In my world of social contacts there are some people with whom I just know I will have a great meal no matter were we go or what we eat. This is because they know good food. Not necessarily gourmet food, or even anything remotely trendy -- especially anything remotely trendy. Rather because they, like me, search for authenticity in their dining pursuits. And authenticity usually requires a low-to-the-ground approach; a willingness to delve into places not covered in the tour books or by Zagats. It takes a certain kind of spirit to follow one's curiosity into small back rooms, down narrow alleys or even into the homes of complete strangers to see what they are eating and how to make it. These are the people I am most drawn to. The culinary explorers. And for them, Singapore is an international hallowed haunt. A Mecca of culinary mystery; a treasure trove of gustatory adventure. And singularly the top reason why I have fallen for this place like a scurvy-ridden sailor sighting a voluptuous mermaid dancing on the rising crests of an approaching storm.
This is my Singapore. Not the glistening high-end stores with all the products seen in the pages of Esquire or Elle. Not the exotic Italian super-cars rumbling down the wide streets or the towering edifices or high-tech everything that establishes this tiny island state as one of the most modern, hip and organized places on the planet. It's the food. But not just that -- good food can be found everywhere -- it's the food culture. An intense passion for freshness and variety and robust flavors seems to be wound within the DNA of every Singaporean. People here know good food. They demand good food. They live for good food. Wherever I go, be it a food court in an Orchard Road mall, any one of the countless wet markets, or a local housing development hawker center, I have this blossoming sense deep within telling me that I have arrived in food-Valhalla. And I ain't leaving until I try it all or die fat and happy, face down in a banana leaf of randang with a chili crab in one hand and a chunk of roasted pork in the other.
So when our expat-cum-locals-cum-deaparting friends said we were going to dinner somewhere off the beaten path, I knew I was in for a memorable evening. We headed to the "heartlands" of Singapore -- in this case the local residential neighborhood of Toa Payoh; a conglomeration of those tall Government Housing Board (HDB) flats which house 85% of Singaporeans, jutting up from bustling streets lined with shophouses, markets and, of course, food centers. This place, like the country's other, similar communities, is the real thing. And just as the coined label suggests, these neighborhoods really do form the "heart" of Singapore. Where people of the four principal ethnicities, when not working or shopping in the fancy areas of town, live and learn and grow up and die. And eat. So if you want to see what makes Singapore the magical place it is, skip the sugar-sweet sling at Raffles' Long Bar and head into the heartlands. This is where Singapore lives.
In the center of Toa Payoh, Singapore
We headed to Mellben Seafood, Lorong 8, in the hawker center. Mellben is a step above a hawker stand, despite its location essentially within the food center itself. It's a real restaurant, with a few tables arranged under the roof of the shallow, coffee shop-style eatery and a neon sign above. But the real action is outside it's open-walled storefront in the common courtyard. Communal tables are scattered around the open concrete plot for use by patrons of any of the restaurants and food stalls surrounding it. This gives Mellben a casual air about it; like a hawker stand which grew up and burst beyond it's three square meter cubicle and burgeoned into a full-blown food institution in a sea of other eateries. But the feeling of the place has not, I am sure, changed a bit. The casual, partially-english-speaking aunties charge around the crowded courtyard with aplomb, knowing exactly where their customers are and who ordered what. My new foodie friend, John, was already sitting at one of the outdoor plastic tables when we got there, having had the good sense to arrive early and land a seat. Well at work on a cold Carlsberg, he happily announced that the food had been ordered. Not knowing his culinary tastes or anything at all about this small seafood establishment, I shrugged, abandoned my food-related type-A tendencies and ordered a beer for myself.
The bustling Toa Payoh Food Center courtyard gives a meal at Mellben a festive feel.
The food rolled out in perfect order, each dish complimenting the other. And as I surveyed the culinary landscape before me I realized that John was no amateur - either with the menu at Mellben or in the art of ordering Asian food. It started with Hawaiian prawns, followed by cubes of Guinness infused pork ribs (which is the first time I have ever enjoyed that beer). Playboy chicken was next; crispy and light with a crunchy, cooling swirl of cucumber on top. Then a delectably fresh order of kailan greens seared in garlic and chilies, fried mee suah noodles and - the highlight of the evening - Shimmering Sand Crabs. The crabs sat majestically in a pale yellow creamy sauce, sprinkled with crispy oat "sand." Accompanying it was a fresh batch of Mantou which, like tiny pillows of gently fried sponge cake, absorbed the insanely rich sauce, leaving little work for the dishwashers in the kitchen. The sounds around our table as we took our first taste of each newly-delivered dish oscillated between delicate slurping, inescapable lip smacking and excited exclamations. Then the crab was presented -- and the noise level dropped to that sacred hush which the initial attack of exceptional flavor causes in people who understand good food. Time stood still during those brief moments when the creamy sauce waltzed with the sweet crab in the ballroom of my mouth. And not just for me--the Mellben newbie--but for the veterans, too, as we looked wide-eyed at each other before emitting breathy words like "ohmigod" or, as in my case, a guttural, stone-age groan of ecstasy. I could wax poetic about the succulence of the crab; so moist and perfectly cooked. Or the buttery balance of the sauce with the puffy mantou. Or even of the refreshing sensation of the cold beer cleansing the cream from my palette in preparation for the next, profoundly flavorful bite. But it really won't do justice to the food or the saporus reactions of my new friends who understand the difference between what's "tasty" and what's really good. So I won't try since, even while in the midst of my savory daze, the most articulate comment I could whisper was something along the lines of "This is crazy...."
Mellben's Shimmering Sands Crab with Mantou is hard to beat!
After the plates were whisked away the topic of a proper "ending" to such a feast was raised when the girls eyed the selection of fruit bubble tea in a nearby stall. I frowned, wanting the wondrous party in my mouth to continue unendingly and having no desire to extinguish it with a sugary epilogue. So when John quietly suggested instead that some nearby roasted chicken wings and another cold beer might make an even better dessert, I blinked at him and for an instant felt like Rick Blaine on the misty airfield staring into Captain Renault's eyes and murmuring "This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
Barbeque chicken is all they do at Sheng Pin Xiang, and they do it well. Really well. The wings were roasted over a perfect bed of grey and red glowing charcoal -- not those little brickets, but real, blackened sticks and chunks of carbonized wood. The smokey aroma alone broadcasted the wonder of this unassuming, one-item food stall. Now, I know chicken; especially in its basic, fire-cooked state, so I was anxious to try for myself these wings that John proclaimed to be the best in Singapore. They were complete from the shoulder to the tips, and roasted to a deep, golden gloss with just a tinge of crispy carbon along the edges. The slightest, sweet/tart essence from a mystery brew that was thinly brushed on the skin elevated the juicy free-range flavor to heights which, in its live state that chicken could not have flown, and sent me into my own tailspin of culinary delight. It was, in a word, amazing. Maybe it was the charcoal, maybe the sauce, or maybe even the chicken itself. But whatever it was, these wings were better than any I have ever had. Anywhere. So far, that is, because I will be going back there again and again and again....
The chicken wings at Sheng Pin Xiang are the best I have ever had!
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