Those spur-of-the-moment meet ups with someone special.
We ambled in, unsure of what to expect, I myself a little doubtful of the humongous crowd and booming noise level. And yet, half of me ached to just try. Flock, like a bird. A dynamic freedom, a short escape. Sometimes, it doesn’t really matter where you are if you’re blessed with the best company.
After browsing around Books Actually, I needed at least a little fuel in the form of fare of little pretentious degree and biting caffeine (as usual. I’m scarily predictable. Maybe it’s just Saturdays). I relished the thought of just sitting down to some stimulating conversation, some heavy comfort. It was hot, dry and balmy outside, and the inside offered a hushed promise of something good. I also loved what was written on the walls:
Morning has broken
Mr. Coffee has spoken.
It really got the tune rolling in my head, that. It was even in swirly letters. I was quite happy, that’s a given.
Believe it or not, I manage to amuse myself sometimes. I mistook at least two young women to be the waitresses, and dropped my camera. I’m the best at subjecting myself and my poor companions to public humiliation. But about the waitresses, I can’t blame myself really. They all look the same, with identical giggles and smiles and ponytails. I swear on it.
Oh Lix, you tried. And the orders were still mixed up. Still. First, I wanted a cortado. I changed my mind and ordered an iced black, only to have an iced white salaam me soon afterwards. But it was alright. I got my black in the end. All is good with patience and forced smiles. Gosh, the things I do for something to hit the spot. Lix had an earl grey, which was warm and fragrant.
After a mid-lengthy wait, the sandwich came, then the french toast.
I was surprised by the texture of the pulled pork cheek, which was tender and rather juicy. The slathered mustard was mild and complementary, offering a sharp creaminess and savoury touch to the dish. Not luxurious enough to the point whereby you wouldn’t mind anointing yourself with it, but appealing nonetheless. Well it wasn’t my dish, but obviously I stole a bite. I’m not all that doggerel in nature, you know. We are all dignified human beings. I didn’t have enough of it to criticise it fully, because eating that whole thing would be more of a journey than a brief side throw comment. I do appreciate the words ‘hand-shredded’, though. Fitting in some elbow grease is always a good thing. Like kneading bread. You just can’t turn that sort of thing down.
My french toast demanded a long wait, but goodness, when that primed platter finally arrived, I knew I was in for some herculean effort. A maple syrup-drenched (not coated) obstacle course, laden with crisp slivers of bacon and soft banana. More effort should have gone into something like bruleeing those yellow slivers instead of drowning the crisp, fried mass in a litre of syrup. At first glance, it looks decent, almost prim, but get a little closer and you spot the shrinking pool of maple pulling in at the edges, every square inch dying to be soaked up by the ever-benevelont brioche, those airy, moist and dangerously buttery inch-thick brick slabs. I thoroughly enjoyed the texture of the brioche. The outside gleamed with a fresh seal of heat, and as my fork broke through a mildly soggy (thanks to you know what) crust, a little whisper of steam escaped from a white-yellow interior. Dense enough for me to wham some bacon and banana against its belly, light enough to be pleasurable on the tongue. However, it was all too much after a while, and I had to stop and gulp down more icy coffee to balance the heady sweetness. Small qualms. Otherwise, the coffee was decent and the fare, satiating. If I do warrant another visit, I might crack down on some eggs.
But once again, thank goodness for the best company. To say I was duly satisfied would be…
A tad bit of an understatement.
Rating: 4.0/ 5
78 Moh Guan Terrace (Tiong Bahru)