Tag: foodphotography

Roundhouse Pizza Bar and Grill

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Sunday dinners.

Came across this name whilst doing my daily (almost) perfunctory scrolling through a food blog the other day. Roundhouse. Like Roadhouse but not quite. More…Round. Someone laud my honest jokes, please. Anyways, it’s a little Italian place started up by this local DJ, taking over the area in Turf Club where Picotin, another pizzeria-like restaurant-cum-bar, used to stand. Perfect ambience, with this lovely outdoor area, and we sat at a table with high chairs (who doesn’t love high chairs?!) They serve lots of meat, seafood, and most importantly, most characteristically, pizza. I went in with a bold stomach.

My dad’s smoked duck salad starter was a refreshing start, though it was odd how they also added things like blueberries and strawberries. I wasn’t complaining since I’m a fan of the odd combination, and the cold smoked duck still managed to take centre stage. The fatty outer edges were the highlight, of course.

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Seafood Bouillabaisse. Welcome to mussel, prawn, and fish fragments land. Coupled with a few bits of rather soggy buttered toast and a hollandaise-like dip which did little in complementing the toast. Appealing grilled marks though. These things make me jealous of the behind-the-scenes machinery. Grill marks are to me simply the epitome of grandiose home cooking. I think I need a grill pan soon. Just to be pretentious with my morning toast, you know. We dipped it in the surprisingly delicious bouillabaisse sauce instead. The dish was ho-hum, predictable, nothing flabbergasting.

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Good news. You get to customise your pizza. 2 flavours. One pan. Bring it. We chose half to be vegetarian, with olives, capsicum and mushrooms, and the other to be capoeira, a combination of 4 cheeses (mozzarella, parmesan, gorgonzola and cheddar). The flavours exploded on the emaciated crust, which was lovely albeit the fragile base. A stronger support would be nice. And I may extrapolate this in real life. My life. Actually.

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Grilled king prawns with pineapple salsa/ whole sea bass with orange barley risotto/ angus rib-eye (280g)

Salt, salt, salt. I cracked open my first prawn, fingers stuck in, nicely gooed and oiled (I made up that first word). I chewed at the head, limbs and all, but boom. My mouth throbbed with the taste of the sea, but not in a pleasant way. Tragic, it was. Fresh, elegant prawns with lashings of sodium. I had to pick at my mum’s grilled vegetables to lighten the heavy lashings on my tongue. Taking a bite of the sea bass further dimmed my hopes. Lacklustre, bland, banal, trite. A severe lack of balance in flavour, though the sear and cook on the outside was laudable. Oh, so sad. For the first time, I wasn’t eager to get down and dirty with a fish head. Almost good enough to compensate for the poorly inside. My dad had the rib-eye, but also said it was nothing to shout about.

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Outrageously dense vanilla gelato to combat the salt-rimmed roof of my mouth. Thick, sweet, speckled.

On the whole, not as impressive as I hoped, but look, I lived to tell the tale. Considering the fact that this place is relatively new, perhaps some things will change for the better in the near future. The ambiance and energy more than made up for some serious culinary flaws.

Rating: 2.8/5

Roundhouse Pizza Bar and Grill

100 Turf Club Road

64660966

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Blu Kouzina

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To one and all. I am no longer a Greek food virgin. I can now safely say that perhaps all I need to try now is fish sperm and bull’s penis and all shall be well and good. It was all rather hurried, a flash, a stop. Greek food sounded all right, the sort of thing drowned in olive oil and cheese and olives. Very nice. But the experience I encountered was more holy than satisfying, I swear on it. And I now understand the three classes of olive oil- robust, medium and delicate. Not that I need to or anything. But I like to fill my life with useless, pleasurable knick knacks.

At the top we have xoriatiki, a greek salad with olives, a lovely large slab of feta, tomatoes, peppers and cucumber. The zing held its appeal even in the pool of oily dressing which, of course, made it characteristically Greek, however I do think they could’ve reduced the oil factor just a little to let the freshness of the vegetables shine through. It’s never nice to have the taste of naked oil soaking the walls of your throat, nothing to cling to. And then, melitzanosalata. Or in english, smoked eggplant mixed with herbs. Absolutely moreish. The sweetness of the eggplant was mushed together with miniature cheese fragments and fragrant herb, though it wasn’t as dowdy or drab as a plate of mashed ripe banana. It held its own, even with the glugs of oil. The oil, the oil.

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First best dish of the lot award goes to this baby. Saganaki with figs. At 18 bucks, this was full-on gold. Looks are deceiving. The richness cannot be doubted, and was perfect for sharing between the 3 of us. Translation? Alright. Kefalotiri Psito with fig sauce.

Um. Yes. Basically, fried cheese with the sweetest, stickiest, most deliciously cloying fig sauce. I love figs. And so should you. The sharp twang of cheese did well in making you feel better about the sugary bath it was lounging around in. The tender cheese, a ledge of yellow goodness, was really a treat.

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Grilled sea bream. Squeeze of lemon, squeeze of hope, knowing my wretched, impenetrable love for fish. More specifically, fish head. I took that bit and that bit only. Left the rest to the boys. I can handle the rest. The was a sauce to drizzle everything with, though I didn’t see the need, as the excess olive oil distracted from the fresh grilled flavour and rustic charm of skin, flesh and innards. Naked was the way to go.

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Bougatsa- filo and semolina cream rolls. The pastry was not as sweet as I expected, which was surprisingly pleasant when juxtaposed with the semolina cream, which filled up each nook of the pastry in the most rigid possible way. Firm and sturdy, not frigid and flowing, like how it sort of played out in my head. The cinnamon was a nice touch, but I think a cold inside, no matter how un-traditional, would have been dearly appreciated. Something cold and cream-like in texture would be preferable. Perhaps warm desserts aren’t my groove this time of night, especially after a 5-days dose of olive oil.

Rating: 4.0/5

Blu Kouzina

893 Bukit Timah Road

6875 0872

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Kuriya Dining

Quality, check.

Service, check.

The best kampachi fish head? Well so far, check.

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top: udon noodle soup and sashimi platter. The udon soup is pleasantly fragrant, tasteful (one might expect at least a small degree of blandness, but all is not lost here) and delicate on the tongue. The noodles themselves have a good hold. And that sashimi is wonderfully fresh, the ice cradling all its sea-esque glory and purity.

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You see it, I see it. Kampachi fish head. Topped off with a half portion of unagi rice. I shared the fish head with my lovely grandfather, the only other person I know who enjoys it as much as me, eyes, brain, guts, pectin, cartilage and all. You can see his hand peeking at the top there, I love him so. Thankfully, he was nice enough that night to give me the eyes. Believe me you, these small things put me on top of the world. The fish was grilled to absolute perfection, and with the radish, a little soy and wasabi, made for the king of all fish heads. There was a certain essence to the head, a certain pizzaz which I haven’t found anywhere else before. The quality flabbergasting, taste, impeccable. As for the unagi, the two fat strips sitting before me dazzled me with their top-notch shine and plumpness. One bite seemed to refute the rice, which seemed so unnecessary in the savouring of the sea-fresh, teriyaki-glazed unagi. Softly sweet, boneless, fat eel to put you on a high.

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Fresh, reliable Japanese fine dining. Yes. I repeat, that fish head.

Rating: 4.8/5

Kuriya Japanese Dining

1 Kim Seng Promenade, Great World City

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Brûléed French Toast

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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.

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So. If you would.

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Food for Thought (Botanical Gardens)

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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.

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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

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