Brûléed French Toast

So I’m supposed to be reviewing the work of Wilfred Owen for a practice oral today, but here I am instead, gushing over one of the best french toast recipes I’ve come across. There’s just something about french toast in the morning which gives the breakfast-eating ritual a sacred, yet lucid and carefree touch. One of my favourite recipe blogs is Poires Au Chocolat. Emma’s writing and photography is clean, personal and humble. The hard work she puts into everything is evident in her gorgeous final products, the pride and joy of her culinary efforts.

Her recipe may be found here: Brûléed French Toast

Did I have a blow torch?

No. I didn’t cry though, because this recipe was still absolutely perfect with my cup of coffee, the papers and note jotting. Definitely missed out on a flashy statement, but nevertheless I loved this. There is a narrow egg to milk ratio, making this recipe particularly rich and joyous. And please use whole milk, ample butter and good vanilla extract. Makes all the difference. The fluffiness of the brioche was a soft pillow beneath that lightly seared crust, patches of beautiful, buttery brown. I added some warmed berries and maple syrup, but it’s sweet enough on its own.

So. If you would.

Posted on November 16, 2013February 21, 2022 by alexcrumb 3

Food for Thought (Botanical Gardens)

Oh, blasted heat.

Those late monday afternoons are never heavily sought after, and yet I had the time of my life just being alone with this special person. Extempore pop-down, down the stairs, welcomed by a floor of benches surrounded by lush greenery, foliage tips sparkling in the sun, an indoor area beckoning.

Pardon my interruption of a face.

Him: Pulled pork burger and san pellegrino

Me: Breakfast set and homemade lime tea

I can’t exactly fault it, for it is what it is, and nothing more. The toast was thick but not overly dense, with a crusty coat of well settled butter, a curtain of bacon pulling the whole dish together with a salty twist. The eggs were indeed, definitely undercooked on top, as I watched the jelly-like whites shiver and wobble around the circle of yellow. A little post-fry broiling never hurt. His pulled pork pulled off (see what I did there) better depth of flavour, though it could have been twice as tender with a sweeter cut. My tea was as sweet as unsophisticated tea gets, but in that heat, I am still eternally grateful for it. Eternally grateful.

Rating: 3.2/ 5

Food for Thought

Singapore Botanic Gardens

Posted on November 9, 2013February 21, 2022 by alexcrumb 0

Trattoria L’Operetta

You know, it’s said they have the best pizza in Singapore.

I recollected my memories of Peperoni, that one red-walled, kid-friendly placed we used to frequent every couple of weeks for the paper tables and crusty, cheesy goodness of fresh pizza. How would this compare? My memories were insufficient, and in the end, i didn’t even order pizza. What’s wrong with you Alex. Prithee, reader, hear me out. There was a man at the front, tossing the crusts from board to plate, wafts of steam rising from the pockets between bounteous toppings. And yet, I noticed there was something a little off.

Atop, we have the classic Margherita. Below, their version of an oyster omelette, coupled with thousand island dressing.

‘Soggy’, remarked my mother. Soggy! Lord! And so my friends, that is how I ended up not bothering with the slicing and biting. I just couldn’t. The omelette was decent, but I noticed that they repeated dish components without a healthy conscience. The same dressing was used for the fried calamari, which you should be grateful isn’t pictured, as it was a disastrous mess of separating, soggy batter and putrid little rubber rings approximately a millimetre wide. The poor squids, without their decent spa treatment. The flavours hung like stale fog in my mouth.

Top to bottom: scallop starter, squid ink spaghettini starter, penne arrabbiata.

The first two are part of a menu degustation which my father predictably ordered, given his larger-than-life appetite. The starter was underwhelming in flavour, but I sing praise for the squid ink follow-up. The clumpy cheese choked the minuscule bites of scallop to death, whilst the pasta was delicate and aromatic.

Now for that penne, some of which I stole from my sister. In my opinion, it beat everything else. Without a doubt. Up there. The al dente pasta boasted homemade earthiness, ridges catching all that rich, sweet and sharp sauce, imbued with a calmly spice, simmering with chunks of reduced tomato and herb. That penne was perfect, though if anything, they should reduce the amount of sauce to perfectly complement the penne’s loveliness.

Their fresh ‘fish of the day’, which was the sort of portion you would look at and go ‘hmph, alright, $25 it is then. But never again.’ Why? I could cry trying to recount this painful experience once more. Because. This beautiful fish arrived almost an entire hour after everything else was served. My mood was sunken, my eyes watery, my hands ready to rise in exasperation to the Gods. Not even those rustic grill marks could compensate for the cardinal sin. The grilled vegetables were sweet and caramelised, but doused in too much olive oil. The fish was flavourful, though humbug plain if it weren’t served with two types of salt and tomato paste, which was also too oily.

You can tell the first is a steak, but I should like you to zoom in on the second shot. Behold the duck breast with fruit reduction sauce and caramelised root vegetables, alongside the same (you see the repetition?) clump of al dente meditarranean-style mixed black rice. May I say this was twice as good as my fish. Flushed and tender, good sear along the side, with the sprightly, slightly gummy sauce basking in the bonhomous nature of the burgundy bed it inhabited. This and the penne were the star dishes that night.

Sea salt caramel and almond ice cream from the Ice Cream Gallery afterwards, starring my sister’s lovely pins. I think it beats the earl grey and fig flavour, which possessed no roundness or depth. This.

This.

Rating: 2.9/5

Trattoria L’Operetta

224 Tanjong Katong Road

Posted on November 3, 2013February 21, 2022 by alexcrumb 0

Siem Reap- Peek behind the Curtain (Part 1)

Let the pictures speak.

The inveiglement of a 4am sunrise, worn ruins, local murmurs, light singlets and slacks.

Cue Chopin’s Nocturne No. 20 in C Minor, interrupted by tribal rumblings.

During: Crisp enlightenment, blistering heat.

After: a weary heart, bowed head, close to tears

Posted on October 22, 2013February 21, 2022 by alexcrumb 2

House at Dempsey

May I be pleased to declare that I am no longer a House virgin. May I also be pleased to declare that I actually needed help finding the stairs which led down to the restaurant. I need serious help in the directions department.

Skinny, hard, prickly things, but aromatic nonetheless. These sans truffle oil would have been paltry little shoestrings.

pork ribs with caramelised pineapple and crispy shallot rings

After flipping through the fragile newspaper-style menu, I decided on the caramelised pork ribs. When they came, I thought they might have swallowed me. Since I was at a birthday celebration, there were at least 4 other people who ordered something different, and the hulking pork salsas looked fit to take on any one in hands-on combat. The couple of enormous brown hammers were fastened into an incongruously elegant position, like elephants in tutus. But it wasn’t in the least bit awkward. This was mine, and my mouth was growing with more sticky heat and sweetness by the minute. I needed to neutralise the wonderful acidity by stealing one of my friend’s fondant carrots, which had a slight give and yielded a softly sweet crunch. The rib meat was not butter tender (and the middle was quite dry), but my knife enjoyed lolling around in the syrupy, sappy sauce, poking around at all the caramelised strips. I always believed the best parts are the stringy, almost rubbery, paper-thin layers you peel way from the surface of the bone, as compared to the meat itself. I’m not odd at all.