A Food Lover’s Guide to the Taiwanese Oyster Omelet

The first time I ordered kimchi jjigae in Singapore, I made a small mistake. It came bubbling in a stone pot, and I ate it like soup, spoonful after spoonful, straight down, until my mouth was on fire and the bowl was half gone. The auntie across the counter watched me for a moment, then…

I used to think lunch in the CBD was a lost cause. You get an hour, maybe less. The lift takes ten minutes just to reach the ground floor. By the time you’ve queued, ordered, and found a corner to eat in, you’re already checking the clock. For a while, I gave up and just…

By Eda Wong for Eat Drink Asia. The pot has been going for a while now, and the whole kitchen knows it. Steam curls up from the surface, carrying that sharp-sour smell that reaches you before anything else. It’s not a gentle aroma. It pricks at the back of your throat a little, makes your…

I didn’t expect to find Korean comfort food in an office building near Tai Seng. But there I was, on a Wednesday a little past 7pm, standing outside The Commerze @ Irving wondering if I’d read the address wrong. This isn’t the part of Singapore you go to for dinner. It’s the part you leave…

By Dio Asahi for Eat Drink Asia. The old man works close to the coals, and the smell reaches me before I see what he’s doing. Soy meeting heat. That dark, caramel-edged smell that tightens something in your chest. His brush moves in short strokes across a rack of rice crackers, back and forth, patient….

The first vegetarian laksa I made tasted like coconut soup with chilli, not laksa. I thought I was doing it right, stirring paste into warm coconut milk with tofu puffs. It looked the part but lacked depth. Seafood usually provides that depth, prawn shells, dried shrimp, fish cake sweetness. I learned that depth can’t be…

The escalator carries me down to Basement 3, past the lunch noise of 313 Somerset, and the air changes somewhere along the way. Less mall, more kitchen. The smell finds me first — chilli, vinegar, something warm and sharp that cuts through the perfume of the shops above. Hi Noodle sits there, plain and bright….

I didn’t grow up eating eel. But I grew up watching my grandmother turn one thing into another — gluten into “duck,” beancurd skin into “fish,” mushrooms into something that tasted of the sea without ever touching it. Buddhist vegetarian cooking does that. It doesn’t pretend so much as it remembers, building familiar shapes out…

The grill glows orange in front of me before the meat arrives. It’s a small thing, set into the counter at my single seat, and it hums faintly under the chatter of the room. No flame. No charcoal. Just a low electric warmth I can feel rising toward my face. A plate comes. Thin slices…

I used to think buffets were about greed. Pile the plate high, go back for thirds, leave feeling like you got your money’s worth. That was the whole game, or so I believed. After years of exploring this city’s hotel buffets, I learned the good ones focus on order. They transform a wall of food…