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

Flock Café

Those spur-of-the-moment meet ups with someone special.

We ambled in, unsure of what to expect, I myself a little doubtful of the humongous crowd and booming noise level. And yet, half of me ached to just try. Flock, like a bird. A dynamic freedom, a short escape. Sometimes, it doesn’t really matter where you are if you’re blessed with the best company.

After browsing around Books Actually, I needed at least a little fuel in the form of fare of little pretentious degree and biting caffeine (as usual. I’m scarily predictable. Maybe it’s just Saturdays). I relished the thought of just sitting down to some stimulating conversation, some heavy comfort. It was hot, dry and balmy outside, and the inside offered a hushed promise of something good. I also loved what was written on the walls:

Morning has broken

Mr. Coffee has spoken.

It really got the tune rolling in my head, that. It was even in swirly letters. I was quite happy, that’s a given.

Believe it or not, I manage to amuse myself sometimes. I mistook at least two young women to be the waitresses, and dropped my camera. I’m the best at subjecting myself and my poor companions to public humiliation. But about the waitresses, I can’t blame myself really. They all look the same, with identical giggles and smiles and ponytails. I swear on it.

Oh Lix, you tried. And the orders were still mixed up. Still. First, I wanted a cortado. I changed my mind and ordered an iced black, only to have an iced white salaam me soon afterwards. But it was alright. I got my black in the end. All is good with patience and forced smiles. Gosh, the things I do for something to hit the spot. Lix had an earl grey, which was warm and fragrant.

pork cheek and gruyère sandwich (hand shredded braised pork cheek, gruyère, mustard and ciabatta)

banana brioche french toast and crispy bacon

After a mid-lengthy wait, the sandwich came, then the french toast.

I was surprised by the texture of the pulled pork cheek, which was tender and rather juicy. The slathered mustard was mild and complementary, offering a sharp creaminess and savoury touch to the dish. Not luxurious enough to the point whereby you wouldn’t mind anointing yourself with it, but appealing nonetheless. Well it wasn’t my dish, but obviously I stole a bite. I’m not all that doggerel in nature, you know. We are all dignified human beings. I didn’t have enough of it to criticise it fully, because eating that whole thing would be more of a journey than a brief side throw comment. I do appreciate the words ‘hand-shredded’, though. Fitting in some elbow grease is always a good thing. Like kneading bread. You just can’t turn that sort of thing down.

My french toast demanded a long wait, but goodness, when that primed platter finally arrived, I knew I was in for some herculean effort. A maple syrup-drenched (not coated) obstacle course, laden with crisp slivers of bacon and soft banana. More effort should have gone into something like bruleeing those yellow slivers instead of drowning the crisp, fried mass in a litre of syrup. At first glance, it looks decent, almost prim, but get a little closer and you spot the shrinking pool of maple pulling in at the edges, every square inch dying to be soaked up by the ever-benevelont brioche, those airy, moist and dangerously buttery inch-thick brick slabs. I thoroughly enjoyed the texture of the brioche. The outside gleamed with a fresh seal of heat, and as my fork broke through a mildly soggy (thanks to you know what) crust, a little whisper of steam escaped from a white-yellow interior. Dense enough for me to wham some bacon and banana against its belly, light enough to be pleasurable on the tongue. However, it was all too much after a while, and I had to stop and gulp down more icy coffee to balance the heady sweetness. Small qualms. Otherwise, the coffee was decent and the fare, satiating. If I do warrant another visit, I might crack down on some eggs.

But once again, thank goodness for the best company. To say I was duly satisfied would be…

A tad bit of an understatement.

Rating: 4.0/ 5

Flock Café

78 Moh Guan Terrace (Tiong Bahru)

Posted on August 31, 2013February 21, 2022 by alexcrumb 2

Basilico

‘Hey girls, guess what. You get a treat from me. Your mother. And you know what, we’re going to go have a lovely dinner tonight. Preferably without breaking the bank, yes?’

My mother’s honest words. We were considering all the decent, cheap options around town, when she herself suggested Basilico. Isn’t that quite expensive, I murmured. Not like I’ve ever been there, but ‘Basilico’ was clearly a more-posh-than-average Italian name with slight snake-related connotations. Or serpent or amphibian. Oh hell, it was an excuse to wear my Calvin Klein leather-topped sleeveless mini dress anyway. And so we headed for the Regent Hotel, aka the golden-knobbed house my country can show off to tourists. I was excited. We all were (I think).

On a Saturday night, we were offered the choice of an antipasti and dessert buffet plus the choice of one main course from their a la carte menu. I couldn’t complain. Good God, it’s expensive, I thought, when the waiter said the buffet alone was a pocket-burner ($65, to be exact). Still. The rose-tinted, rustic yet sophisticated aura and scents made me dizzy with glee. I had to take it in slowly. Buffet and course choice it was. Saturday nights make me more adventurous and willing, I should think. I remained quite politic as I walked around the spread, eyeing the fresh fruit, cheese and wine. I must’ve stumbled on something from the dazzling aesthetics alone. I ended up with a plate of cold and crunchy asparagus salad, smoked salmon and caviar, eggplant, provocative vine tomatoes, a little mozzarella and mussel salad. Most things were pleasantly chilled, and the flavours of creamy mozzarella and exploding tomatoes savagely invaded my palate, in the best way possible. The eggplant could have done with a touch more salt, and some empty mussel shells were sandy.

Behold the kids pizza funghi.

Yes you heard that right. Kids. I was frightened by the monstrous slab which lay in front of my 6-year old sister. It was the fastest to come, and the most gargantuan. It was an animal, bigger than the slight consumer herself. ‘We’ll help’ , the rest of us announced, to compensate for the silent shock. The edges were thick, flour-crusted and fluffy, the body laden with a great deal of stringy cheese and clumps of nice and innocent Champignon slivers. The marinara base was appropriate in both taste and amount in proportion to the rest of the pizza, though the Champignons could have used more seasoning. That aside, I enjoyed the texture of the whole thing, the entirety of a single bite, even if I was just picking at bits on her plate. I’m a disgraceful, disgraceful picker.

grilled queen scallops with mushy peas, roasted tomatoes and chanterelles

Scallops for my main course. Six mini ones, at that. Branded with a beautiful sear on both sides, squished together with some brilliant, sweet mushy peas and a heavy drizzle of olive oil. The peas put me in heaven, and I could have had those alone. I willingly smashed them into the charred sides of scallop and warm burst of tomato juice, alongside the fruity, forest-flavoured chanterelles. What a great melding of juxtaposed flavours. The scallops, albeit juicy little things, weren’t sweet enough for my taste. Good, just not great.

I appreciate the textural effort put into all the dishes served. My other sister had the spaghetti with marinara sauce, which was perfectly al dente, and my mother had the sea bass. The knife cuts were smooth, the delicacy enticing. The fish itself I did not find sufficiently flavourful, but the aroma and presentation almost fully made up for that.

I’m re-unearthing the wonders of honest Italian food. But if you wish to come here, be prepared for a wait. Especially if you’re ordering anything other than pizza on the menu. Just. Small warnings.

Rating: 4.3/5

Basilico Italian Restaurant
1 Cuscaden Road
Singapore 249715
Tel: +65 6725 3232

Posted on August 24, 2013February 21, 2022 by alexcrumb 0

Symmetry

And funnily enough, this isn’t another one of my odd rambles (possibilities include facial symmetry, the symmetry of life and all it encompasses, how everything typically goes off the bend. Anyways.)

My camera received more than a few evil glares from unknowing passers-by.

I’ve read reviews on this place countless times and decided it was finally time to give this supposedly indie nook a go. ‘Hipster’, they called it. What could I lose, I said to myself, as I drew myself out of the bustling Orchard grounds. Eggs eggs eggs, my stomach chanted.

Portobello Benedict, with cheddar, hollandaise, hash and portobello duxelle

If I can take one word away from that experience this morning, it would be squashed. The first thing I saw, before the barista, before the lavish plates of eggy dishes, were human beings. All sorts, packing the little area to the brim. There, the ponytailed waitress pointed. I faced about 5 inches of wood; a skinny rectangular slab. I didn’t care, though. The seat was heavy but adorable, and my lashes fluttered at the menu. I always order some form of poached eggs at cafes because too, too many places serve rather mediocre or pathetic blobs of ivory, bursting with what? Usually not a golden river to set your heart aflame.

Portobello Benedict it was.

Took my breath away. Well oiled, plump ovals. Babies. The gentle prod of my fork unleashed an angry, tender flow. It energetically filled the crisp holes in the toasted, buttery English muffin, swamping a melting tang of cheddar. Complimented so perfectly with a hearty dose of duxelle, which is basically minced portobello and garlic. The cheese and hollandaise was the savoury cake’s icing, thin and slightly crusty around the edges. My palette was overwhelmed, but my heart was quite grateful. At $22, this is no cheap sacrifice, but every bite was absolutely worth it. Even the hash was beautifully crisp and golden, without being mushy in the centre.

That’s it. I’m trying the sur le pat, pain perdu and duck egg next time I come.

Rating: 4.8/5

Symmetry Cafe

9 Jalan Kubor

Posted on August 10, 2013February 21, 2022 by alexcrumb 1

Physiognomy

= the art of judging someone’s character by examining his/her facial features.

Do not lie. You have done so before. And even if you’re a God sent cherry-faced cherub living on Earth to witness and record all human sin to report back to heaven in preparation for the throwing of us all in a deep dark pit once we die, you know that such judgement is both ubiquitous and unforgiving.

Careless example right here. Look at the man above. I caught sight of him in a café the other day and took a sneaky picture, pretending to be fiddling with my cold brew and adjusting the aperture for the damn window lights, before I finally let loose my inner Warhol and started sketching his beard. Clearly, my life requires odd fulfillment. Because the thing is, if I didn’t draw him, I would have felt inclined to steal something from him, just to obtain some physical souvenir from this fascinating creature.Unshaven, almost bohemian, dare I say Australian. Rugged, pale lobster. Isn’t it amazing how these are my judgements and my judgements only? I don’t even know the guy and here I am thinking he earns a living painting portraits and riding horses. The Love Traveller with a Macbook.

Another one. Angelina Jolie is known as the most beautiful woman in the world. The chiselled rectangle of a face, pearl-like complexion, as if her face were set in stone centuries ago and emerged only now to separate true beauty from mediocrity. Sleek feline, killer jaw, ravishing plump mouth. Not that I disagree with the fact that she is considered such; I’m much more interested in the meticulous and fascinating science which established all this. What scientists call the ‘golden ratio’. Phrenology. Physiognomy. I read in an article today that we typically unconsciously fall victim to our surroundings, mentally suggesting preconceived notions on what lies beneath the human face. What a terrible world, you must be thinking. It’s so obviously wrong, allowing our egos to thrive or be bust with each turn of the head, with each examination. But everyone does it, and everyone does it without a conscience.

The human face is fascinating because everyone has a life and everyone has a story, yet we allow ourselves to make such rapid judgements, usually without even taking into account how others may perceive our own selves. Wouldn’t you love to walk up to a clone of yourself and get some conversation flowing? To see what it’s like outside of your precious set of organs, outside of the two holes on your face.

To really see you for the first time.

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

alexcrumb

recipes, catering, creativity

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Tag: travel

Group Therapy Café

Flock Café

Basilico

Symmetry

Physiognomy