Strangers’ Reunion

So I couldn’t find the door. The large glass door which lead directly to the light wood enclave so appropriately named Strangers’ Reunion. Let… Let me tell you a short story. I leave my house, take the bus to Tiong Bahru, get lost, hail a cab. Typical, normal, I would say. Nothing not very Alex-like. But I think the embarrassment peaked when I found myself floundering about like a complete and utter idiot even when I reached the shophouse. The words were clear, right there in front of me, I even saw my two cute and nice and short friends Celeste and Liz (probably laughing at my incapability as a human being) sitting in the corner. Not finding the door is just not acceptable. The whole time I was there I felt like lashing out at all the sensible people who were capable of opening the right door at the first try. Ha, they’ve probably been here before anyway.

You come in and the first thing which greets you is a jovial crowd, some bespectacled bohemians quietly, nonchalantly sipping away at their flat whites (or the more sophisticated with their espressos) behind the mysterious screens of their macs. Small tables aligned along the sides, all rather close to one another, all wooden and shiny, plastered with the faint drone of orange light. I? I was an SR virgin. I’ve seen pictures and things of course, all of crisp 6-inch wide browned buttermilk waffles with lashings of beautiful toppings accompanied by even more beautiful cups of coffee. We were already past the lunchtime-nigh, so tragically I wanted something savoury. Ordered and waited, the three of us chatting non-stop over various social situations and nonsense like the wonderful nonsensical beings we are.

cappuccino, $4.90 and iced mocha, $6.50.

Say hello to the long-locked ladies who lunch- Liz (left) and Celeste. Aren’t their smiles gorgeous? Don’t ask me why the camera focus is on the glass bottle because it just so happened to be that momentary mistake and regret. I ordered the cappuccino, seeing it only fit to try their famed milky concoctions, a little startled by the price but this surprise was stunted when I was greeted by the beautifully and intricately decorated image of a swan nestled in a large purple cup on a yellow saucer. Plater certainly knows his complementary colours. One of the best foam art works I’ve seen yet, almost perfectly symmetrical, the swan itself brimming with a delicate life, albeit the fragile wispiness. The coffee itself isn’t robust enough, and I didn’t finish it. Heard a myriad good things about it, though. Perhaps it was one of those one-off circumstances. Despite the (oh-so) tiny letdown, I was highly impressed by the quality of the bean, which I could taste in the first tender sip. Yes, it must be tender, because rushing through a coffee just isn’t very connoisseur-like now, is it.

Poached eggs on english muffin with a side of honey baked ham, $8.00+$4.00, eggs florentine with spinach, smoked salmon and hollandaise on ciabatta, $18.00

What I like is how you can choose from all the various sides as well as the type of bread you should like to nicely sop up all the yolk and hollandaise. Their hollandaise was a little on the thicker side, but the flavour was preserved with the right amount of tang, the butter not saying farewell to the well-whipped yolks. The poached eggs fared eggsellently. See what I did there. Yolks and more yolks! It was disgustingly yolk-y heaven. Rich and sodden, yellow and beautiful. One soft slip of the fork caused an outrageous, glorious burst of bright yellow, spilling over onto the sides, buttering the lonely spinach leaves, offering a soft glaze for the lovely salmon beneath. Everything mixed together in perfect harmony. I enjoyed this a little too much, but the one thing I regret not getting for myself was this baby right below.

‘Can I have a bite?’

‘Sure.’

And thank God for that.

Before you die of a visual orgasm, let me just make it clear that yes, this was both beautiful and delicious. A lot of beautiful things aren’t worth all the praise, but this… This.

Special of the day: Buttermilk waffles with caramel bananas, walnut crunch and vanilla ice cream, $14.90

You’ve heard of buttermilk pancakes, buttermilk scones, buttermilk in your pants. These buttermilk waffles are the lightest, crispest babies in the universe, and when fastened in that ridiculous, flawless, unbeatable, traditional (alright I’ll stop) combination of banana, vanilla and caramel, I warn you, you might cry. Yeah, in public. Everyone will watch you shed buttermilk tears into your perfect circle of yeast and flour and sugar- oh, sugar. Cut into it. Crisp, golden, carnal. It’s dangerous, it implores you to go on, zombie-like, to take your fork and smear a little of that ice cream on top, make it pretty with a sliver of caramel (note I say caramel, not caramelised, because that’s just the way they serve it, perhaps to make you feel a little less guilty over your pre-New Year gluttony, in an effort to kid yourself over your wondrous efforts to nourish that slovenly little body of yours) banana and walnut, go on, go on. I could go on, but that might be a little mean. When I say fluffy and light, I mean it. Too many a time I encounter stodgy, dense rocks with little square holes pricked in the middle to resemble (gasp) waffles.

Please just go and order this. I implore you.

Rating: 4.7/ 5.0

Strangers’ Reunion

37 Kampong Bahru Rd
6222 4869

Posted on December 31, 2013February 21, 2022 by alexcrumb 0

VeganBurg

Ha. Vegan, you say? Not so fast. Get up from the floor laughing. I know most of you would scramble at the thought of soy-and-tomato or mushroom-based patties. Maybe throw in a lettuce or two. Give it a little flair with a dollop of organic (shock horror) mayo. Oh! And organic cola to go with that. Or organic limeade and Pimm’s. If all else fails, we have some broccoli roulade and orange reduction to throw on a piece of (organic) bread. Bit of mayo won’t hurt. Who are we kidding right.

I have been meaning to (yes, I was actually looking forward to making this purposeful trip) try this place out ever since it opened. Boxing Day, free day, day with family. A super late lunch it was. It was more than half empty when we got there, Paul McCartney posing in front of the doors with his ‘favourite meat-free fast food joint’. That was enough to get my meat-hungry DAD feel a touch more enthusiastic. I could feel his sighs and bemoaning make the air heavier. Once again, not so fast dad. Just… I believe in the power of vegan. I believe. McCartney believes. So you must believe too.

Sat down, but got up again just to look at the menu. The words ‘cracked pepper’ and ‘hawaiian teriyaki’ shone their little delicate vegan beams onto my glazed eyes. I was hungry just looking at the pouches of sauce oozing from the fat sides. Came across the phrase ‘smoky BBQ’ at the bottom and I was good to go. And then. The God-awful service. There was only one teenage waiter with black stud earrings, orange hair and a I-don’t-give-a-f sort of attitude looking at us placidly since the beginning. Frustration mounted before I even settled on my order. Almost peaked, but I kept a steady calm. Doubts rose.

Above: Smoky BBQ, $7.90 on its own or $11.80 as a set. I got the set, along with their ‘citrus cooler’ and seaweed fries. Military-style, in a mess tin (which by the way, you have to empty out yourself when you’re done with the grub)

Which apparently contains beta-carotene. I’m up a level in the Vitamin A department, guys! More molecules with beta rings. Hallelujah. Their buns, jokes aside, are made from ‘organic wholemeal grains, unrefined raw sugar, distilled water and sea salt’. Now, imagine if they didn’t add the word distilled. All hell might break loose. I like how they put the words ‘unrefined’ and ‘raw’ in the same sentence. Talk about redundancy. But they hit the spot, this burger. The bun was soft, pliable and fluffy. More so than a Mickey Dees’, I would say. Yes, even so. I’m pathetic because I forgot to take a shot to show the sides; excuse me because I was too busy enjoying it, too busy to lift my greasy fingers off the damn thing, wipe them, pick up my camera, find the right angle, aperture, shutter speed and focus, and take a good shot. I could have, but I didn’t. Right now I’m trying to deal with myself on this one. Please.

The thing about burgers is that… it’s only subjective to an extent. You cannot deny a good one. Compared to last time’s experience at &Made, these were brilliant. I tried my sister’s ‘hawaiian teriyaki’ ($10.80 as a set) and my parents’ ‘creamy shrooms’ ($11.80, set), and both were flavourful in their own individual ways. Having originally contemplated the hawaiian teriyaki, I was still satisfied with my BBQ choice, with sufficiently sweet and slightly spicy BBQ sauce leaving a generous coat between lettuce, and yes, there were onions. My annoyance lay in the fact that there weren’t caramelised. But that’s only because I’m picky and a bother when it comes to onions. I don’t mind raw, but boy, if they were caramelised… Munched through alfafa sprouts (say it five times), tomatoes and lettuce. All organic of course. All the burgers are actually identical, little groups of twins and triplets, if it were not for the sauces hiding underneath those tender buns, or the slight textural differences in patties or degree of vegetable doneness.

Yes. Mushroom and soy-based patties. Hyphae growing on my tongue. No, just kidding. These tender, rather thin patties boasted more flavour than I expected. Probably because they were more textured and slightly sweeter than what you would find in an average red meat burger. Didn’t provide the same gutsy bite, but nevertheless, I can’t fault the flavour. The shroom and teriyaki burgers beat mine hands down, but hey, it was a first. My sister got the hotdog, which, considering the whole meatless factor, tasted pretty impressive. Meatless, but tastes almost of chicken. Alright, more like 51.54%. And I say this for all the patties. Pale, slightly chewy little discs. As for the citrus cooler, it offered a refreshing break between bites, though was a little diluted for my liking. These guys should offer a carbonated option. Oh, the service.

I might be back.

Only if that waiter throws away his apron.

Rating: 4.4/5

VeganBurg

200 Turf Club Road #01-32
Singapore 287994

Phone: 6462 1281

Posted on December 26, 2013February 21, 2022 by alexcrumb 0

Anthesis

I like solo trips.

Anthesis- the period when a flower becomes sexually functional. Oh it’s functional, alright.

Just two doors down from Toby’s Estate, one of my other favourite coffee joints. I was tempted by their new menu additions and charming interior, but this other wooden dream did the trick (almost) as well. I needed a coffee and I needed some damn french toast to satiate this pining ache, this whining brunch stomach. An iced coffee for me. I’m not ordering a cap on this sun-drenched morning, no. Without the syrup, the complex notes of the Bean shine through immaculately. Fresh, and the size was quaint.

Sexy.

I have this obsession with eggy bread. French toast. Pain perdu. Whatever you deign appropriate for the breakfast queen. No but really, absolutely nothing compares to the words ‘french toast’ on a menu. Yes, not even eggs. This right here is their magnificent french toast stack layered with beautifully caramelised bananas, whipped cream, mascarpone cheese and butterscotch sauce. It took me a while to move my eyes past the provocative oozing and dripping of the cream down the dense and crisp, eggy edges. The square stack was an edible jenga tower, and I could make the first move. My knife creeped in, and all hell broke loose. I drizzled the sauce over everything- a thick brown coating of lust. A little embarrassing when you’re dining alone, as the sweet cream splays everywhere with bits of bread and mushy bananas. I probably looked ridiculous and greedy and terrible. The cheese was a nice touch, offering a fine savoury edge to the otherwise overly sweet mish mash of stodge and sugar. The bread could have been a tad less dense, such as the french toast I had at Skyve Elementary, another place I should get around to doing a review on soon. The eggy flavour here was half pronounced, and the cream was a little excessive between bites. Nevertheless. It’s french toast.

I couldn’t leave without stealing one of their passionfruit yuzu meringue tarts (!!) This was a slow and sinful home degustation. Gorgeous meringue flecks atop a rich and tart curd. The crust held all its own, lightly sweetened and firm, even after being out of the fridge for a while. The curd was on the more wobbly, fragile side, and the meringue full and sweet. I’m going to try their sea salt chocolate version next time.

Rating: 4.6/5

Anthesis

86 Robertson Quay

6737 9873

Posted on December 5, 2013February 21, 2022 by alexcrumb 1

Roundhouse Pizza Bar and Grill

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

Posted on December 1, 2013February 21, 2022 by alexcrumb 0

Blu Kouzina

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.

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.

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.

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

Posted on December 1, 2013February 21, 2022 by alexcrumb 0

alexcrumb

recipes, catering, creativity

alexcrumb

Tag: #singapore

Strangers’ Reunion

VeganBurg

Anthesis

Roundhouse Pizza Bar and Grill

Blu Kouzina