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.

roast chicken with mash and fondant carrots

turmeric-roasted barramundi with sweet date sauce and chorizo

I would comment on the other two, but it would have been quite rude to poke around at everyone’s food. Have I mentioned I’m no longer a House virgin?

Rating: 3.9/5

House at Dempsey

8D Dempsey

Posted on October 10, 2013February 21, 2022 by alexcrumb 0

Rare

Here’s an introduction not by me, but by one of my favourite people in the world. In other words, the dashing guy you see right above (: :

Nothing will ever beat meals cooked at home. There’s just something about food cooked by individuals for others in the comfort of their own home that gives it an edge over the most exquisite fare in top restaurants. It’s the warmth that breathes through a messy but lovingly made dish, the loud laughter echoing across the table and the comforting presence of close friends. Maybe it’s love.

I’m actually not sure what compelled me to ask for rare cuts. I would’ve gone straight for the bleu stage, but my parents were there and they would’ve sliced my fingers off. Living on the edge calls for some necessary sacrifice. Sometimes. The goo of that red meaty interior, the pairing of a rustic baguette, the cool crunch of beans bathed and massaged with a tender vinaigrette. Stick your knife in the wobbly belly of a slice, poke a few greens, layer it all on a bite of boule. Tossed together on the honesty of a white plate, made perfect over hours of talking and drunken merriment. That was easily the best part. An easy flow of musical conversation, booming voices and laughter to weigh down the aimless night air. It was all too spectacular, and all too comforting.

Last course: fromage platter. I put some blue on baguette (fanciful alliteration made all too appropriate here), and allowed the rich velvet to combine harmoniously with the fresh bread in my mouth. Crunch and cream. A galaxy of flavour. I could carry on talking about the humble and dazzling dishes, but I’m sure the pictures speak for themselves, and I’m not inclined to treat it all as a normal cafe or restaurant review. Needless to say, the experience of it all, with the company and ambience, overwhelms a breakdown of dish by dish statistics. They are no longer necessary in the golden entirety of such nights.

And it’s during nights like these when you can lay back with full satisfaction, heavy, blushing, dizzy with happiness. Because the best company on Earth is absolutely irreplaceable.

Posted on October 4, 2013February 21, 2022 by alexcrumb 0

Breakfast Adventures

Consecrated, shy Saturday rays.

There’s just something about stuff on toast. Sometimes, it’s not just about the smushing together of peanut butter and jam. Oftentimes, a more savoury and nourishing hat rattles the old engines and breathes life into mornings. So easy you feel guilty. But guilty at pleasure’s stake.

roasted grapes with ricotta on grilled sourdough

A fork affair. Moist avocado ‘crumbs’ and the warm tang of fresh, halfway-there compote.

smashed avocado and raspberry compote on dark rye

I’m excited.

For what?

For the possibilities this world holds when it come to breakfast. The sacred routine of waking up, pondering a little, hovering a little, before either following a set recipe, or perhaps just mixing unexpected ingredients together, just for the sake of amateur experimentation, laden with a golden hope.

Ready to learn.

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

DB Bistro Moderne

Clearly, one may observe that a squid clad in converse and a cropped tank with shorts would look right out of place here.

Today, I was that squid.

My mum, two sisters and I originally headed to Osteria Mozza for some impromptu Italian fare, however we were slammed in the face with the heaving sigh of a monstrous crowd, all elegantly dressed up for, yes, pizza and spaghetti. And so we headed north. To the bright amber lights and wooden decor of DB Bistro Moderne. Apparently the name comes from Daniel Boulud (is it just me or are the names Daniel and David just the easiest to mix up?), which reminds me of the word boule, or bread, and makes for pleasing mental imagery. Below, ignore the distracting slice of paper stealing light from the divinity of those mushrooms. Chanterelles, stems, butter, everything. Almost provocative, but humble and warm all the same. Delightful.

side of mushrooms- buttery, fragrant, musky

They even had a charming little kids menu, which I thought was rather considerate in such a flamboyant, mature space. Orders of tomato and butter parmesan ear pasta were minuscule but thankfully not to waste; the al dente textures supported hearty flavour, each bite abound with sharp parmesan sprinklings. Only for the rich kids, I caught myself thinking.

french onion soup- onion and beef consommé, gruyère, croutons

The Yankee Burger- beef patty, iceberg lettuce, tomato, onion and gherkin on sesame seed bun

May I just say that that french onion soup was marvellous. Stringy, soft, caramelised onions clung to the tips of my fork, drenched in the dark honeyed pool of rich wine-like soup. Piping hot, with a healthy serving of gruyère and soggy croutons. I don’t mind soggy, no I don’t. If possible, I would have preferred less chunky matter and more broth, the purity of onion flavour paraded in the modern affection of a white cup.

As for the burger, I was, shock behold, quite let down. Disappointed, to say straightforwardly. I asked for medium rare, and yes medium rare it was, but flavour-wise, it was not. I looked wistfully at the menu by the side, wishing I ordered the signature foie gras and sirloin burger (I didn’t because there were too many reviews on this one burger, not all were up to expectations and this seemed like a standard option to judge). The middle was a little too moist, but not in the complementary sense. Meaty flavour was nowhere to be found and not even the tomato, onions, solo gherkin or elegant platter of three side sauces sufficed. Tolerable, but bland. On the other hand, the mini bun was toasted and buttered to absolute perfection. Picking at the crisp brown sides was childish play and pleasure. The fries were crisp and simple. Without a doubt, the stodge beat the protein. There was not an ounce of struggle in this battle of chaw.

Rating: 3/5

DB Bistro Moderne

10 Bayfront Avenue

#B1-48, The Shoppes at Marina Bay Sands

Posted on September 13, 2013February 21, 2022 by alexcrumb 2

Group Therapy Café

I stumbled across this hidden gem a good chunk of a while back now, back during the summer holidays, which was God knows how many weeks ago. However the last time I went, I only had a swig of bitter Ethiopian iced brew; the sort which stings a little on the tip of your tongue, before running its way down all throughout your system, jolting your nerves, almost harassing them.

This time, I went in for an actual bite. A nibble, a dig if you will. I craved the same darling nook I visited 5 weeks ago, and so Group Therapy it was. Just that this time it was solo therapy, which was just as good, and in fact probably better. The place opens at 11am, and when I arrived at 11.13, the best window seats were already occupied. I choked down my disappointment and hobbled over to the back area, where there are lovely high metal chairs which are actually rather light when you have to physically pull them out and plonk your bottom on one.

iced Ethiopian brew; flavourful acidic notes

Let’s talk coffee. I wasn’t so much as excited for the latte as I was for the brew, mostly because I almost never order milky coffees since they make me a tad nauseous afterward and I’m always in need for something refreshing to envelope my throat with. But I did anyway because I live on the edge. This piccolo was done with master professionalism, despite the obvious lack of caffeine concentration. At $4.50, it was decent pay.

sunny side ups atop two slices of grilled ham, mashed avocado and thick toast

Apologies for the blur first shot of those beautifully cooked sunny side-ups. I was torn between this and the poached eggs and hollandaise with smoked salmon on thick toast option (gosh that’s a mouthful), but I went with this instead, because I was curious to see how they would incorporate the mashed avocado into the rest of the dish, which is practically an eggs benedict with the eggs fried and not poached, sans the creamy yellow blanket of snow on top. To my initial disappointment, I realised they did not include small chunks of avocado, or slathered moist clumps of the stuff like a rotund bed of pale moss under the eggs, but literally smoothed the mash across like peanut butter on toast. Luckily for me, the helping was generous enough to seep through the airy pockets in the thick white toast, which was bordered with a most appealing brown yet forgiving crust all the way round. That crust. The seeping made each bite a partial swarm of green, offering a light earthiness and opaque moisture to the salty ham. I only found fault with the portion size and thickness of the crust, which was at least 2 inches in width. Eating this one dish meant pulling up your sleeves and stabbing the belly multiple times before making it possible to get down to the very bottom. which was quite an unnecessary hassle at times. They should either have thinner toast for maximum flavour impact or cut it into two for better handling. All that cutting and tugging made for a slightly inconvenient ordeal.

Overall, it was a good meal, even if that meant not finishing it. Pities of the world. It would also be nicer if the waitresses wouldn’t constantly look from a distance at the customers, standing and observing, twitching themselves whenever I moved. The coffee is not bad and the fare slightly above expectations, albeit nothing really special. They have a chilli crab tart here as well, which doesn’t look half bad. Promises lie in such hearty packages.

Rating: 4.3/ 5

Group Therapy Café

49 Duxton Road

Posted on September 7, 2013February 21, 2022 by alexcrumb 0

alexcrumb

recipes, catering, creativity

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Tag: photography

House at Dempsey

Rare

Breakfast Adventures

DB Bistro Moderne

Group Therapy Café