London- Le Pain Quotidien

The London cafe culture is just enchanting.

I can’t seem to step into another period building without losing myself in the oozing warmth and quaint comfort. With a good cappuccino, I’m snug as a bug in a rug. Please don’t laugh now. I’m currently still in a daze; an emotional and slightly hopeless one, nothing to do with jet lag, which I discovered has almost zero effect on me. Nostalgia is coursing through my system as I write this, after my family’s flight back from London. I’m already missing the nooks, cobblestones, wooden supports, the oddballs, the outlandish, the wonderful camaraderie.

I stepped into Le Pain (which means bread) twice during my stay, as the charm and popularity of the place was irresistible.

mochaccino and buttermilk scone with clotted cream and jam

The mochaccino had the perfect amount of sweetness from the mocha, though it gave me a weird albeit slight wave of queasiness afterward. The sweetness intensity slowly creeped up as I sipped through the crema. The caffeine didn’t hit hard on the palate either. The scone was a decent little thing with enough give to retain a hold but without exploding into a mound of brittle flakes. That jam was divine, too. The only bad thing is that you might just be on the verge of becoming morbidly obese if you have the entire 10-pound scone to yourself.

Le Pain Quotidien

18 Great Marlborough St, London

Posted on June 30, 2013February 21, 2022 by alexcrumb 0

London- The Belvedere

Please take a second to admire the lovely man on the right, massaging his temples in an attempt to save what’s left of his sanity. The bottom right blur of a ponytail would be my mother, if any are interested.

I love how in London, there are about a million and one fantabulous places to eat at, all looking fairly humble on the outside, though displaying clear prestige or popularity once you venture inside. Be it little hole in the walls or grand golden signs beaming at you once you step out of a cab (or the tube, which is way, way more fun). But when we’re talking The Belvedere in London, we’re talking real food. Food which might stuff and then blow you up, but great food nonetheless, presented superbly and elegantly.

3 courses for 27.50 quid! Not bad considering the quality, service, ambience and taste. I looked around at the swanky, small groups of people clustered around divine plates which exuded deluxe comfort. I grew more curious by the minute. I first chose the crisp smoked duck salad, which had a surprising oriental twist. The duck was drizzled with a sweet and tangy red sauce, which went wonderfully with the cold and crisp seasonal vegetables.

Presenting to you: Smoked haddock on a bed of Jersey Royals with a poached egg and Sauce Nantaise.

Might be too salty, you know, my dad softly warned.

But…fish. Haddock. Soft flakes oozing good oils and fragrance and goodness of the sea. And of course, that runny, perfectly cooked egg had to be the icing on the cake. It wasn’t too salty, mind you, and the gooey mealiness of the egg yolk and sauce complemented the soft-spoken white fish, which drunk everything up like a sponge. The Jersey Royals were nothing brilliant to speak of (plain potatoes in general I’m no fan of), but they did make a pretty brown resting bed.

And finally, chocolate mousse topped with blood orange sorbet, and might I say it was bloody darn good. I mean, of course it couldn’t be stand-alone mousse, or the whole masterpiece would collapse on its knees. No, this was coupled with thin layers of dark chocolate brownie, giving it stability and textural edge. It was all set off by the burst of sweet tang contained within that perfect sphere of sorbet. Bloody good blood orange. It was even the perfect temperature to dig into!

These meals really are the unforgettable sort. The service was impeccable, and there was even a neat old man twiddling away at the piano the whole time. Talk about stamina.

The Belvedere

Holland Park, London

Posted on June 29, 2013February 21, 2022 by alexcrumb 3

London- Signor Sassi

The thing about London in general is that, in full and absolute honesty, you are a man of zero intellect if you ever get tired of it. Fine, that’s mean. What I mean to say is, I don’t think it legal for one to grow near half weary of what I believe to be one of the most beautiful historical cities in the world. Or of all the universes, parallel and distinct alike. Those Charles Dickens cobblestones, the crass rumbling from here, there and everywhere, the chilly mist which all succumb to in either cutting hatred or morose indiference. Perhaps even glee, to the odd one or two. A heat wave to them is like 18 degrees C, after all. The glaze of English folklore, the nostalgia from God knows where. The tea craze, the well dressed and eccentricity. Boots (yes the drugstore too), tights and soft sky hues, made subtler with greyer undertones in the dusk and early morning. Driving from Heathrow to Kent Street for another stay at Monarch House actually gave me chills, as memories of my stay here as a 5-year old came swamping my sentience.

Signor Sassi is a world-renown Italian restaurant in Knightsbridge Green, the South of London. Plastered up on the walls were black-framed portraits of Nigella Lawson, Rihanna and if I am right, one of the PMs. The round tables are packed from random circumference points, glasses crowding the spaces and yellow lights imparting a romantic, sentimental glow. The waiters bustle about like agitated ants shouting in sparkling Italian.

We started off with some cheese, bread and olives. They come to you with a cloth-covered basket filled with an assortment of crusty, freshly baked breads. I chose a dark rye type, and the parmesan was like briny crystals of heaven.

Rare bluefin tuna fillets, a ‘special’. You can choose between medium rare and rare, so well, the choice is a little obvious now, isn’t it. They cut like chewy butter and retained a lovely fragrance on that bed of petit pois, tomato and olive oil. It was divinity with the bread and cool tomato on the side. Despite my deep love for tuna, I found the strips to be more on the salty side, teasing the border of excessive.

Foreground: Scampi pasta (special)

Background: Spaghetti Lobster

Both of which I sampled. The best flavour award definitely has to go to the scampi pasta, which reeked of perfection. The luxurious, yet not overly creamy sauce bathed tender noodles made pungent with the aroma of sweet, plump, scampi, the juice taking on a delightful serum-like consistency.

You can’t exactly not have tiramisu at an Italian restaurant. I patted my inflated belly and decided to give it a taste.

Oh, and my uncle says hello above the willowy gooseberry(:

Soaked through, stiff and sweetened cream, tender, luscious. My only complaint would be that it reminded me of a kid-style tiramisu, steep sweetness and lacking alcohol (ooh, the white wine here was quite a treat).

The first of many posts on London as I sit here on fluffy and bulging white sheets, soaking up the quaint and established architecture, a stand-alone dream.

Signor Sassi

14 Knightsbridge Green, London

Posted on June 20, 2013February 21, 2022 by alexcrumb 0

Meng Kitchen Bak Chor Mee

You know, I love those Daddy Days. And what I mean by that is just being with my father, the only person who bothers to settle for an early alarm (cough 7am) each Sunday morning just to accompany me to some either popular or ever so slightly obscure breakfast place in the heated heartland here in Singapore. I’ll be leaving for London tomorrow, so I thought it only fitting to talk about all things wonderfully local. I’m talking prata, eggs or bak chor mee, though some days I just can’t stand overly stodgy breakfasts since it makes me feel lethargic and pudgy about an hour later. If enjoyment without consequence existed, I would definitely be over there right now, instead of just talking about it. Talk is cheap sometimes, isn’t it?

The coffee, I could pass. A true trachle to finish. I found myself forcing down the liquid in an attempt not to waste it. Ordering kopi c siu dai (black local brew with less sugar, since my uncle did the same and I did not wish to complicate matters) was my own mistake. It seemed as if they were eager to heap in more of the white stuff. If you’re heading to Thomson for some brekkie fix, be it pancakes or prata or noodles, you must, must have the mushroom minced meat bak chor mee. Note I say have, not try, for I give you only that choice and that choice alone. Our national dish (yes yes, after Hainanese Chicken Rice) is one which at a glance effectively disguises the gleaming, golden river of thick balsamic vinegar sauce. You get the mound of tender, flat and yellow al dente noodles, the pressed, slightly porous bits of chicken liver and soft mushroom. The spring in the noodles soak up all the flavour and exhale a rich aroma. The tornado of flavours coalesce and marry spectacularly in your mouth, unleashing a weapon of sharp flavour- dense, pungent, tangy, whole. Watch the sauce coat every strand before you take the first slurp. Despite this, I don’t think they are on par with the mee pok at Tai Hwa, which is another haunt you should check out for the best bak chor mee in the world.

Ok. The Fuzhou fishballs here are officially the best. Ever. Fishballs bursting with sweet, juicy minced pork filling and an explosion of scalding soup at your first bite. If you’re not a noodle person, I urge you to indulge yourself with these babies. The vegetables and hot broth complement them perfectly. Like those creme easter eggs. You can’t really wait to reach the middle.

I’m not a regular, so I can’t vouch for consistency. But mind you, I’m making a mental note to make a brief visit again soon.

Tangy, vinegary noodles to nourish the mind and soul.

Meng Kitchen

4.4/5

246B Upper Thomson Rd

Posted on June 17, 2013February 21, 2022 by alexcrumb 3

Bedrock Bar and Grill

The best way to start. Soft, buttery garlic and butter on crusty pita. A melting pool of mush and oil.

I love my uncle, but perhaps I love his invention even more.

Why Bedrock? I asked my aunt. Something to do with the Flintstones, I remember her saying. So it had been a while since I consciously registered the details of Fred and Barney. My childhood…! Well, it was my grandma’s birthday celebration and we all know of her undying infatuation with the perfect, seasoned oysters here.

Just, inexplicable divine.

And then, this.

tomahawk steak with classic béarnaise, whisky wholegrain mustard (my personal favourite) and red wine sauce.

Well obviously, the king of all the dishes. This 400-day grain fed ensured the perfect amount of fat streaked through these lovely slivers of medium rare meat, seared soft wooden at the edges. The interior was gloriously juicy and not too rare.

‘Steak’ Diane- grilled portobello mushroom with Diane sauce and truffle fries.

Yes, that is a dear mushroom my friends, but oh, a mushroom made king. The bite of the mushroom lent a gamey robustness to the otherwise weaker nature of the humble fungus. Status- elevated. Taste- right on. I mean look at the thing; it could pass for a hunk of meat. Well I certainly mistook it for such. It wasn’t a triumph on its own, of course, the Diane bathed the ‘steak’ in a warm and melting, oniony cream, without masking the texture and fineness of the cap. All vegetarians, come hither.

In many ways, the best and the richest. Cheesiest. Paint the insides of your mouth with the illustrious golden-and-white-cream-swirled mouthfuls, after taking in the perfect ‘crack’ of the spoon as it slides into the warm belly beneath minuscule crusty, shining peaks. I love the thin tubules instead of the blase curved macaroni. Fine and white, empty of ridges, softly calling.

These two were the simple kids dishes. Homey, comforting, large in both heart and soul.

As a final conclusion, the best ribs in the entire world.

Yes, they beat Tony Roma’s and Chilis’s (but hey, I love those too). Unbelievably well marinated. Tart, sweet, thick reduction and yes there’s marrow so if you’re like me and can’t just stop at the outer layers of tender brawn, then get right in and smother your face in that milky, half bloody pulp. Go on, I won’t watch.

Rating: 4.5/5

Bedrock Bar and Grill

96 Somerset Road, #01-05 Pan Pacific Serviced Suites

Posted on May 25, 2013February 21, 2022 by alexcrumb 2

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Category: Reviews

London- Le Pain Quotidien

London- The Belvedere

London- Signor Sassi

Meng Kitchen Bak Chor Mee

Bedrock Bar and Grill