Department of Caffeine

Special reservation for one, please.

To say I was happy to finally arrive at this little brown-hued nook is a severe, severe understatement. I had been meaning to visit for a full year, believe it or not. The urge was uncontrollable, and now being the holidays, I found myself a pathetic excuse to go all the way to somewhere like Tanjong Pagar just to be woken up, enlightened, seduced by a cuppa joe and (fingers crossed) good brunch fare. Even though I had breakfast. But still. This will only be a half review since I went alone, armed with a frown-faced stomach and On Bullshit by Harry G. Frankfurt (finished the whole thing in that one sitting). If I ordered anything more, such as their acclaimed and gorgeous buttermilk waffles (those come in all varieties, they even have valrhona chocolate ones with honey butterscotch?!), I might have received one too many a glare. The fact that I appear a weirdly skinny alien to many won’t help. The irony would have been annoying, and might’ve put my own stomach to shame. I should also like to note that they spelt butterscotch wrongly (please refer to the first picture), which tainted my first impression of the place, as spelling and grammar is of utmost importance in any state or occasion. To me at least. Come on. Scotch.

Anyways.

Caffé Mocha– $5.50

Smoked Salmon and baby spring onion scrambled eggs on toasted English muffin with brown butter– $15.50 (NEW! They said)

The Caffé Mocha, in other words Mr. childish mock version of a proper capp, was of a rich, plump brew, though the caffeine knob could have been turned up just that bit more. Wonderful, was my first thought. I should have remembered my unkind intolerance to milky, more sweet or chocolatey coffee though. The funny thing was, this substantial cup of warm, rich mocha came a considerable amount of time after my food came, which was confusing and admittedly rather disconcerting. It’s fine if it’s the other way round, for you can ponder your ongoing life crises whilst trying to appear demure as you sip at the cup’s brim, taking in the more comforting aroma, letting your ashen thoughts dissolve in the steam and liquid right under your foam-tipped nose. Ah, and if you want some seriously professional latte art, this is the place to come to. Lovely, but after a while, perhaps due to the chemistry of the chocolate-infused brew, the top was splotched with popped air bubbles, and my once-beautiful swan faded into the deep chocolate of the river it was contained in.

I was debating whether to order the scrambled eggs or the smoked salmon quiche with a large side salad. There were the waffles, but I knew it would be a waste if I didn’t finish it. And I knew they had French toast, stuffed with all sorts of wonderful like maple syrup bananas and greek yoghurt with berries, but I came to the heart-numbing realisation that it was just not available that day.

Pain, pain. But a quiche, Alex, is not nearly as exotic as something with brown butter, I told myself. It was that, the smoked salmon and words ‘baby onion’ which made me decide to spend a painful 15 bucks. 15.50! I made a careful note to not shell out all my savings before this mid-term break. The plate arrived within 10 minutes, which was impressive, the steam rising up like wispy gaseous intestines (remember that I’m the worst with descriptions. Remember). The scrambled eggs were of a bright and buttery hue, mellow but shining with the purity of fresh eggs, whipped to perfection with some cream and great lashings of butter, I supposed. The smoked salmon was not in the least bit too salty and complemented the rest of the dish so kindly, so perfectly. Even the side salad was lovingly dressed up with a tart lemon vinaigrette, to spice up and add a cutting contrast to the heavier, denser flavours of English muffin stodge and buttery egg. Then again, it was that English muffin which had a little bit of a problem. Perfectly toasted, a generous size, but to be frank, soggy.

I said it. Soggy. I appreciated the usage of brown butter here, though to be fair they could have done the browning process a little longer (and let my coffee come first, ha) to bring out the signature nutty notes of well-done brown butter. Its craggy loveliness, akin to the texture I had this morning for my first breakfast (which I slathered with almond butter, honey, banana and cinnamon y-u-m), was totally destroyed due to the heavy-handedness of the butter. Too much of it made the otherwise nicely crisp inside a mushy mess, and this was exacerbated by the moisture of the smoked salmon and slick golden scramble which lay like lazy bums on top.

The components served to feed off each other in the best possible way. Just that… muffin. Just that. I would come here again for that damn French toast, waffles and coffee. And for goodness’ sake, some friends.

Rating: 4.75/ 5.0

15 Duxton Rd, 089481
6223 3426

Café hopping is annoyingly expensive. I do this in the name of coffee. I do this in the name of good and beautiful food. I do this…

Posted on February 21, 2014February 21, 2022 by alexcrumb 0

Pietrasanta the Italian Restaurant

Can I be completely honest here? I’m not one who would willingly live my life on pizza and pasta. Italian food is magnificent; its rustic and hearty authenticity can awaken the dead and magnetise them back to wooden tables by a fire on a cold night, the red-and-white checkered tablecloths abound with bruschetta and coarsely-cut garlic bread and moon-sized pizzas just for extra hearty assurance.

I’ll start off with that tomato sauce starter there. A little cup of salty heaven, looking down on all Ketchup-derived descendants around the world. Dip a little bit of bread in it, or drink it straight. Shot or slow, that’s up to you. I like to dip my finger in every now and again. That’s just me.

Margherita (Italian mozzarella with basil leaves in tomato sauce)- $16.90

Prosciutto E Funghi (Italian mozzarella, cooked ham and button mushrooms in tomato sauce)- $18.90

The pomodoro pasta you see at the top was a special request by the kids, otherwise they usually only serve lasagna, a hefty portion of beautiful noodle and melting, sweet meat. The pizzas are all thin-crust but burst with the appropriate flavours with each bite. Tomato comes through like the shining opera singer, but doesn’t crack any windows. I prefer the funghi version, only because less cheese and more fungi (how weird do I sound) is my thing. The whole idea of button mushrooms usually turns me off, but its bouncier, firmer texture as opposed to something like shitake or chanterelle worked superbly with the melting cheese and tomato.

Zappa Di Pesce (Fresh seafood soup) –$15.90

Italian tomato, rocket and parma ham salad– $14.90

Burrata and smoked scamorza– not sure of the price as this was a simple, special request

Squid ink fettuccine with crab meat sauce– $20.90 (In other words, my favourite dish)

Home-made fettuccine with sausage and truffle– $24.90

Now then. Would you LOOK at that burrata? It’s hard to get something produced fresh and seasonal wrong, but God, they never go wrong with the burrata. Cold, pure and oozing like uncontrollable organ spillage. I should seriously reconsider food blogging with my abhorrent descriptions. But honestly, it’s actually one of the most beautiful things in the universe, coupled with good balsamic vinaigrette, olive oil and ripe Italian tomato. Parma ham if you want, but let’s not forget to worship the purity of that bone-white baby burrata.

If it wasn’t for the heady richness the sausage fettuccine offered, I would say that it would be the best of the lot. But the lolling tongues of fettuccine and achingly creamy sauce served to appease much of the obesity resistance movement of my stomach, and it just gets too much after about 5 minutes. The squid ink, on the other hand, is lighter, but darker, if you know what I mean. A decadent smorsgabord of savoury umami flavour, grounded by the honest humility of an experienced pasta maker. Homemade, they say? Homemade it really is.The crab meat is the best part, juicy and chunky, and makes for a nice break when you’re not looking in your lady’s mirror desperately scrubbing away at your blackened teeth.

A mash up of my uncle’s Ossobucco con gremolada (four-hour braised veal shank–$32.90) and Risotto Porcini (risotto with porcini, saffron and bone marrow–$23.90)

If you know me well, I prefer the supposedly icky gelatinous bits and bobs of an animal to the meat itself- bone marrow, fish eyes, blubber, cartilage, fat trimmings, you name it, I’ll have it. I’m basically the hopeless bottom feeder. The tender braised meat is absolute divinity, and it paired wonderfully (surprisingly too, for the pairing was spontaneous, I tell you that) with the rich, aromatic risotto, yellow, fat, plump little pearls. Al dente, with an almost smoky air about it.

And lastly, tiramisu. I’m not associating a price with it, because, well, tiramisu. I don’t think this is the best around, for the sponge could have done with a more luxurious and thorough caffeine and rum spa. A little dry, a little too sweet. The cocoa was decadent, but didn’t mask a less-than-rich interior.

Reliable Sunday lunch resort.

Rating: 4.8/5

Pietrasanta

5B Portsdown Road
#01-03 Singapore 139311
Tel: +65 6479 9521

Posted on February 18, 2014February 21, 2022 by alexcrumb 0

Baker and Cook

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.

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.

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 February 1, 2014February 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

Relish by Wild Rocket

I had been meaning to come. After about… Let’s see now. 6 years? No, more. Trust me on this one. It’s the typical case of frequent pass-bys, a longing over-the-shoulder glance, before the trudging and shuffling of running shoes and legs. A blur of legs and beige. Every Sunday I run (well, to be fair it’s more of an extremely brisk walk) to the Botanical Gardens with my dad, and every time I pass by Cluny Court, I get a vague image of a quaint inside, the round golden domes of speckled sesame seed buns (yes, even though I thoroughly dislike top buns, they make very moreish mental imagery) dotting each table like parasites, juicy, fat meaty bellies, little sauce curds clinging to the sides and bottom of a thick-inch patty.

The waves of desire finally crashed upon the shores when Felix announced a similar longing. Of course! I said.

Of course. Relish.

The interior is so welcoming, with large windows all round to honour the strength of the day’s rays, rimmed with white wood, taking on the old colonial fashion of interior design. Slightly Scandinavian, I thought I heard him say.

Ram-Lee burger (ramly burger- beef patty, margarine, onions, cabbage, fried egg and Worcestershire sauce)

open-faced soft-boned char siew burger- thick and sweet pulled pork and coleslaw on homemade focaccia

The shine and glisten. I ordered the latter.

I actually really enjoyed this. Paired it with a 5-buck pale and fizzy Limonata, which was tart enough to cut through the rich sweetness of the hulk of meat.

If you are strange enough to enjoy the consumption of fat like me, and I mean gloopy, translucent bits of fat, you will adore this dish. I remember the virgin tug of my knife revealed a wobbly hunk of fat beneath a thick and sticky burgundy blanket. Nothing more. I was pretty sure more than 50% of the topping comprised fat and cartilage alone. The char siew itself is not exactly authentic char siew in the sense that the texture was handled differently than what you would get at your local hawker centre, but it worked nonetheless with the sweet coat of flavour. Admittedly, there was a point in time whereby the heavy richness was a little too much to bear, and the paltry side salad lacked enough acidity to accentuate the dangerous sweetness.

After a while, it became slightly one-dimensional, but bearable because the flavours were maintained at a near-explosive level. I also would have preferred a crusty, more hearty cut of bread, as the softness of the ‘homemade focaccia’ all too easily soaked up the gluey sauce, almost rapidly disintegrating into a moist, white mass of stodge. Not all too unpleasant, but a rustic flavour was needed; something more authentic and hardy rather than soft and white and weak. As I picked at his spicy, pickled onions, I also picked up the smoky smell of Worcestershire and the caramelised edges of fried egg. Untried, but I still considered it contact.

The best part?

The relishing of laughter, warmth and airy talk.

Rating: 4.4/ 5

Relish by Wild Rocket

501, Bukit Timah Road

#02-01, Cluny Court

Posted on September 11, 2013February 21, 2022 by alexcrumb 2

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recipes, catering, creativity

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Tag: #review

Department of Caffeine

Pietrasanta the Italian Restaurant

Baker and Cook

DB Bistro Moderne

Relish by Wild Rocket