand up better, and are more suited to the cuisine here anyway.


On the ride back into the city I gave a lot of thought to what little I now knew about the wine-making process. Like many other processes - for example a manufacturing process - it could be broken down, separated into mini-sections that could be further studied, understood and optimised. The growth, the harvest, the fermentation, the mixing, it goes on and on. There was so much that was scientific about it, so much that gave itself to the scientific method. Yet so much else was not. Clearly the quality of the harvest was at the mercy of the elements. Choosing grapes, or knowing when to take the wine out of the barrels, or deciding which grapes to blend for the wine - depended on the taste and palate of the winemaker.

In that respect it was not unlike cooking. To be successful, you needed to understand and adjust for many different elements - some scientific, some not, some under your control, and others not. And just like cooking, the fruits of your labour are gone in an instant, often all too soon.

California Dreamin'

"Cuisine is like a fireworks display; nothing remains. It is “une fête, rapide éphémerale” - Paul Bocuse

On a recent trip to San Francisco I had the chance to eat at a restaurant called La Folie, or what translates roughly into "The Madness" in French. All the staples of classic French food were there - foie gras (albeit of the Hudson Valley variety), terrines, forcemeats, rabbit, etc. Needless to say, I was delighted, although my waistline probably did not need it. It was excellent food, very fresh and I soon saw where the "madness" manifested itself. The presentations were all controlled chaos, explosions of contours and colours that I took great pleasure in dismantling.

This was a terrine of warm pig's feet, sweetbread and lobster. One could tell that it was French because the tang of dijon mustard was unmistakable.


Lobster with butternut squash ravioli - with a cute pumpkin touch.


Salmon with smoked ham hock and sweet onion sauce.


Trio of rabbit - loin, rack and braised leg. I love rabbit, there is something so delicate yet arrestingly flavourful about it. I read somewhere that in the south of France wild rabbits subsist on a diet of thyme and sage - natural seasoning, if you will - and that they are delicious.


One thing that struck me about my trip to San Francisco was how prominently figs featured in the cuisine of the region. They were everywhere! From appetisers to entrees to desserts. For my part I could barely contain myself. Here is a mission fig tarte tartin with goat cheese sorbet.


On our trip out to wine country we also stopped for lunch in St Helena at a lovely little place called Cindy's Backstreet Kitchen. It was on a street off the main drag - hence the name - but this also reminded me somewhat of going to Pastiche in Providence, where you have to peel off Atwells onto the smaller back street of Spruce. It gave me a good feeling walking in and even though we did not get to sit outside, the interior was lit beautifully by the warm Californian sunshine, and it felt almost as good.

Here is a fig flatbread.


And, just for Reed, a close-up. Eat that, Reedy.


These were listed on the menu as Incredible Mushroom Tamales, which sounded very appetising. I asked our waitress what she thought of them and she replied, "Oh, they're very good." I am disinclined to ever believe any waiter who says that without explaining why they think so. For once in my life I would like to hear someone tell me the truth and say, "Oh, they're not very good in my opinion - you have to really like X." or something along those lines. But she had kind eyes and a great smile and so I was suckered into ordering the tamales. They were a good way short of incredible, I'll tell you that.





Photos from La Folie courtesy of Ms Camille Chow

The Washington Round-Up

Now that I am leaving the tree-lined streets of the District of Columbia, I thought it only appropriate to summarise my impressions of the city's restaurants.

Caveat: Excluded from mention are 2941 and the Inn at Little Washington, which I figured too far out of the city for consideration, and a list of three restaurants I did not make it to that may have made the grade on these lists: Obelisk, Makoto and Dino.

My Fav Five:

1. Komi - $$$$. Without a doubt my favourite restaurant in DC and one of my favourites ever. Komi is nominally Greek food, but I like to think that what it does is present the bold and robust flavours of the Mediterranean though a filter - that filter being the sophisticated and elegant palate of chef Johnny Monis. Power tempered with grace, if you will. The food is always technically excellent, the service always attentive, the surroundings always cosy. If only it weren't so difficult to get a reservation.

2. Marcel's - $$$$$. Belgian-influenced food strongly rooted in the classical metier of French la grande cuisine, this Robert Wiedmaier expense-account establishment only marginally beat out the next restaurant for the number 2 spot. Mind-blowing not only for the quality of the food but the attention to detail. Excellent if expensive wine-list. Reviewed 8/30/2008.

3. Michel Richard Citronelle - $$$$$. Another expense-account establishment offering thoughtful and innovative food with absolutely stunning presentations. The care put into each dish is more than apparent. Again, an excellent if expensive wine-list. Reviewed 10/6/2008.

4. Blue Duck Tavern - $$$. A beautiful, beautiful space, with soaring ceilings and windows and a stunning open kitchen. Modern American tavern food - which means lots of grilled meats, braises, and wood-fired deliciousness. The best part about this place is that it is less expensive than you would expect. Also serves a great brunch, which is perhaps the best time to come because the interior looks a lot more lovely by daylight. Reviewed 1/3/2008.

5. Nora - $$$. The first certified organic restaurant in the USA, and out of all the ones I've been to, the only one for which I can truly say I tasted the difference. Simple, delicious preparations bursting with colour and flavour. Reviewed 8/19/2006.

Not Good / Do not Patronise:

Cityzen - $$$$$. This was actually decent to good, but wildly over-rated, and way too expensive.
Blacksalt - $$$$. Horrendous service, and an almost criminal treatment of fresh seafood. Reviewed 10/28/2008.
Ceiba - $$$. Very poor, almost shoddy execution on the part of the kitchen.
Cafe Atlantico - $$$$. Used to be good but jumped the shark.
Westend Bistro - $$$. How you can mess up braised short rib is beyond me.

It kills me to leave out so many other good restuarants. I used to love Cashion's Eat Place, but the food suffered when Ann Cashion left. Ray's the Steaks is technically in Arlington, but has the best steak inside the Beltway. 2 Amy's has managed to keep up the quality of their excellent pizza despite an obscene amount of Internet buzz and word-of-mouth. Le Paradou in the Penn Quarter for classical French cuisine, Palena in Cleveland Park for that funny thing we call New American. DC Coast for the beautiful, beautiful space and good seafood. I've had great times at TenPenh, 1789, and Cafe Milano. Persimmon in Bethesda if you want to venture a little further afield.

This wave of nostalgia I'm currently feeling may have clouded my judgment, but I hope this field guide provides some good suggestions for those who are thinking of visiting a city that I used to call home.

A lack of respect

Blacksalt Fish Market and Restaurant
4883 Macarthur Boulevard
Washington, DC 20007
202-342-9101

I love seafood. I love it when it is done simply, I love it when it is fresh. Given its proximity to the coast, one would expect a proliferation of seafood places in DC - and there are several places that claim this specialty. DC Coast is a favourite of mine and, in my opinion, the best of the Jeff Tunks restaurants. I have yet to try Hook, which is relatively new. Blacksalt had always intrigued me because in addition to being a bar and restaurant, it was also a functional fish market. Unfortunately it is out in the Palisades, which is difficult to get to if you do not own a car. But I am leaving this place soon, and finally made it out there last Friday.

The first thing you see when you enter Blacksalt is the fish market portion of the place: a counter of fresh fish, sitting invitingly on a bed of ice. The more squeamish among us may have a problem with seeing - whole - what they are about to consume, but I say to these people: the only way to appreciate good food is if you have given thought to where it came from and what it was before.

I have written about the difference between service and the more exalted ideal of hospitality - an idea that Danny Meyer expounds on in his book. I have to say that I was summarily disappointed with both at Blacksalt. Our reservation was at 8pm, which was when two of our party arrived. Granted the remaining couple filtered in several minutes later, but the fact remains that we were seated at 8.05pm and it was 8.55pm before the waiter even took our order. In that time, we had to ask for bread and when that came, had to ask for butter to accompany it. To my mind, these are basics and should be buttoned down at any half-decent restaurant.

I think, though, even beyond the basic errors that our waiter made, he committed what I believe is the cardinal sin of service: he did not care. He had a disinterested air about him, and our every exchange with him appeared to be perfunctory. It was as if he did not believe in the words that he was uttering, but rather reciting them from a script. It was a rather disconcerting sight to see another person so lifeless and so lacking in dedication, that I almost forgot how mad I was at the terrible service. At the end of the night I rather pitied the guy.

Needless to say, this greatly discoloured our dining experience at Blacksalt. After the initial wait, the service did improved, as the runners and busboys picked up the slack for our waiter. But it was difficult to enjoy the food. My appetiser of mussels was good, but nothing I could not have done myself at home. Ty's tuna belly with sweetbreads was uninspired and did not have the intensity of flavour I expected from those ingredients.

My greatest complaint, though, with the whole culinary philosophy in the kitchen at Blacksalt - was the almost criminal way they treated the seafood by layering it with heavy, overly starchy flavours and complements. Now I know and like the taste of sea bass. I know and like the taste of red snapper. In a dish that contains either, I want to be able to discern those tastes. Any sauces or sides have to complement those tastes and allow them to shine through.

There was a Virginia red puppy drum on the menu at Blacksalt, which intrigued me because first, it was local and second, I had never had drumfish, at least not knowingly. I did not end up ordering it, but was glad that both Ty and Brody did. Yet the dish typified exactly what was wrong with Blacksalt. The fish came smothered in a curry cream sauce, and paired with a side of gnocchi. The flavours of these individual complements were good, but as a result I was unable to really taste the fish. For my part, I had ordered the braised octopus in garlic, parsley and olive oil - but it came with tomatoes that were not mentioned in the menu. The acidity of the tomatoes completely assaulted the octopus and rendered it virtually indistinguishable from squid. Needless to say, I was mortified at the complete lack of respect shown to these ingredients which were, for their part, extremely fresh.

To be fair, I did also have the Pacific butterfish with medjool dates and piquillo peppers - which are pretty strong flavours but somehow worked with the butterfish. And JP's whole sea bass was very good. There are hits on the menu at Blacksalt. One just has to find them.

One last thing about the restaurant destroyed whatever faith we had left after the meal, and whatever good feeling had been brought about by the excessive wine consumption through the meal. After we had paid our bill and were lingering finishing our wine, we asked for another bottle of sparkling water to wash everything down. To be honest, I had expected this to be comped, especially after how much we had spent at the restaurant. But we were brought a bill for $5 even as the water was brought out. RK made a point about how transactional the meal had been - completely devoid of hospitality and personability - just a group of individuals exchanging cash for food. That is not what dining out should be, but that is exactly what Blacksalt had reduced it to.

There are many reasons that I would not go back to Blacksalt - chief among them being the fact that I am moving from DC. But I felt that in many ways a lack of respect had characterised the meal - our waiter had disrespected his profession, the chef had disrespected the food - and as a result, we were left tremendously disappointed. It was not a good feeling, and it took me until the next morning to shake off the regret.