Open Door Policy

Impromptu meet ups at nice, tucked away corners with old faces may cost a lot physically, but I don’t put price tags on the reliving of old brother-sister moments. Brunch, you say? Hell yes. I’ll be there, 11.30am on the dot. I’d like to make a reservation for two please, sir. Oh, and in natural daylight if that’s possible (yes I did say that on the phone). I’ll wander all around Tiong Bahru if that’s what it takes to finally live in the moment of the cynosure of this adorned café.

roasted field mushrooms with wilted greens on toasted brioche with black truffle purée

Look at that. Basically, it was fantastic. The mushrooms were tender, unbruised little baby ones without too much oil suffocating their gills. You can see that after the knife cut, the brioche was yellow, sweet and fluffy, making it an angelic bed for the muted savoury tones of everything on top. The one thing I didn’t like was how when my plate came, the brioche was nowhere to be seen. And I prefer to observe and appreciate each component. Otherwise, it merely looked like a meat eater’s leftovers, neatly placed to the side for the rabbits.

What I really loved was that truffle purée. It looked like the liquid which you would skim off soft bricks of ebony sludge, but the flavour and texture was all right. The best thing to mush on top of the crisp, toasted sides of the skinny brioche wall, laden with a few mushroom stalks and set off nicely with the flat, forgiving greens. Fragrant, thick goop.

ODP pancakes with Grand Marnier and orange

And right here you may observe my tartan-clad self attempting to handle my friend’s gem of a film camera.

The pancakes were disappointingly dry coins. As if its spirit was sucked into a vacuum before they served it. Sapped of all life. The Grand Marnier itself could not suffice. Yes there was liquor and orange, and it didn’t look all that bad at first, but I took one bite and declined another. The other thing I could not stand was the woman next to us who wouldn’t stop scrutinising our every little moment. Hovering, waiting. The sort whereby whenever you looked in her direction, she was already looking in yours. But I may forgive her, because she was new and I was in a hey-I’m-not-an-odp-virgin-anymore sort of mood.

The next time I come, I’ll try the scrambled eggs and smoked salmon. I will, because I can, and well, salmon.

Rating: 3.6/5

Open Door Policy

19 Yong Siak Street

Posted on July 22, 2013February 21, 2022 by alexcrumb 0

Drury Lane

I like adventures.

Personally, I like personal adventures. So I pretty much pounced on the opportunity to hop down to the newly opened café, named after a street around the Covent Garden area in London. A little burst of sunshine in the middle of Tanjong Pagar. I needed to try, and try I did.

There are so many cafés here, though not half as many as the sprawling bundles in London. I turned up at 10:43 this late morning, armed with my cam, only slightly casual garb and a stomach for eggs and caffeine. The things I do to hold on to the past.

My heart was beating. Believe it or not, I was excited. There were stacked boxes and an ‘upstairs’. Who doesn’t like an upstairs? I think it was the red paint. Or maybe I was having another post-yoga high. The glisten of glowing pink cheeks and a clammy forehead. Don’t I sound attractive.

Iced double espresso. These guys add a dollar to your bill if you want anything iced. Which in my opinion, is not worth it if one is forced to tolerate the harmful heat of Singapore. They should add a dollar for anything that’s not iced. This brew really was what I needed. I felt my soul awaken, my nerves tingle. There was an almost spicy aftertaste, nudging the back of my throat, after the fragrant stream of black finished lingering at the back of my tongue. Glad it was iced. So, very glad. On a side note, my table number was 17! (in other words, the best number in the world, because it blessed the world once before, around 17 years ago in the month of November).

marmite and cheese toast soldiers with two half boiled eggs

I won’t lie, I wanted to drop to my knees and cry out in exasperation and despair when this was brought to my lone table. All alone I sat there, looking at the two pathetic blobs for five minutes. Excuse me sir, could I please have two proper half-boiled eggs please, and not this limp white spider of a once-embryo, I wanted to ask. But my mouth only quivered, because I believed in the place. Watched the awkward waiter walk back down. I tested my luck and pried one open, praying for a golden river.

Alas, golden river it was not. It wasn’t even soft-boiled with a tad bit of runny yolk in the centre. It was soft in the middle, but otherwise a hundred percent overcooked. Nothing flowed, nothing to coat the toast. The toast itself was overly drenched in what seems to me a mixture of butter and marmite, betraying its could-be texture of crunch and fluff. Furthermore, the word ‘soldiers’ shouldn’t be used lightly here. I wanted thin soldiers, not obese and soggy white men. The edges were nicely toasted, and the cheese had the right degree of tag and sharpness. Sadly, everything else was a mess. The world could end one day if all yolks just stood still.

In fact, I wrote a poem titled ‘The Day the Yolk Stood Still.” I kid you not. It was great to just be alone for two hours, writing and drawing and thinking, just bombarded with my own thoughts and the dazzling rays shining through the shophouse windows.

Great coffee, lovely ambience… pity about my second breakfast of the day. I’m quite sure there are much nicer, more aesthetically pleasing items on the menu. I’m sure, I’m sure. It’s still new, after all.

Rating: 3/5

Drury Lane

94 Tanjong Pagar Road

Posted on July 16, 2013February 21, 2022 by alexcrumb 7

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

Wild Honey

When I’m sad I watch videos on how to poach eggs.

Current favourite: http://whiteonricecouple.com/food/video-poaching-eggs-appreciating-life-details/

And when moods coalesce and snowball into a ginormous thunder of unstoppable, guttural hunger, I go to Wild Honey.

The thing about eggs is that I can never tire of them, unlike a lot of people. They enjoy picking out the yolk or the white and frankly I may even be half-guilty on this one myself, since yolks may be my life’s vice aside from a really good fish head curry.

If one is HUNGRY, one must control thyself’s lazy Mickey Dees urges (depending on your level of sophistication, of course) and come to this one place, for some extensive menu choices and serious, heavy satisfaction. I was scoffing this Norwegian Darling when I came here with my mum and sisters once at Scotts Square, where the air is cold and the shops are lonely.

Avocado, grilled asparagus spears, two perfectly poached eggs wrapped with Norwegian smoked salmon, gorgeous homemade hollandaise and salmon pearls resting like jewels on top. I prefer hollandaise slightly tangier, with an orangey tinge right at the end when it curls and hangs around your epiglottis. This was more on the gloggy, boggy side, with more opaque notes. Back then I couldn’t care because I was so darn hungry. The salmon rated a 9 on the sodium scale, which made me less appreciate its indigenous origins; what made this dish unique in the first place. Ah, pity. The asparagus on the other hand, was beautiful and my incisors cut right through like creamed butter. The whole wheat bread was soft with a perfect crust, just right for supporting all its baby fat on top. The mother pillar.

The bread spread is massively impressive. I just can’t be joking here. Quality stuff, this. the blackberry and strawberry jams were mighty fine, with a rocking depth beneath each sweet facade. I only could have wished for a less watery strawberry jam. There was sweet French brioche, whole wheat and white rolls, croissants and seeded breads. It reminded me of the stodge spread in Nice, France, where there were olive and sesame beauties parading their round, baked bottoms at every course.

So yes, it’s portobello, not portabello. Ooh the infuriating spelling paranoia.

Happening, justifiable, good.

Anything more?

Well yes, I believe the hollandaise was more decent this time round, and the mushrooms were actually bouncy and full-on juicy, without any of that banal nonsense. Happy, happy.

‘Which one is the best?’

‘The steak sandwich, madam!” The blond waiter smiled. Being the only white person around, it didn’t take much for him to stand out. It was a redeeming feature in that dim red restaurant with a scowling queue lining up to look at one poor iPad.

Grass-fed sirloin, vine-ripened tomatoes, shaved onion and parmesan cheese, fresh horseradish and coriander mustard on toasted ciabatta. Right off the menu, that. And honestly, I was much less than impressed. It even left me with a proper frown in between bites. Perhaps I exaggerate, perhaps I am a lonely and fussy soul. But my tongue couldn’t deny the brittle dryness of that bread, which did not live up to its mediocre stuffings. Sandwiches and burgers with too much bread is quite a boring headache, and this was a little too greasy as well. For some reason the sirloin didn’t reproduce the tomato-juiciness I expected in such a tasty part of cow.

Despite some disappointment, this place could still claim a brunch crown. Come on, you can’t turn down a date here.

And well, if you love eggs…

Rating: 3.2/5

Wild Honey

6 Scotts Road

Level 3 Scotts Square

Tel: 66361816

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

alexcrumb

recipes, catering, creativity

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Tag: #singapore

Open Door Policy

Drury Lane

Meng Kitchen Bak Chor Mee

Bedrock Bar and Grill

Wild Honey