Review: House

You know what I don't like about brunch? I mean sure, you get to wake up late and meet up with friends, sit on a sunny veranda listening to the birds chirping and watching the flowers bloom, and eat a sumptuous meal that would otherwise be the stuff of dreams, but what I really dislike about brunch is that you only get one meal when you could otherwise have got two!


Only joking. I rather enjoy brunch, with its connotations of the weekend's languid embrace. Every once in a while people will ask me where's good to go for brunch. There are the usual suspects, like Rider's Cafe, Jones the Grocer and Mimolette, but each of these has its drawbacks. The food at Rider's is outstanding, but you have to make reservations a year and a day ahead. Jones has great atmosphere but somewhat dismal service, while Mimolette seems to reside in the shadow of Rider's. One of my current favourites, therefore, is House, which I find strikes a happy compromise between atmosphere, food and service.


In terms of atmosphere, the decor is fairly eccentric, with glass, concrete, chalkboards, and stencils all making an appearance. There's even a strange sort of indoor pavilion you can dine under.


A crowd-pleaser is the House truffle fries, which I suspect suffers from a surfeit of truffle oil. It's not bad, by any means, but I feel that for a dish like this, less is probably more - what you want is a truffle aroma, not a truffle deluge.


House has a very extensive menu, but it's comforting to see that they offer a traditional fry-up: toast, scrambled eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes and sausages.


If fried stuff isn't your thing, there is also comfort food like bay prawn capellini topped with pecorino cheese. Crunchy prawns packed with umami goodness, and spicy heat from fresh cut chillis, what's not to like?


The mushroom risotto was an attractive dish as well - diced tomatoes and thyme leaves added vibrance, and the risotto is cooked with a rich veal jus. I thought it would have made more sense to cook the risotto with mushroom jus, though, as the intensity of the veal stock rather overwhelmed the delicate flavours of the mushrooms. The risotto however, was well-cooked, al dente and glistening, without being stodgy and filmy.


The warm strawberry shortcake is a (H)ouse specialty - alternating layers of strawberry and cake, doused with vanilla bean cream. I'm not a fan of strawberries, but it certainly looks pretty (though we perhaps could have done with a bigger portion).


My favourite dessert, however, is the bitter chocolate tart, which is everything I think a chocolate dessert should be - intensely dark and decadent, with the right balance between sweetness and bitterness. Big enough so you don't feel shortchanged, but small enough so you don't suffer from a chocolate overdose, it's a perfect way to round off a long, relaxing weekend brunch.

House
8D Dempsey Road
Tel: +65 6475 7787

Miscellaneous Food: Kimberley Hotel Restaurant

After reading about his fantastic meal at the Kimberly Hotel, I followed Chubby Hubby's lead and headed there for a meal while last in HK. I dragged many of my friends with me to sample this meal, especially after hearing that a large group was neccesary to try all the delicious and large portions. After a lengthy planning period, we had a great group, with two in particular who trekked out to make the initial booking and to make a pre-payment, which is neccesary if you want to have the roast piglet.

As often mentioned, the facade of the hotel is faded and the inside of the restaurant looks even more like something out of Macau, with gilt and tufted chairs everywhere, fake pussy willows and peonies and a complimentary karoke monitor stuck to one wall. One thing that I felt Chubby Hubby's post didn't stress, is how huge (huge, not large) the portions are. In the end, we didn't wind up with as many people as I thought, thanks to last-minute flakers (don't you hate those!) and we drastically shortened the menu but this is how much food we had left over. We felt awful about it and each bag did go home to worthy families.


We started with separate dishes that were reminescent of a "cold dish" or "leng pan" that you find at wedding banquets. One was salt and pepper squid, one was a deep-fried salmon skin. I forget what the others were, since even those two excellent, crackly dishes were clearly too generous to be finished. One of the odd dishes that we were served was a large basket of char siew pao. Even though it was very tasty, we all thought it was a bit out of place and filled up our much-needed tummy space.

We then had a lovely double-boiled soup and the salt-baked chicken, followed by a giant crockpot of lemongrass braised beef ribs. All of the dishes were excellent, piping hot, fresh and with clean, distinct flavours. Suffice to say that we were full mid-way through the meal but we kept eating and eating determinedly.


That is, until the roast piglet showed up. It definitely lived up to the hype of being a thing of beauty and the crispiness, the succulent, light mouth-feel of the skin and the sticky glutinous rice, ah, it's too much! It was a truly lovely dish and one that, I think, is probably best executed in an industrial restaurant kitchen. Everyone oohed and aahed over the tray that was wheeled in, posed for photographs and munched their way satisfiedly through their slice. An excellent highlight!


There were a couple of vegetable dishes in between the middle and the finish, which we could hardly manage but the ending was particularly sweet. They brought out bowls of noodle that were really simple and resembled maggi noodles (or the instant mee goreng type noodles) - I don't know if it was the combination of chives, dark soya sauce or onion oil but they were fantastic! Not just delicious but comforting in that unexpected yet spot-on way.


And, just as we thought we were done and way too full for any dessert, they brought out hot-steamed malaikou, wafting it's warm, lightly-caramelized fragrance across the table. The best malaikou I have had, in memory - I would eat it anytime. Overall, it was easily one of the best meals I have had in Hong Kong and I would definitely return with my family. You should try it!



Kimberley Hotel Restaurant
28 Kimberley Rd, Hong Kong
Tel: 2723 3888
Website

Ruminations on Rhubarb

It's been a busy winter travel season- just last week, I glanced at my passport and was shocked to realize how many countries I had traversed in the last few months and what good use I had made of my scarf and boots this year. It wasn't until last week that Z. and I both had a few precious days off from work and could indulge in a short holiday.

Thanks to the generousity of D. and S. and J., we spent a spring sun-filled week revisiting old haunts from my brief time in London and soaking up the wonderful food and scenary in Tuscany. Although I had planned to do nothing but lounging and reading, of course, we got caught up in making the most of our visit. This was particularly because we stayed with our friend S, who is a practicing chocolatier and showed us the most marvellous, windwhirl, suspension-of-reality time in London, with a morning walk though Notting Hill, followed by Sunday breakfast at Ottolenghi and a drive through the Richmond deer park to visit Petersham Nursery.

We're now safely back in the little red dot (in time to cast a vote) and boy, were our suitcases weighed down by large rocks of Italian hams, cheeses, mushrooms, olive oils and bottles of Pimms and packs of hot chocolate for Colin. If you were a customs officer, you'd probably think Singapore was at war! One of the more odd purchases that I stuffed into my case was a long, wrapped package of fresh, organic rhubarb. I have an unhealthy fascination with rhubarb, fuelled by its inavailability in Singapore. Every time I see it, when in a temperate-climate grocery store, I get an uncontrollable urge to make a pie, or a tart, no matter whose house I am staying in.

There's just something about it that says springtime, raddiocio and rabbits, even though I know that as a child, I probably wouldn't have eaten rubarb. Even now, I don't like celery, unless stewed into a soft and fragrant odori. Oddly enough, the rhubarb plant actually originated from Asia and it has been suggested that it was often used by Mongolians (one of the places I've been in the last few months is Mongolia and I can confirm that they do not use it anymore!), the plant grew wild along the banks of the Volga and was thought to have been brough there by Eurasian tribes like the Huns or Mongols. Apparenly, it also has a long history in traditional Chinese medicine but its use in food was a recent 17th century innovation, after sugar became readily affordable.

The stalks of rhubarb can be light to dark green or rose to pale red and the leaves are toxic. I picked all my stalks to be really thick, thinking it was like picking sturdy celery but I've since discovered that, if I want to cook my rhubarb in long pieces, I should have chosen the more delicate and pretty stems. I was glad to read that I could also freeze them for later use but I'm not sure I'll need to for these are the desserts that I've devised to make over the week- Strawberry Rhubarb Pie, Lemon Rhubarb Cake, Rhubarb Crumble Ice Cream and an intriging Rhubarb Beetroot Cake. Any other suggestions?

Review: db Bistro Moderne

Many apologies for the radio silence; work has become more than a little hectic, and dashing from deadline to deadline means that there never seems to be any time for blogging the places I've been to, the most recent of which is db Bistro Moderne, one of the celebrity chef restaurants at Marina Bay Sands.


I've been to db Bistro Moderne in New York, which was a pretty classy affair, notwithstanding the famous, rather messy db Burger, so I was surprised to find that the version in Singapore is a lot more traditional, with conservative red leather-upholstered booths, and lots of dark woods.


The food, too, was more classic and rustic than I had recalled it being in New York, starting with a plate of grougeres. This is over and above the usual bread basket, so if you're hungry (and you should be, as I explain below) it takes some effort to restrain yourself from pigging out on all the initial carbohydrates. It was somewhat disappointing, however, to discover that the grougeres were quite cold: while I can understand that it is much easier to bake them well in advance of service, it does detract from the enjoyment of eating what would otherwise be warm, light, airy, cheesy choux buns.


One of the special appetisers for the night was a lovely plate of sweet, juicy heirloom tomatoes served with goat's cheese. The combination of the crumbly, slightly tart cheese with the excellent flavour of the tomatoes was irresistible, though I thought the portion was slightly petite.


The Assiette Lyonnaise is advertised as a selection of terrines and cured meats, but I wasn't expecting what eventually arrived. Various terrines and cured meats had indeed been baked into a loaf, from which a slice is cut, giving you a cross-sectional view of some quince jelly, foie gras terrine, and other charcuterie, surrounded by a crust of pain de campagne. Very rustic, and very tasty.


I didn't try the spicey tuna tartare, but it was certainly an artfully presented affair, featuring a mix of harissa, cucumber, radish and sesame seeds.


The butternut squash soup was a little too thick for my liking, but otherwise was a resplendent orange, and full of the sweetness of the butternut pumpkin, with a few pumpkin seeds for added texture.


Moving on to mains, this was when we began to realise that, true to his word, Daniel Boulud had indeed kept prices roughly similar to his New York restaurant, without compromising on the size of the portions, which were, by Asian standards, enormous. The coq au vin featured a thigh and two drumsticks, served with a heaped portion of wild mushrooms, pearl onions, and spaetzle on the side. The sauce was as dark as molasses and looked as rich, but as I was struggling with my own main course I was not able to sample the coq au vin.


Rather ambitiously, my sister and I decided to share a massive cote de boeuf as our main course. It arrived with much fanfare, perfectly cooked and displayed with pride in a copper frying pan, and served with all the traditional trappings like bordelaise sauce and gratin dauphinoise. Robustly meaty and yet comfortingly succulent, the cote de boeuf was marvellous, though really it should be shared between at least three people.


The restaurant's version of steak frites is likewise a 8oz sirloin steak served with bearnaise sauce and french fries. While not as tender as the cote de boeuf, which was to be expected, the sirloin was tasty, and the fries were very nicely done: crisp on the outside but fluffy on the inside.


Almost everyone was too stuffed for dessert, and I would have passed too, were it not for the fact that a floating island is such a rare sight on a Singaporean menu that I just had to order it. Although suffering somewhat in terms of presentation (whoever heard of a rectangular island), the meringue was poached to an cloudy perfection, and the rhubarb-infused creme anglaise was a nice change from the plain, vanilla custard sauce.

All in all I enjoyed what db Bistro Moderne had to offer: a return to traditional dishes, with some updated touches thrown in, cooked with a deft hand, and at value for money prices. Although Marina Bay Sands is not exactly a convenient venue (Saturday night crowds are insane), restaurants like db Bistro Moderne, at least, give you something to come back to (although I suppose so does the casino).

db Bistro Moderne
10 Bayfront Avenue
#B1-48 The Shoppes, Marina Bay Sands
Tel: +65 6688 8528

Miscellaneous Food: March Macaron Madness Part 2

So many people ask me about the process of making macarons and before you walk away with a physcologically disturbed idea of the process, I should say that if I sounded a bit dark before, it's becuase I've had a Black Swan week, or month, really.


Macaron baking is a really beautiful and rewarding process, for which the delicious end-product is just icing on the cake. When done right, it's usually about morning sunshine and flowers in the kitchen.


Just ask my macaron serf. I always tell people that macarons are not that hard but in truth, her job makes macaron making a cinch. She does a lovely job of sifting almond meal and icing sugar and look, she even smiles on demand! This is her best "i-get-paid-in-macarons-sad-look". From time to time, I have to replace my over-qualified and highly competent macaron serf, as in this case. L. has gone back to her day job as a hard-nosed, alpha corporate lawyer and is no longer available to sift my almond meal. I miss her.


After you sift for what seems like hours, you mix up a beautiful meringue of egg white and sugar, fresh and cut through in its smooth, glossy thickness and do the hokey-pokey of macronage. That is, you stand at the table and do a dance while folding all the nut, meringue and sugar together. I'm serious about a little wiggle, it produces airier macarons.


I snapped these pictures one Saturday morning because I thought they'd show that the process really is quite stress-free and relatively clean (although Z. gets major brownie points for living with me, my kitchen escapades do from time-to-time, spill over into the living room and migrate yes, even into the bedroom). Thanks to his help and tolerance, I usually have the privilege of listening to music or catching up with girlfriends while going about macaron-making.

The best thing about it for me, as I hope these pictures also show, is how beautiful and tactile this process is. While some people find it tedious, I actually like that it takes as long as it does, it is very consuming and really gives you time to relax and think.


After the macronage, you gather your wits and piping bag and pipe rows of what are hopefully, beautiful, consistent and risen macarons, like so. I've had a lot of friends over for the odd session of baking and somehow, piping, whether it be macarons or cupcakes, always stumps everyone and it's probably because I interject with what I think are helpful, but are probably just overwhelming statements of advice.


Like, place your hands over the bulge of the bag, not the twist-top! Squeeze down in a long, deliberate stream! Keep the piping tip parallel to the tray and keep the tip high enough to let the batter flow out like magma but low enough so that you have control over the spout and the speed. Stand over the tray while you pipe, so that you can see the pencil outlines of the round shapes.

It sounds really complex, but I always think that if you played with your toothpaste as a kid, this is probably the most intrinsic and instinctive part of the process. Piping swiftly, evenly and confidently is the best feeling in the world. At some point, you will get to feeling like the world turns on a jazz tune and a tray of perfection.

Macaron shells are very temperamental creatures, I find that they really suck energy from you so if you make them while in a calm but contemplative and unharried mood, they tend to take their bearing from the unrushed environment. These slightly deflated shells, for example, were the result of distractedly mixing the colouring gel into the beaten, rather than the raw egg white.

They are also very susceptible to oven temperatures, so 11 minutes at 170 degrees C, or 13 minutes at 160 degrees C, that's really something that you work out on a tray by tray basis and that's really the most frustrating (for me, at least but I'm not a scientist-type) part of the process.

Then whisk them out to cool and to be matched. L. was a champion at this game, she would sit, limbering her fingers, like a diamond dealer in Antwerp and rapidly shuffle shells within a grid pattern, like a carbohydrate game of Puzzle Bubble until she had two identical strings of Cortillion candidates.

If I was making chocolate shells, they would then be piped with a fat snail of dark, pure Arugani chocolate ganache, or perhaps they would be flavoured and coloured (like the pastel pink shells), then filled with salted caramel buttercream and stacked high on a cake plate for a little girl's birthday tea party.

This past weekend, faced with a leftover mound of home-made pineapple jam, I fulfilled a long-held curiousity of mine and stewed some rosemary into the jam, then made the pineapple tart macarons that Macaron Mentor Karen had objected to.

She was right, while still delicious and decidedly unique, they aren't entirely macaron-like. The chewy shells and jam have too similar a texture but the taste was good and they went down well, particularly with the older folk.