Even if you live in the States, you’re probably not watching AMC’s Rubicon . . . and that’s a damned shame because this espionage/conspiracy series deserves your attention, especially if you, like me, remember (and still watch) with great fondness the dark and strange paranoid films of the ’70s—The Conversation, The Parallax View, Three Days of the Condor, and Winter Kills.

Some critics condemn the series’ deliberate pace as “sluggish” but I’m glad—and relieved—that Rubicon’s creative team believes storytelling trumps manic editing. The pace matches the occult mood. This story demands slow revelation.

In four episodes, Rubicon has become my favourite TV show—although, to be fair, I’ve found little to thrill me since Battlestar Galactica and Lost went off the air.

Last night’s episode, “The Outsider”, may have been the best yet, especially with its frank and intelligent treatment of intelligence assessment. “I’d rather live with the consequences of my action than my inaction,” says Miles, a frustrated intelligence anaylyst, explaining why he’s willing to greenlight a missile strike against an Al-Qaeda leader—who may or may not be inside a safe house—an action which will definitely kill civilians.

Rubicon is a dark show—in theme and appearance—but as I contend in my own fiction, the secret world simply (and horrifyingly) reflects the known world.

In his article, “The 15 Most Overrated Contemporary American Writers”, Anis Shivani writes:

Bad writing is characterized by obfuscation, showboating, narcissism, lack of a moral core, and style over substance.

I couldn’t help but think of my favourite quotation, courtesy of Charles Mingus:

Making the simple complicated is commonplace; making the complicated simple, awesomely simple, that’s creativity.

Amen.

The Guardian quotes Marc Ganis, Kenny Huang’s long-term associate and a sports consultant who confirmed he made contact with Liverpool on behalf of the Hong Kong-based investment vehicle, QSL Sports.

Liverpool is and always should be one of the highest-spending clubs in all of football . . . And our financial models presume Liverpool will be at or near the top in spending on players every year.

The days of North American ownership are drawing, thankfully, to an end. Regardless of who Liverpool’s new owners will be, none could be as incompetent as the current deceitful duo.

You may notice a few changes. I archived the site this week and then deleted the majority of posts. I kept some for reasons apparent only to myself. I also removed the ability to comment. I have no interest in the “social conversation”. Like the social contract, it’s an artificial construct.

I’m also filling in a few holes. Our May-June Paris trip wasn’t fully documented in all its gastronomic glory. Today, over two months later, I posted about Michel Rostang. Next week I’ll write about Passage 53, Le Quincy, and then our most recent trip to Singapore (Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four).

After that I’ll get back to steady posting. Whatever that entails.

Today’s post discusses our first true Singaporean feast—Red House Seafood Restaurant (1204 East Coast Parkway, #01-05 East Coast Seafood Centre), recommended by our wonderful local “handler”, Mags, who joined us and then ordered while we munched on boiled peanuts and chugged Tiger beer.

We started off with Crispy Fried Baby Squid, each tiny cephalopod crunchy and juicy and incredibly addictive. What a way to whet our appetites. I can’t imagine a better bar snack.

Next up were Steamed Scottish Razor Clams with Minced Garlic—although Mags referred to them as “bamboo clams”. The brininess of the tender clams was offset by the sweet garlic sauce. An absolute hit. Thankfully there was one razor clam per person; I can’t imagine the fight that would’ve broken out had there been a couple extras.

One of Red House’s signature dishes followed: Prawns Wok Fried in Creamy Custard Sauce. The honey-sweetness of the butter-based custard was a little surprising—what was I expecting with the word “custard?”—and, honestly, a little too much for me, despite its spicy undertones. Even when paired with the whole prawns (crunchy shell, juicy head), the sweetness was only slightly tempered. The custard never approached cloying; it was just sweeter than I like (though thankfully nowhere near as sweet as cereal prawns, the only dish in Singapore I didn’t like).

The dishes really started to come thick and fast now, but we were up to the challenge.

The Deep Fried ‘Yu Tiao’ stuffed with Cuttlefish Paste was another hit. So far on this trip I’d enjoyed my fair shair of yu tiao (deep fried dough, also known as Chinese cruller), but I’d never experienced it as a dish unto itself. Coated with sesame seeds, the yu tiao was crispy and savoury with cuttlefish flavour.

Our favourite dish of the evening appeared next: Crab Tossed in Black Pepper. Singapore may be known best for its chilli crab, but the black pepper crab is more memorable. Rich with butter and spicy with the deep-heated complexity you find in great peppercorns, this was the best crab dish I’ve tasted. The Sri Lankan crab meat is tender and sweet and marries perfectly with the pepper sauce. I wish we’d ordered a second, but there was still more food on its way.

Steamed Whole Scallops with Minced Garlic was wonderful, but my tastebuds were still lingering over the black pepper crab.

People were beginning to get full when the Garoupa Steamed with Superior Soya Sauce appeared, which allowed me to claim the best part: the cheek. Awesome. I ended up eating about half of the grouper; it was perfectly moist and melted on the tongue.

The Crayfish Wok-Fried with Sambal was another winner; its crunchy batter imparted a spicy zing.

Everyone was grateful that Mags ordered the Sautéed Baby Kai-Lan in Oyster Sauce, a perfectly executed dish, the kai-lain tender without any of that overcooked limpness common to greens under less watchful eyes.

And then came the Crab Red House Chilli Stew, the famous Singapore chilli crab. Don’t let the name fool you: this is a tomato-based sauce, thick and sweet, with only a little spice from chilli. Ribbons of egg add to the sauce’s creaminess. The Sri Lankan crab was tender, meaty, and rich. Is it the best crab in the world? It may well be.

I’m really happy to have tasted chilli crab, and I’d never turn it down . . . but on this sultry evening, my heart fell in love with black pepper crab.

A thousand thanks to Mags for a memorable dining experience and insight into the real, non-Disneyfied Singapore.

Seafood flavours today’s post . . . and will continue to flavour the rest of my culinary tour of Singapore.

Rojak

Before I wax euphoric about rojak, let me quote one of my favourite Singapore food bloggers, ieatishootipost:

If you ever have to describe the ingredients that go into rojak to a westerner, I am sure none of them would want to eat it. I mean seriously, does fruit salad dressed with a sauce made from fermented prawns sound delectable?

No, it doesn’t . . . but to this Occidental, rojak may have been my favourite discovery during ten days of non-stop eating in Singapore. So taken was I with rojak, that I don’t have a single picture of any of the rojaks I ate, only mouth-watering memories.

Sweet, salty, spicy, sour . . . syrupy, crunchy, chewy, juicy . . . a symphony of flavours and textures.

My favourite rojak of the trip came courtesy of Toa Payoh Rojak (Old Airport Food Centre, Blk 51 Old Airport Road #01-108). This rojak was also the most savoury; there was no disguising the sauce’s base of fermented prawn paste. Mixed into the warm viscous sauce tinged with chilli were cuts of pineapple, cucumber, jambu air (“water apple”), you tiao (deep fried dough, also known as Chinese cruller), and tau pok (deep-fried tofu). Before being served, the uncle topped the salad with ground peanuts.

More than a few locals noted their surprise at my love for rojak. I don’t understand how someone couldn’t be smitten by this brilliant, slightly unusual sweet-savoury salad.

Fishball noodles

One description guaranteed to turn off the Occidental is “fishball.” It conjures abattoir-floor horrors usually associated with street corner hot dogs . . . made worse by the fact seafood’s involved. Sorry, but I’ll take fishballs any day.

Intensive research directed us to Hui Ji Fish Ball Noodle – Yong Tau Fu (Tiong Bahru Market & Food Centre, #02-44 30 Seng Poh Road) for seriously shiok, authentic fishball noodles.

Hui Ji offers tah, or “dry”, fishball noodles; the soup is served on the side—a delightful broth sweet with the fresh flavour of seafood, not the slightest tinge of “fishiness”. It tasted like a whiff of clean ocean breeze. Hui Ji also offers a variety of noodles. I asked the customer ahead of us her preference and she pointed toward the mee pok (flat rice noodles). When in Singapore, eh?

In addition to the handmade fishballs, there was her giao (fish dumplings), fried fish cakes, pork slices, crunchy bits of deep-fried pork lard, and spring onion, in a light gravy of vinegar and fish sauce. The fishballs had a wonderful light texture, not the rubbery texture I’ve read comes with factory-made fishballs, and, again, a fresh flavour reminisent of clean ocean breezes.

For my first taste of fishball noodles, I can’t imagine doing any better than Hui Ji. Another culinary revelation.

To be continued . . .

Today’s journey takes us from China to India without ever leaving Singapore.

Bak kut teh

I love breakfast, but not the bacon-and-eggs variety enamoured by my Occidental brethren. Give me phở or bak kut teh any day.

OK, I admit it: I’m a broth man. And Ng Ah Sio Pork Ribs Soup Eating House (208 Rangoon Road) had me at the first slurp of its Teochew-style peppery broth.

Bak kut teh literally translates as pork rib tea and there are as many creation stories as there are ingredients that make this wonderfully complex broth: Chinese herbs, cinnamon, cloves, dang gui (female ginseng), fennel seeds, garlic, star anise . . .

The spare ribs jutting out of the broth were tender and full-flavoured, but I didn’t really care about them. The broth’s the thing. Whenever I came close to draining my bowl—and thus revealing the residue of garlic and crushed Sarawak peppercorn at the bowl’s bottom—an “auntie” magically appeared with a metal pitcher of steaming broth and asked if I’d like more. Let me quote Molly Bloom: “yes.”

In addition to the ribs, we ordered plain white rice, shiitake mushrooms in a soy broth, you tiao (deep fried dough, also known as Chinese cruller) for dunking in the broth, and Cai Sin, a soy-braised leafy green with rather thick yet easily eaten stems. The Cai Sin was the other revelation of the morning; some of the best greens I’ve eaten have had some sort of Chinese heritage, and we devoured the Cai Sin with the same speed we slurped the broth.

Bak kut teh isn’t bak kut teh without the teh—in this case, “kung fu” tea brewed in a clay pot. Our auntie recommended the Xiao Yue Gan, a sweet liquorice-tasting tea that provided the perfect accompaniment to the broth.

Mutton biryani

After reading ieatishootipost’s review of Bismillah Biryani (50 Dunlop Street), I had no choice but to go to Little India in search of Singapore’s best mutton biryani.

The restaurant’s not much to look at from the outside—though you can’t miss the red vinyl banner hanging below the signboard quoting “an authentic customer statement” about Bismillah’s greatness—and it’s not much to look at from the inside, either—though, thankfully, the wall-mounted fans do keep you cool . . .

But I wasn’t looking for ambience . . . I wanted Singapore’s best biryani—a rice dish whose name comes from the Persian word “birian” which means “fried before cooking”—and though I can’t vouch that it’s the best, it was damned tasty and I wouldn’t hesitate to return.

The Basmati rice—the grains remained separate, the sign of authentic Basmati—was fragrant with spices and the mutton was tender and flavourful, though missing the gaminess the word usually conjures. A thin yet savoury curry gravy and crispy pappadums were served on the side. There’s often the tendency to over-spice Indian food, but the chef manning the biryani pot had a steady yet assured hand—amazing when you consider that no ghee is added to flavour the rice.

Bismillah Biryani touts its food as “healthy.” Don’t let that stop you from trying it the next time you’re in Singapore’s Little India.

To be continued . . .