Tag: fusion
Admittedly, I’ve never been a big fan of any Tipo concept. Most of them are criminally overrated but I can see how they still provided a decent experience. This meant that the rebranded Tipo Gnocchi caught my attention — a pasta bar experience revolving around handmade gnocchi? Rare. Continue reading “Tipo Gnocchi”
In Greek mythology, the Labyrinth was a structure devised by mastercraftsman Daedalus as a means to contain the monstrous Minotaur, one that’s elaborate and flush with serpentine paths leading to its centre.
Despite its popularity amongst Singaporeans, it’s surprising that there hasn’t been a cafe devoted to making the perfect rosti, at least before Poonsti burst onto the scene.
Almost eligible for the adjective “antiquated”, Furama RiverFront is an establishment few would venture to in search of one of Singapore’s most exciting new cafes. Yet, here we are — seated at the moody Wild Card, located inside the time-worn hotel.
A recent foray into Boon Tat Street had my gaze arrested by one particularly swanky new establishment: the modish White Shades.
Continue reading “White Shades”
Dumplings are vogueish now — who’d thought? Two decades ago, the iconic dish was seen more as a tradition that was restricted to gaudy, old-timey Chinese restaurants. Nowadays, Xiao Long Bao is one of the trendiest loves while concepts such as Dumpling Darlings have taken Singapore by storm. Continue reading “Dumpling Darlings”
If mixology is an art, Jigger & Pony can be seen as Singapore’s pre-eminent gallery for fine cocktail arts. This institution is a cornerstone of Singapore bar history — many of today’s top bartenders can be traced back to the storied speciality bar.
Continue reading “Jigger & Pony”
There are certain stalwart restaurants that are articulately representative of the locale. To me, Humpback is one of the most fitting examples — the seafood specialist has had its roots spread far and wide throughout Bukit Pasoh and its vibe was wholly indicative of the area’s dining scene.
Jouncing with a frenetic rhythm, an icy avalanche rung out with lyrical resonance as each wrist flick sent them flying through hollow metal receptacles. As soon as the frenzy subsides, a mellifluous transition guides the mouth of the container, mesh strainer now affixed, to the rim of a chilled glass and the concoction rushes in to fill the concave bed. Behold, the first cocktail of the service at Bar Stories.
All I see is red. Up the barely illuminated staircase beside Revolver and past a gilded sign that demarcated the secret entrance of Barood, the seemingly seedy second-storey lounge was covered floor-to-ceiling in an unending swathe of impassioned crimson.
