Tag: nikon

Champignon cheese and roasted grape tartine

DSC_2592 DSC_2607

Right so, before I dive into my mountain of work, I just want to share this little 10-minute recipe with you. Last night, as I was hovering over the theories of pKa and pKb of acid base equilibria, I felt the need to enliven my hardened, stout mouth with something sweet. I always have frozen grapes in the freezer, so I reached for a small bowl of those. I then wondered if I could manipulate these little babies and turn them into a beauteous element in my breakfast the next day, since Saturdays are pretty much the only time I get to experiment in the kitchen, and get together with my best friend Connor, or in real words my Nikon. What to do? Grilled cheese perhaps. I could’ve, you know. But I felt it a bit too stereotypical and I didn’t think we had the right sort of aged cheddar or taleggio around. Then I remembered my dear mother having bought me that enigmatic flat stump of.. what was it? Something with mushrooms. Something with cheese, akin to the texture of brie. Behold, this was born. And please. I had the best bread lying around.

DSC_2622 DSC_2630 DSC_2635

Champignon Cheese and roasted grape tartine

Ingredients

  • crimson grapes
  • one slice good sourdough or raisin walnut bread
  • champignon cheese spread (may be substituted with ricotta or even melted sharp cheddar. Anything goes really.)
  • coarse sea salt and olive oil
  • balsamic glaze
  • honey or maple syrup
  • 1 tsp chia seeds (opt)

Steps

  1. Preheat oven to 200oC. Roast two handfuls of grapes with sea salt and olive oil for 10 minutes (mine were done and went delicious and bubbly after 7, so just keep an eye on your oven).
  2. Toast bread of choice. Spread on champignon cheese and if you want, season with a pinch of salt.
  3. Take grapes out of oven, spoon on top of cheese. If you are using green grapes, add a layer of beetroot orange relish first, to add some flavour and colour contrast.
  4. Drizzle liberally with honey (I used orange blossom here), chia seeds and balsamic glaze.

You’re welcome.

Posted on by alexcrumb 0

Baker and Cook

DSC_2482 DSC_2480 DSC_2464

Right. So. Baker and Cook. You know that feeling you get when you finally get to try some place that’s parading its raved goods everywhere on social media? Yeah, I got that feeling. Even when I stepped into the original, tiny (that beats the word minuscule, mind you) location at 77 Hillcrest Road, really near the pizza place I used to drag my parents along to as a kid. The place reeked of my childhood food memories. You walk in and there’s literally one big table, just one, aside from the two stools next to the window and a small outdoor table for two. That’s it? I thought. I have really got to learn how not to have such high expectations of everything. I was underestimating the untold grandeur of bread-crazed homies.

The place is named an artisan bakery, and I’ve tried a range of their goods, from their lamingtons to their famed carrot cake. Almost everything except the infamous, devilish, apparently ‘The Best’ lemon tart in town. Well of course i had to get it, for their wasn’t any other choice. Correction: I made my mother pay, since she surprised me with this morning trip anyway. Family benefits. I won’t complain. Oh right, I should also mention that it’s $4.95.

Verdict? Ok so, I cut it in half first, before forking a sliver and easing it a nice bit of curd and crust ever so delicately into my tentative mouth. I let the lemon coat the front half of my tongue, relished the sweetness, the tart stickiness, before coming to the realisation: It’s a tad too sweet. The crust too, I confirmed, as I continued the forking action. Not that I didn’t enjoy it. In fact, I could even say I thoroughly enjoyed it. But this, my friend, is not the best. Add one more lemon in whatever curd batter you’re churning, mate. And the crust could be on the lighter side of sweet, just to enhance the tingling tartness of a traditional lemon tart.

DSC_2466 DSC_2468 DSC_2471

Iced cappuccino– $4.50+$0.50

French toast (New!- Yes, that’s how they said it, with the exclamation mark)–$16.00

Oh my goodness, this french toast. Penchants run deep, so despite spotting words like ‘pancakes’ and ‘eggs benedict’ and ‘quiche’, all I could see was the golden arched halo above the ‘french toast’, and its winning description. Yes, it’s 16 bucks for some stranger, from me to him, oh happy guy, but this was anything but 16 bucks down the drain. Homemade brioche, dipped in lightly spiced egg custard, served with fresh fruit, maple syrup, lemon curd and mascarpone, and oh, for the heck of it, let’s sprinkle on tablespoons of icing sugar and toasted almonds. Now do you see why it’s 16. To further my point, the plate was around 10 inches wide. No food joke. It was an egg monster waiting to be gobbled up by another egg monster, if you know what I mean. The brioche was nicely thick and browned, holey enough to soak up all that spiced custard (mm, cinnamon and ginger), with the sides calling out to me with leftover, curly bits of egg batter, which you could tell was eggy enough due to it’s almost-fried-egg consistency. And I liked that. That rustic factor. Who cares if there’s a bit of twisted, dried egg batter at the sides? If anything, it was rather inconspicuous. The taste made up for every possible flaw that might have been there and gone unnoticed.

And you know, they’re actually geniuses for adding the lemon curd and mascarpone. Absolute geniuses. I hope you can observe my enthusiasm for lemon and how perfectly it went with the thick and wonderful toast in the picture right above. I’ve made my own lemon curd before, and I must say this one was up a notch on the thick and gluggy scale. Colour beckoned, taste was banal after a while. That was the thing with all the lemon dishes there. Just that bit too sweet. The syrup was also a little more like honey, and more fruit wouldn’t hurt. The mascarpone was a nice touch but looked shallow in comparison to the better lemon-and-french pairing. God, I love lemons. I love french toast even more, and I say that proudly when I look at that picture- moist, airy, fluffy french brioche smushed together with curd.

DSC_2469

Eggs Benedict– $19.00 (two poached eggs on toasted pain miche with hollandaise and hint of balsamic glaze and chilli oil, with salmon)

The balsamic glaze and chilli oil thing they had going on intrigued me. I watched my mother attach the crusty, heady plate of lavishly decorated eggy goodness with her knife and fork, mixing everything together into a hurricane of hollandaise and salmon madness. You see the crust? That was a babe, a real sight to behold. The crack was enticing, the melding together of more savoury flavours pleading. A bite was all I asked, and that was all I got. Felt the tang of the hollandaise and robust crunch of pain miche coat the salmon, that fishy flavour you first detect on your palate, with buttery breadcrumbs, cut in half like a fierce interjector by the softly sweet balsamic, even though amounts-wise it was rather paltry. The balsamic I mean, not anything else, Oh no, definitely not anything else. I wouldn’t have been able to polish off more than I slice of this rustic rye for the life of me (but that’s just me and my putrid stomach acting up again).

Fabulous.

This artisan bakery also sells homemade packaged products, loaves (I should die to try their fig and aniseed sourdough and wholemeal farmhouse toast), cakes and sweet buns. Tucked away in Hilcrest meant the most unusual peaceful and green morning for the mother and I. Thanks for paying, mother, let’s go back again so I can try their tartines?

Rating: 3.9/5.0

Baker and Cook

77 Hillcrest Road

64698834

Posted on by alexcrumb 0

Nadaman

DSC_1450 DSC_1453 DSC_1455

Another late post, but I’ve really been so busy with exams and oral commentaries and what have you. Life seems like a never-ending slew of happenings and events and emotions- I just cannot keep up with everything. Currently drowning in a quagmire of helplessness and self-destruction, yay!

Nadman, nadaman. Cue the witches’ chants. I came here with my Grandma during the December holidays one fine Monday (shock horror! Monday? It seems like an impeccable dream now). It always seemed like that high-class enclave shrouded in some dark and sophisticated air. Almost demeaning, it’s very name Nadaman seemed to reek of superiority. I don’t know why, but that’s just how I felt about it. Even though on the other hand, it also sounds like ‘nada, man, I don’t give a damn’.

DSC_1456 DSC_1460 DSC_1462

Steamed egg custard (chawanmushi)- part of the lunch set

Sashimi set -$70

I remember this chawanmushi in particular because of its lovely, silken tofu texture. And I usually pass up this dish. Really, I still find it a little hard to willingly finish a bowl of egg custard, mostly because many places serve it obtrusively bland. And then here comes Mr Flavourful Silken Tofu, punctured here and there with a little nugget of mushroom or fatty chicken. Lovely.  I still wonder at how, even after years of experience, chefs are able to manipulate their skills so wisely and deftly so as to produce the perfect texture each time. It’s mind-boggling and admirable. It came after a traditional small appetiser of sweet pickles in a little saucer, which perked my palate just enough to make me look forward to the main course.

70 bucks. That’s easily a burnt hole in your wallet. Then again, it was the most expensive lunch set, an aspect of the menu my darling grandmother cared rather little for. This woman loves her sashimi, and thank goodness it was worth it. The thing is, if it’s fresh, it will taste good. It’s really just a matter of chop, chop, plate, glaze. Make it look pretty too. I relish the light chew, cool slosh of slime, a soft wail from the dead animal’s voice as it hits the back of your throat. Factoring in that substantial variety of fish, including salmon, tuna belly and swordfish, the price was a little startling, but not extensively surprisingly either. Nothing too, well, fishy.

On a side note, I always feel like a duck next to my swan of a grandmother. She does everything with impeccable grace, so much so that my efforts with a pair of chopsticks would appear to be a toddler’s game when compared to Swan’s slow, deft handling of whatever she touches. Traditional, feminine, graceful. That is my grandmother compressed into three words, I tell you now.

DSC_1463 DSC_1464 DSC_1467

Gyuniku Koumikayi Set- $45 (sliced sirloin beef in onion and sweet soy sauce)

Prawn and vegetable tempura- $20

Yes baby. MY set. The beautiful juxtaposition between stealing bits of cold sashimi and the sweet, bold richness of that teriyaki-like onion and soy sauce, drizzled over febrile, firm strands of juicy sirloin. Scarred with ridges and perfectly angled knife marks to enjoy maximum saturation of sauce. Don’t get me started on those onions. They were caramelised to perfection, without yielding all firmness. Just the way I like it. Just between debilitating and robust. Crunch, chew, the earthly splendour of the bulb basking in the heat of your mouth. Coupled with a fat spoon of obese Japanese rice speckles, like three-dimensional bits of snow freckles- moist, plump, as white as ever, it made for the most satisfying bite. The unstimulating but necessary bed of warm rice creating an appealing, slightly sweet canvas for the drunk flavours of the plate. I wouldn’t say it’s the best beef ever, but darn, was it good.

And that tempura? Not too thick and pale with careless slopped-on beer batter. A thin wrinkled layer adhered nicely to the well-cooked underwear that was the succulent prawn and fresh, seasonal vegetables. I can’t eat tempura or any of the fried stuff without the signature tempura sauce (made with soy sauce, mirin, dashi stock, salt and sugar) and cool radish (daikon) flakes. Oh, how I love that white snowy mound which beckons me to dive into its textured complex! Saturate the wrinkled outside with enough sauce to kiss the outer layers of meat as well. The batter on each was a little uneven though, with some yielding a thicker, chewier outside than others. Well, I can’t ask for too much, can I.

Just the two of us Japanese gluttons, separated by a few centimetres and a few generations.

Rating: 4.1/5

Nadaman

22 Orange Grove Rd, Singapore 258350
Shangri-La
6213 4571
Posted on by alexcrumb 1

Antico Caffè Greco + update

DSC_2316 DSC_2310 DSC_2308

No better way to start the year than to talk about coffee, right?

But before that, a teensy update. I just started school, well technically it starts tomorrow, but the first day of Welcome Week is officially over. It is basically the week in which we ‘welcome’ the new cohort of Grade 11s with a whole slew of games and events used to promote some nice social interaction and hopefully break the ice between the new and old students. It is my final year and I’m filled with a new energy despite this constant lethargy, seeing the myriad of new faces, my teachers, friends. I actually love my school a heck of a lot, even though I’m always complaining about the volcano it really is, every so often spewing out some internal assessment or test alarm. Alex! Do this and that! Stop downloading episode 2 of the new Sherlock!! I mean really, who would listen to myself. It’s hard. My school is to me a benevolent being, there with me since the very beginning, entrusting me with all sorts of responsibilities, all sorts of experiences, cradling me. To just be part of it is rather extraordinary, as I note the accumulation of happenings and emotional roller coasters over a grand period of 5 years now, and counting. Bulging like a tumour, almost overflowing. Yes, quite extraordinary. I only pray I survive this year, all procrastination jokes aside (dear lord I’m the worst).

Now. Greco. It’s no ordinary café which you may find on the sidewalks of Paris or London (Well we were in Italy, but just go with this imagery). It’s a historic landmark, the caffeinated pride of the whole country. Opened in 176o -bloody hell, it’s two and a half centuries old-, this café was named after its original Greek owner. Before we came here I did a heck of a lot of research on all the best places to have a cup of goodness, be it joe or espresso, in Rome. This was on the top of the list countless times, and apparently historic figures such as Goethe, Lord Byron, Mark Twain and Hans Christian Anderson (childhood love!) hung out here in the 18th and 19th centuries to think and rest. You can imagine, a bunch of old and maybe bearded characters discussing their next literary adventures whilst sipping ever so politely from an embellished teacup, eyes withered, brains bright. An ornate, rustic enclave for artists, poets, thinkers. Yes, I thought, perhaps some of their creative wisdom and literary grandeur could rub off on me. I wish. I always wish.

The mere sight of it made my heart stumble. Trip up, guffaw. My nerves tingled. I needed coffee and dammit, I wanted to drink at the same place Goethe drank! Walking in, I felt a tinge of shame choke my stance. I wasn’t dressed in pearls and lace, the sort of get up appropriate for this gold-embellished half-hall, lined with red velvet chairs and penguin-tailed waiters, noses up, fingers fast. Oh, so fast. We caught a table at the side, quickly sat down, scrolled through the equally lush menu. Browns and burgundies. My favourite tones. What next? Oh yes. The coffee.

DSC_2318 DSC_2320

Iced Cappuccino- 8 darn euros

Café Espresso- 6 euros

That translates to more than 10 bucks for a cup of coffee. If you can imagine the most posh café decked out in the Queen’s jewels, this would be it. But come on, the price? No, it’s not worth it. Not at all. So we sat down like normal people would, but that in itself turned out to be a major, major mistake. You actually pay just half the price for a cup if you stand up at the bar, if we were the stand-by-the-bar sort, but what’s more we’re a big family, and we would’ve been quite the crowd. Looking around, all the tourists were jostling about standing up anyway, and who would want to be in the middle of that scene?

Let me tell you more, because frankly I’d be glad to. Cue sarcasm. So sat down, ordered, after flailing our arms about trying to catch a posh waiter’s attention; I feel as if thin curly moustaches would’ve done quite the trick on every single one of them (yes, even the females). I saw the price of a noisette and felt a sharp twang of pain. I couldn’t let my parents pay for that, certainly not! I felt inclined to order an espresso, and yet my thirst for something cool- a kick in the arse on that almost balmy afternoon, was ebbing. I needed it. So iced cappuccino it was.

And iced cappuccino I did not get. I didn’t know if it was tradition or anything, but my first sip was almost painful. Painfully sweet, that is. Yes! Sweet! The syrup drained my tongue receptors of any sense and sensibility, clogging every nerve, everything was just dizzlingly sweet. Cold and refreshing I got, pure roast I did not. I finished it, rather uncomfortably, and lay back, my stomach turning slightly. Took a sip of my father’s cappuccino. It was good, but not nearly as impressive as I thought it would be. Take me to Oriole’s anytime, baby. I’ll pass on this place. Perhaps I was simply missing out on their famous espresso, and I do hope that’s the case.

Now for that limited edition raspberry and dark chocolate nespresso treat…

Posted on by alexcrumb 0

14?

DSC_2228 DSC_2231

So I browsed a lot of blogs and websites on what we term the Meaning of Life. Poor, pathetic Alex, lost in this constant state of confusion and lack of self-assertion, the unbearable heaviness and drowsiness of ennui, of the gross grey state, of absolute insecurity. Hey, let me live my life. It’s fascinating alright. The fact that we all have such different ideals and notions and attitudes. We are freaking magnificent. 

Here’s one I particularly enjoyed by famed science writer Stephen Jay Gould:

“We are here because one odd group of fishes had a peculiar fin anatomy that could transform into legs for terrestrial creatures; because the earth never froze entirely during an ice age; because a small and tenuous species, arising in Africa a quarter of a million years ago, has managed, so far, to survive by hook and by crook. We may yearn for a ‘higher’ answer — but none exists. This explanation, though superficially troubling, if not terrifying, is ultimately liberating and exhilarating. We cannot read the meaning of life passively in the facts of nature. We must construct these answers ourselves — from our own wisdom and ethical sense. There is no other way.”

Guys, it’s 2014. I can say it out loud, though it’s a little hard. It’s hard for me to say things without fully coming to terms with its gargantuan impact. I have officially had this blog for (ok almost) a year now, and even though I still keep a diary for more personal recordings, for a more self-assured, sometimes hazardous and selfish reinforcing of a sense of self, I found that this online release has introduced me to so many amazing human beings, inspirations, really allowing me to delve further into my passions of food and science. 

I wrote down my resolutions in my diary, but then put down my pen. Continued the lazy browsing.

Four-teen. Two thousand and four-teen. Note the hyphen. The break for perfect pronounciation in normal conversation. It’s that nascent trembling again, that time when you’re supposed to make, what, a list? God I love making lists. I really do. It’s not banal, it’s not perfunctory. To me, a list is the epitome of organised thought, aside from some brilliant novel. As I said, something in me made me stop the recollection. In short, we should, no, need to, differentiate between recollection and appreciation. I’m currently reading a book about Proust and how in many of his novels and his own life (you can find it here), we may digest a tremendous amount of life lessons. Things like how to listen properly and how to take your time, the sort of self-help (goodness gracious what on earth) book I foresee myself purchasing when I’m 80 and grey and run out of excuses for a good life. But anyways, there are so many resources informing us on how to live, how to learn, how to see. How to pursue our passions and live in the most fulfilling way possible. Satisfying our inborn needs and letting our surroundings complete us somehow. Funny huh, how we strive for utmost perfection in our individual ways. In the book, I came across this particularly striking notion, the sort which actually relates to people on a mass scale.

You know how when you see something and just.. Like it? You just do. The shine on a pink apple, the drab but surreal and enlightening tones of a winter tree, maybe the sudden faint smell of tobacco and peppermint, for whatever odd reason that may be. That is because it provokes or stirs up an emotion in you, triggering a beautiful or old memory of some sort. Maybe you just like the aesthetic/visual/aural  appeal of that object. Whether you identify the psychological reason behind it or not, you like it. That is essentially a fraction of the explanation detailing what makes us who we are and well, the mistake we always tend to make. In our everyday lives, we cease to stop and look, and only really get hit by an object’s full impact when it’s separated from a particular context, when we look from the outside in. Sometimes the object is fully placed in its usual habitat, it’s just that this time our senses are so heightened that it is suddenly transformed into something so excruciatingly potent or beautiful. All the details of its beauty are caught out, which is why most of us get that sad nostalgia churning on the inside when we reach (again, again) the end of a year. We look at what we have done, what we have accomplished, what more we need to do to satisfy those inner needs or self-manifested benchmarks for worthiness and goodness. And then what happens? We want to put a label on the Meaning of Life so darn badly that we actually forget to live life. To appreciate. Live. I’m not going to resolve to ‘live life to the fullest’ or ‘be the best’- I’ve done that too many times and I bore myself with my pseudo-disciplinary methods. Oh, so bored. But I am going to be absolutely ridiculous this year. And what I mean by that is to really throw myself into the many factions of my life and all it has to offer, and handle things my way, be it intertwined with my weird study schedule, obsessive skincare routine or the way I make my coffee in the mornings. That may seem the same as living life to the fullest, but remember, I said ridiculous. Just as beauty to you is different than what it is to me, what I term ridiculous, or absurd, may be utterly different from your definition.

After all:

“We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us.”

DSCF3450

 

DSCF2124

Happy New Year, you devils.

Posted on by alexcrumb 1