Tag: fusion
A prepossessing little cottage stood at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac at Dempsey Hill, a few minutes left of Dover Street Market. It’s clad in a pristine coat of white paint, crowned with a cloche of grimy-clay terracotta tiles, and adorned with a hanging wooden sign, charmingly weathered and bearing the words “Morsels”. Continue reading “Morsels”
Wrinkled, subfusc curtains fell from the ceiling, halting an inch before touching the exposed grey floor. Cream-coloured surfaces covered the space, and strokes of suave mahogany stalked it. That’s how the scene is set at Bar Bon Funk, New Bahru’s stylish new denizen.
Perhaps the once-dogmatic Michelin Guide sees its relevance challenged by this epoch of decentralised, digitally-dominated gourmet hunting. Nonetheless, it’s hard to argue the prestige of a Michelin star still holds sway over many, especially those convinced of the romanticism in fine dining.
My meal at Tambi is best characterised by one vivid moment — when the signature bone marrow murtabak descended upon the glossy turquoise tiled counter, sitting assuredly in formation with a mound of tangerine-hued slivers. A mound of kimchi.
Sat on the cusp of Carpenter Street, the voguish Kee’s beckons to the busy Clarke Quay vicinage with a brightly lit sign, electrifyingly yellow and embossed in a bodacious tilted typeface.
Go Rogue or go broke — that looks to be what the 46 Mittsu boys are gunning for with the unveiling of their ambitious newest concept, a sleek industrial chic outfit ensconced within one of Clarke Quay’s vintage shop houses. Continue reading “Go Rogue”
Passing by Domino’s Pizza sparked a certain bemusement in me, as I inched closer to Arab Street’s hottest new opening that lay a few doors down, Beyond the Dough. Continue reading “Beyond the Dough”
A billion nights spent at Keong Saik have taught me one thing: Things will come and go but The Guild? The Guild is forever.
The greys of dusk slowly trickle into the nooks and crannies of Tiong Bahru. Its white veneer takes on an increasingly ashen shimmer and the kiss of the golden hour sun waned as we weaved through the motley of low-rise flats, on the lookout for the night’s protagonist, Dirty Supper Club.
Miniscule. From my vantage point at CE LA VI, Singapore resembled a diorama where even buildings were muddled into vague silhouettes.
Continue reading “CE LA VI”
