Singapore: seeing stars

When the Ewing and I last made the trek Down Under we stopped over in Hong Kong, where Tim Ho Wan had just been awarded the honour of cheapest Michelin starred restaurant in the world. Queue a pair of very hungry and jet-lagged travellers queuing outside for breakfast.

Fast forward seven years and our latest jaunt to the the Lucky Country included a few days in Singapore, where the snappily monikered Hong Kong Soya Sauce Chicken Rice and Noodles had just been awarded the honour of cheapest Michelin starred restaurant in the world. Queue a pair of very hungry and jet-lagged travellers queuing outside for breakfast...

Strictly we ate at the recently opened new offshoot of HKSSCRN - the original hawker stall is found opposite at the Chinatown Complex Market and Food Centre. But the same quality is ensured by chef-owner Chan Hon Meng, who oversees the new kitchen, with his wife ably managing things over the road. As it was already a sweaty 32 degrees outside, I also appreciated the air-con and iced tea at the new gaff.

The roasted chicken with fluffy rice and boiled peanuts was very good. Better than Flame and Fried three piece meal at three o'clock in the morning? Debatable. But they had better chilli sauce on offer here, plus  some excellent pickled chillies. We also tried the char sui pork and egg noodles. My kinda breakfast food. 

The food was good but my favourite part of the meal came when the Ewing excitedly announced to the mother and son who had asked to share our table while patiently waiting for their food that they were in for 'a real treat'. Until we discovered out they were locals who lived around the corner and came for their chicken fix every Sunday. 

Hong Kong Soya Sauce Chicken Rice and Noodles wasn't the only entry from Singapore's inaugural Michelin Guide we visited during our trip. Tai Wah Pork Noodle, serving bowls of it's signature bak chor mee - a dish of Teochew origin that features fresh egg noodles tossed in a sauce of chilli, oil, vinegar, soy and pepper, served with minced meat, pork slices, pork liver, mushrooms, meat balls, deep-fried lard and crispy sole fish - was also on the hit list.

As it was out last day I bartered with the Ewing: I would spend the morning queuing in the stifling heat for the coveted bowls of noodles - while she relaxed with an ice coffee and the guidebook, planning our tour of Little India and Arab Street in the afternoon

Queuing in the airless centre proved a test of my impatience; while the line looked deceptively benign, containing perhaps twenty people ahead of me, as each dish is constructed from scratch from piles of fresh ingredients and using a plethora of different dishes and utensils, it inched forward at a painfully glacial rate. My mood was also not helped by the guy in front of me deceptively appearing to be on his own, but then proceeding to order takeout for his whole office.

Getting near to the front of the queue at least meant I had the entertainment of watching each bowl being carefully composed to order. Something that proved fascinating - as well as somewhat frustrating - and I have infinite respect for the guys toiling manically in the heat with no let-up, a common sight at many hawker stands across the city. Especially with so many people, and so much stuff, seemingly haphazardly squashed in such a small space. 

Still, good things come to those who wait, and being a fan of noodles and pork and chilli and vinegar (and chunks of crispy lard), I was very excited to finally sit down and get my chopsticks into the biggest bowl, at $10, on offer.

Maybe it was the stifling heat, or the interminable wait, or seeing the heaps of raw liver – like a scene from Rosemary’s Baby - and fish balls waiting to be boiled, but, it appears that things are not always the sum of their parts. 

While I didn’t actively dislike it I found myself indifferent at best, disappointed by the lack of chilli punch and the tang of the black vinegar. Although, this is someone who carries sriatcha in their bag for all eventualities and has probably beaten their taste buds into submission with an overdose of salt and vinegar Pringles.

The Ewing did enjoy it, as well as the seaweed soup that was served alongside, so it wasn’t a completely lost cause. And I did get a great tour around Little India afterwards. 

Alongside the starred establishments in the new guide there were also 34 Bib Gourmands awarded for ‘exceptional good food at moderate prices’. Although it was a little difficult to see how our bills at the previous two establishments could be bettered, we did manage to try a few more places on the list, starting with an early morning visit to The Amoy Food Centre. 

Although four stalls had been awarded the honour, only Curry Puff was open so early, meaning a brace of freshly-fried pastries became part of a rather unorthodox breakfast, alongside the Ewing’s avocado smoothie and my freshly squeezed watermelon juice. 

Available in three flavours – chicken; black pepper chicken and sardine, they resemble a deep-fried equivalent to our pasty, but with an even more friable crust that flakes apart in layers that look like the back of an oyster shell.

The black pepper chicken was rather like something you'd get at a good dim sum restaurant; the sweet and herbal filling balanced the sharp bite of black pepper. The curried sardine, stuffed with spiced potato, might have sounded a little outlandish, but tasted even better. Like a samosa on steroids and surprisingly light and greaseless.

The famous hawker centre at Newton Circus, located in the upmarket Newton area of the city,  is often seen as being one of the pricier and most touristy. And, with the design of the stalls based on the old colonial houses nearby, it's also one of the prettiest.

Previously it's been known for excessive ‘hawking’ (touting for business, sometime aggressively), something stall owners are not permitted to do. Although this seems to have improved since one stall holder was suspended for shaking down a group of American tourists £500 dollars for dinner. Thankfully, our bill was much lower, and the atmosphere on our visit was amongst the most friendly and laid-back of anywhere on our trip.

The primary reason for our trip was to eat the sambal stingray at Alliance Seafood. While the eponymous crab is still the most famous dish in Singapore, the ray – fresh fins of the cartilaginous fish, spread with a fiery sambal paste and grilled, has become one of the most popular, hawker dishes, and one I was excited to try.  

When we were discussing it with a friend before our trip, the Ewing was dubious about whether she would want to eat it because of the ethical issues over sustainability. Of course, the smell of the banana leaf-wrapped ray being grilled proved all too persuasive and soon two pairs of chopsticks were making light work of the gelatinous flakes of fish. 

White rice, a dish of stir-fried greens and a squeeze of calamansi lime helped damped the fiery sambal a paste made from, amongst other things - Indian walnuts, tiny shallots and chilli – although  the stall owner had a glint in his eye as he watched us tuck in, and was keen to know if it was too hot when he cleared our plates. The stripped bones and spent lime shells told him everything he needed to know.

Also helping cool down us down were the drinks from Michael’s Bar next door. The lady working there had clocked us straight away and had soon bought over large bottles of Tiger beer with icy tankards. The muggy weather and spicy food soon meant we were making our way through the drinks menu, much to her delight as she excitedly explained how they made their fresh sugarcane juice and iced lemon tea. 

As it was our friend Michael’s birthday, our new friend was more than happy to drag her husband out for a photo to send to him just before we left.

Another reason we were keeping so well hydrated during our visit was because we were waiting for Heng (between Alliance Seafood and Michael’s) to open so we could try their famous carrot cake. Unlike our walnut-studded desert typically smothered in cream cheese icing, Singaporean carrot cake is a savoury dish made of rice flour and radish steamed and cut into cubes.

We tried both the white, fried with eggs and salty preserved radish; and the black, fried with sweet soy sauce with chilli sauce on the side. Thankfully they both proved worth the wait, my favourite being which ever one I was digging into at the time.

The Famous Sungei Road Trishaw Laksa - another Bib Gourmand recipient, found in the bustling Hong Lim Centre - are indeed famous for their take on spicy noodle soups with a healthy twist. Selling three unique versions -  featuring tamarind, coconut milk and, most unusually, fresh fruit juice - its popularity was in evidence by the queue of hungry workers lining up for an early lunch break when they opened their shutters at 11 o'clock.

While the Ewing was insistent she had ordered the fruit juice mee siam, the picture displayed at the front of the stall point to the fact we actually received the Asia Delight laksa. Whatever it was, it was a pretty spectacular bowl of food, featuring a light coconutty gravy bobbing with crayfish, fishcake, large prawns, cockles, fried bean curd and slices of chicken. One of my top dishes of the trip.

After such a light and healthy intro it was only right our next stop was at Outram Park Fried Kway Teow Mee, just around the corner. Made from flat rice noodles - the name literally means 'stir-fried rice cake strips - the dish is cooked over very high heat with light and dark soy sauce, chilli, blood cockles, bean sprouts, egg and chopped Chinese chives. 

Originally a popular labourer's traditional breakfast, it enjoys a reputation not too dissimilar to our fry up, thanks to its high saturated fat content due to being fried in generous amounts of lard. 

As it turns out Tiggers don't like blood cockles much. Or beanspouts, or egg, (yes, I do keep trying both) or even big lumps of crunchy pork fat. In fact even the Ewing baulked at the cold and quivering lumps of bivalve sitting on top of the steaming hot smoky noodles. Still, it didn't stop us demolishing most of it, washed down with an ice cold sugarcane juice that matched the colour of the tabletops.

Our final meal with a gong came at Song Fa, a mini chain of restaurants specialising in Bak Kut Teh or ‘meat bone tea’. A dish with Hokkien/Teochew roots, it features pork - usually ribs, sometimes loin and offal - in a rich herbal broth featuring star anise, cinnamon, cloves and garlic. Despite the name, the dish contains no tea but refers to a strong oolong tea which is usually served alongside, to help aid digestion.

As with the kway teow noodles before, it was traditionally served to fortify the workers before a heavy day's work, the dish is now more commonly enjoyed later in the day - although I think you have to be rather more acclimatised to temperatures in the mid-thirties, coupled with stifling humidity to find the idea of hot soup and hot tea the most appealing lunchtime fare. 

The bak kut tea served here is Teochew style; a light broth with less sweet soy than the Hokkien incarnation, but plenty of black pepper and garlic. Despite my reservations, it was strangely refreshing – I suppose not unlike the English compulsion to drink endless steaming mugs of PG Tips on even the balmiest days of summer; a habit my old physics teacher always assured us would have a cooling effect.

While not being perhaps much of a looker – the blanched grey ribs bobbing in a broth like dishwater, if I were to be uncharitable – flavour-wise it was spot on. The meat was sweet and tender while still retaining some of the chew that makes a rib such a pleasure to eat, while the savoury broth, with its deep peppery heat, was an invigorating panacea in the clammy conditions. I stand corrected Mr Marshall.

One thing that still remains, fancy Michelin gongs or not, is my propensity for ordering gnarly things from the menu that I later regret and this trip was no exception. While I already knew that chicken feet were not really my bag from previous failed experimentation, and the Ewing had made it abundantly clear that they weren’t hers, I couldn’t resist ordering them with braised bean curd, partly based on the picture on the menu.

It is not an exaggeration to say these could have been used as a prop in Jurassic Park, looking more like pterodactyl claws that any poultry I had ever seen. Taste-wise, they were also just as I remembered them, but on a bigger scale and with more to battle with. Bony and knobby with that unique cartilaginous texture; something that could most charitably be described as an ‘acquired taste’.

Although, spare a thought for my poor wife, who maintains watching me try to eat it was probably worse than trying to actually consume it. As Oscar Wilde said 'we are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars'.

Coach Class

Many moons ago, before this blog was even a bun in the oven, the Hand and Flowers - Tom Kerridge’s lauded two Michelin Star gastropub – was about as close to a local as the Ewing and I had.  The perfect spot for some lovely grub and a pint of local ale, and somewhere we still haven't really managed to replace.

This may seem like a fanciful story for two impoverished library workers, especially if you consider it currently has a six month plus long waiting list for dinner and mains on the ala carte menu starting at thirty quid. But back in the good old days, when the pub had ‘just the one’ star, they offered a two course set lunch for a tenner - including their fabulous bread and famed whitebait amouse bouche - with pudding for an extra £3.50. Plus you could easily get a table on a Monday (the library workers’ traditional day off) at a few days’ notice.

Sadly, for someone who remembers having three courses, pints of beer and cheeseboard and still getting out for £50 for two, those days are long gone. Although, at thirty quid for three courses, the set lunch remains decent value. And they still serve the whitebait.

But, while the H&F might not now be the place for an impromptu late lunch, Chef Kerridge’s march on Marlow continues with The Coach, his second pub on the same road - complete with all day opening hours, small plate ‘pub grub’ menu and, best of all for someone with a last minute bonus afternoon off work,  no reservations.

Being a solo diner, I slotted instantly in to a spare barstool, complete with view of the open kitchen, and was soon nursing a glass of house red and a (pristine) copy of the Guardian, offered from a wide selection of papers by the charming bar staff. 

It might be an unfortunate symptom of the modern age, but there’s nothing worse than feeling at a loose end when eating on your own so I was pleased to have the tragi-comic diversion of the day’s current affairs, interspersed with tragi-comic updates from the Magical Stealth on WhatsApp, to keep me amused until my food arrived.

The menu is essential ‘pub tapas’,  with the size of dishes being roughly proportionate to their (not inconsequential) price tag. As I was on my own, and so mercifully spared from sharing, I pretty much stuck to a classic ‘starter, main, pud’ order of proceedings, which began mushroom risotto ‘Claude Bosi’.

Whether you think that this is an improvement on the classic Italian version would depend on how wedded you are to your carbs, but I did find myself strangely impressed by the tiny uniform pieces of perfectly cooked mushroom, bound in a cheesy sauce and topped with a dreft of Parmesan like fresh snow on the top of Monte Bianco.

My next plate was a little closer to home; pigeon from the West Wycombe Estate (a far more appetising prospect than High Wycombe High Street), served with trompettes and pearl barley. I often judge a good dish by its gravy, and this was some of the best. Shimmery and shiny with a deep meatiness that complimented the blushing pigeon and nutty grains.

Alongside were the famed pomme boulangeres, or bakers taters in English. Arriving in their own saucepan, topped with a disc of crisp potato shards that had been brushed with another slick of glossy meat juices,  I doubt you could spend a better £2.50 anywhere.

Although ordered from the ‘non-meat’ section of the menu (with a ‘contains meat' caveat in brackets after) make no mistake, this one's for the carnivores. As soon as the tuber lid was lifted I was greeted by a heap of dark and sticky braised meat on top of further layers of slow cooked potato; a satisfying sight and they tasted even better.

Pud was a warm chocolate and peanut tart with a ball of salted caramel ice cream perched in a chocolate tuile basket on top. Like everything that had come before, this was a superlative plate of food - the friable pastry giving way to a perfectly oozy, nutty fondant centre. If I hadn't been half-cut on house red I'd have felt guilty that my chocoholic wife was down the road at work, and not sat at the bar sharing it with me.

While I'm still a little wistful for those halcyon days enjoying long boozy lunches up the road, the Coach is an more than able enthusiastic younger sibling with the added advantage of not having to plan your visit weeks in advance. Add in the warm and friendly service and (not too eye-watering) pricing and it might be time to pull up a stool and get comfy; there's a new local in town.

Chick'n'sours - Reclux

There’s not many places I’m excited enough to write about twice – the ever wonderful Hawksmoor and Maltby Street Market/Bermondsey Beer Mile being notable exceptions – but when Carl Clarke announced that a second branch of his Kingsland Road fried chicken shop, Chick'n'Sours, was coming to Covent Garden and they would be bringing their famous whole Fry Sundays, I knew what I had to do.

As I pontificated at length after my first visit to the original branch, their Original Fry – served sprinkled with seaweed ‘crack’, as if it wasn’t moreish enough – is still amongst the best fried chicken I have eaten; and I know my crispy poultry. Not to mention the sticky Szechuan aubergine, so good we ordered it twice, and their Thai-inspired pickled watermelon salad that I’ve never been able to quite recreate at home.

I also like to think of myself as a bit of connoisseur when it comes to a sour cocktail  - the conceit making up the second part of their name – after drinking a few in my time. The Ewing, who shakes up the most awesome Sidecars, has even more experience in this niche field and judged the Rye'n'Black sour with red and pear as good – although missing that acerbic killer punch - while the original Chick'n'Club, with apple freeze dried berries, was even better.

Both made great appetite sharpeners, especially when imbibed along to fantastic soundtrack of New Order, Deacon Blue and the Communards.

While a starter seemed entirely superfluous, knowing how much food was already on its way, I couldn’t pass up one of the newest additions to the menu; Mexi-nese nachos – a hybrid dish of Chengdu chicken and bacon (an intensely spiced, meaty ragu), green chillies and kimchi cheese sauce, A glorious combination of salty, crunchy and cheesy, peppered with bursts of bright chilli heat.

While my experiences with home deep fat frying are limited after I got rid of our fryer -  to the unbridled delight of the Ewing, who was happy to sample the finished goods but was less enamoured with the grease and dust and trails of stale oil from another abandoned experiment – I know the difficulties of getting that crisp carapace while heating the insides right through. A lesson bitterly learnt after a batch of arancini with a black crust and a stubbornly solid cheesy centre.

So quite how the chefs manage to batter and fry a whole chicken so the coating is crisp and golden, the breast is still tender and those tricky little crevices where the legs and wings meet the body are fully cooked through is quite the mystery. 

But manage it they do, and the result is this (quickly demolished) burnished beauty, ordered K Pop style with the addition of extra squiggles of gochujang mayo and chilli vinegar zig-zagged in a Jackson Pollock-esque way across the top. Even in giant form, I maintain this is as fine as fried chicken gets; poultry perfection that rivals even the classic roast for the best Sunday dinner.

The hot and sour Korean sauces served with the chook were perfectly tempered by our choice soothing sides. The dripping fries, ordered with an awesome St Agur creamy blue cheese dip, were rated by the Ewing as McDonald's scale good (a ringing endorsement). 

While a dish of crisp green slaw, made with shredded sugar snaps in a tangy dressing and topped with black sesame seeds, was exceptionally good. In fact, with the nachos and chicken that had come before it, it’s a testament to its deliciousness that this was still possibly the best thing I ate all afternoon.

As Einstein (probably didn’t) say ‘insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results’. In this case I’m quite happy to confirm I’m completely lucid and the chicken (and everything else) is just as good at the Seven Dials branch – possibly even better as it’s far easier to get to for those on the west side. Although I’ve already persuaded the Ewing there’s no harm in returning to properly test the hypothesis.

Ending up in King's Cross

A fact that has been well documented on this blog is my enduring love of pizza. Thick, thin, frozen, coal-fired, I love it's easy-going informality and it's a passion that's endured since my Mum used to buy the cheap cheese and tomato pizzas the size of a saucer from Bejam. The perfect accompaniment for a marathon evening of Gladiators and Blind Date on a Saturday night.

Fast forward a few years and that still sounds like my idea of a perfect weekend. And, although they can't fulfil my nostalgic love for prime time game shows, Pizza Union - with branches in King's Cross and Shoreditch - fling some of the cheapest pies in town.

Part of the reason for the rock bottom prices is the slick self-service premise - think old school canteen but with trays of olives and roasted fava beans instead of the dried out Turkey Drummers and jam doughnuts of of my youth.

After selecting your drinks from the cabinet at the entrance you move along to the main counter to order and pay, picking up your trendy snacks and pots of extra Parmesan, chilli sauce and garlic mayo on the way. Find a stool at a communal bench, then it's a short wait until your buzzer goes off and you can collect your trays of freshly wood-fired pizza and side salads. Not the venue for a romantic dinner a deux perhaps, but perfect for a quick pit stop.

At 12.50 a bottle, the vino tinto - chosen from the very short wine list; one white, one red, one fizz - was about as good as you'd expect it to be. Which was to say not very, but at that price who's complaining. Icy cold Peroni and San Pellegrino are also available, as well as tepid thimbles of London tap.

Pizza union's pies are Roman style; aka the crisp-based ones you can pick up in a slice and fold into your mouth a la Sex and the City or Do the Right Thing, depending where you get your cultural references from. Whatever way you look at it, at a generous 12 inches and with prices starting at a bargain basement £3.95 for a margherita, you can't really go wrong.

Our first pick was the Romana; wild broccoli, mozzarella, speck and Gorgonzola (instead of goats cheese). Smoky and salty with the bitter tang of the greens, this was a fine way to spend six fifty of anyone's money. Consider splashing out another 50 pence for a pot of the aforementioned (Nando-esque) chilli sauce for your crusts.

We also ordered a fungi (this time with added goats cheese) which perfectly showcased why people who don't like mushrooms are Wrong. A mixed salad with olives, peppers and Parmesan - served in a utilitarian metal mixing bowl proved another tasty way to up our veg intake.

As good as the pizza was, there was something I was even more excited about; the calzone ring stuffed with Nutella and mascarpone cheese. While I've seen these on the menu before (Pizza Pilgrims even do a customisable one at their new Shoreditch branch) I've never been quite up to the challenge after eating a hefty Neapolitan pie. Thankfully, their Northern brethren are crisper and lighter meaning plenty of room for pud.

As ever celebrating excess when it comes to desserts, the Ewing also decided to order two tubs of Oddono's ice cream - in pistachio and salted caramel flavours. A good call as it turns out as both were very fine indeed; even more so when eased out their tubs and into the centre of the molten calzone ring.

Pizza ice cream, cheap wine and hanging around Kings Cross late on a Saturday - it really was like the last twenty years hadn't happened. And to capitalise on that 90's vibe, and prove we've still got it, the evening finished with the Dandy Warhols at the Roundhouse. Just a casual, casual easy thing. Is it? It is for me.

Wycombe bites: The Works

In anticipation of our extended holiday to the Southern hemisphere - to meet the latest addition to the clan and celebrate an auspicious birthday – I’ve given up booze and sugary stuff and pretty much anything worth eating or drinking. It’s boring, and joyless, and I’ve already found myself having a two-pint Guinness lunch ‘cos it’s St Patrick’s Day’ and eating a steak and kidney pudding for breakfast ‘just because’.

Thankfully, as the salad-eating regime has been less than half-hearted on occasion, there's still been plenty of opportunities to support the Works, the latest indie offering on Wycombe’s high street. With its selection of - temporarily verboten - ice creams, cookies, pancakes, waffles and milkshakes, and their lovely staff who bring a little extra sweetness to the proceedings.

It’s not all kid’s stuff, with a drinks menu that includes beers such  as the peerless Beavertown Gamma Ray and Meantime, boozy shakes, cider, wine and champagne. The prosecco comes on tap and can be ordered with a variety of different fruity adornments or even with their homemade sorbet for a decidedly grown-up slushie. Perfect for taking pictures of people taking pictures for Instagram.

After visiting their original branch in Aylesbury for a deliciously ostentatious golden Ferrero Rocher ice cream sundae the Christmas before last, their most recent festive offerings included a turkey dinner, complete with stuffing, bacon and cranberry sauce, stuffed inside a Belgian waffle. As much as I love the combination of sweet and savoury, I would have preferred the advertised gravy rather than a slick of maple syrup across the top. Otherwise, top marks.

Other fillings I’ve enjoyed, which can be served on either a freshly made waffle or crepe, include chorizo and roasted pepper; classic mozzarella, mushroom and spinach; and a dissected hot dog with beef chilli, jalapenos and onions (undocumented as I was sitting next to my boss while I was eating it, trying to avoid the inevitable grease stains down my shirt and salad in my teeth).

As good as the savoury offering are, and most are pretty good, it’s impossible to ignore the fridge filled with a cornucopia of different coloured gelato as you walk in. Available as individual scoops, with a variety of customisable toppings, or bring your appetite (or a a friend) and try one of their sundaes, which can all also be ordered on top of a waffle of crepe.

While there are a myriad of different combinations, including banoffee pie, hot apple caramel crumble and eton mess, my favourites are choc-based. Although a minor criticism is the low melting point of some of the flavours I’ve tried, notably the chocolate which seems to liquefy before you’ve stuck your spoon in the sundae glass. A small trade-off for such light and creamy gelato, I suppose, but dig-in quick (not a problem if you're with the Ewing) if you don’t want to drink your desert.

One of the ‘firmer’ flavours - and now a firm favourite after trying (several) helpings when they had their recent pound a scoop promotion – is the Peanutella, peanut ice cream swirled with a ribbon of melted chocolate and whole nuts. This is genuinely one of the best ice creams I have eaten and is particularly good in the Nutty Professor sundae; with pistachio and chocolate ice creams, toffee sauce and extra nuts; or, even better, served as an affogato with a double espresso.

Not only is it torturous that I frequently have to walk past, I now see on social media that their range of gelato has been joined by a salted peanut butter chocolate pretzel flavour and they have a new Easter Egg Hunt sundae on waffle - topped with gelato, whipped cream, Malteser bunnies, Creme Eggs and a 'surprise'. Maybe there's time for one last blowout before I have to fit into my beach wear...