My first encounter with Copper Chimney was back in 2018, during a family trip to Singapore. After a few days of city-hopping and trying everything from satay to sushi, I was suddenly overcome with a very specific craving: Indian comfort food. That search led us to a warm corner in Little India, where Copper Chimney quietly delivered one of the most satisfying meals of the trip. The dish that won me over then and continues to be my go-to is their Palak Paneer. Now, I’ve had palak paneer at countless places, but there’s something distinctly indulgent about the version here. The spinach is blended to a velvety smooth consistency, rich without being heavy, and carries a gentle garlic-infused aroma that hits you before the first bite. The cubes of paneer are soft yet firm, soaking up all the flavor without falling apart. There’s a careful balance in the spice blend nothing overpowering, just layers of warmth building with each spoonful. Pair it with a freshly baked Garlic Naan, and you’re in for a real treat. The naan here is soft with the right amount of char, and laced generously with chopped garlic and ghee. Tear off a piece, dip it into that green, creamy pool of palak paneer, and you’ll understand why this combination is a non-negotiable order for me. In a moment of curiosity, I once tried their Chicken Lollipop. It’s passable but lacks the depth of flavor you’d expect at this price point. A bit one-note, and easily overshadowed by the rest of the menu. Unless you’re craving something Indo-Chinese (there are better places), I’d say skip it. Now here’s a fun fact that still puzzles me: Butter Chicken a dish known for its creamy tomato richness and generous chunks of chicken is cheaper than the Palak Paneer. Go figure. Is there a secret spinach inflation I’m not aware of? Or perhaps some hidden paneer tax? Whatever the math behind it, I’m not complaining. The Palak Paneer here still feels borderline worth every cent. Yes, prices are steep, especially when compared to your neighborhood Indian joints. But until I find another Palak Paneer in Singapore that hits this hard, I'm happy to come back every now and then and relive the nostalgia. Copper Chimney might not be your weekly go-to, but for moments when you’re missing home or simply craving something classic done right, it never disappoints.

It’s not every day you see a fast-moving queue in Singapore unless it’s mealtime and the food is worth the wait. That evening, I found myself in one such line, weaving slowly through the bustle of Bugis Junction, drawn by the comforting aroma and reputation of Josh’s Grill, a Western-style diner tucked along the vibrant stretch of Victoria Street. A Warm Welcome with Complimentary Buns and Butter From the get-go, it felt like the kind of place that gets the little things right. No sooner had I been seated than a server placed a basket of warm, fluffy buns on the table, along with a generous dollop of creamy butter. Complimentary, yes, but hardly forgettable. The buns were gently sweet and soft, with just enough weight to hold their own against the rich, salted butter. It was the kind of start that makes you slow down and take notice. Savoring the Fish and Chips For my main, I went with the classic fish and chips—my personal litmus test at any grill. What arrived was a hearty fillet of fish, perfectly encased in a crisp golden batter that shattered at the first bite, revealing moist, flaky fish beneath. The fries, thick-cut and well-seasoned, held up beautifully alongside. Paired with a sharp, creamy tartar sauce, the dish struck a satisfying balance of crunch, flavor, and comfort. I also ordered a side of buttered rice, and it was equally impressive—fluffy, fragrant, and generously coated with just the right amount of butter, making it a comforting complement to the main dish. To round out the meal, I ordered their Galaxy Fizz—a vibrant, fizzy drink with a striking gradient of colors that looked as good as it tasted. Lightly sweet with a citrusy zing, it was a refreshing companion to the richness of the fish and chips, and added a playful touch to an already memorable dinner. A Memorable Dining Experience The service was warm without being overbearing, and the energy of the place was infectious. Midway through my meal, I realized what made the atmosphere truly stand out—the playlist. A thoughtful mix of mellow acoustic covers and soft jazz played in the background, filling the space with a vibe that was both relaxed and quietly upbeat. It wasn’t overpowering, just enough to lift the mood without competing with conversation. In all, it was a well-rounded experience—delicious food, great service, and a touch of soul in the ambience. But more than that, it sparked something for me: a new culinary mission. This plate of fish and chips was among the best I’ve had in a long time, and it left me wondering—where else in Singapore is the bar set this high? So the quest begins. I’m officially on the hunt for the best fish and chips in Singapore—crispy, flaky, golden perfection—and I’ll be documenting every stop, every bite, every hit (and miss) along the way. Stay tuned, or better yet, follow the trail on my food blog and the full log on my restaurant board. Josh’s Grill may have kicked off this journey, but something tells me the best is yet to come.

After immersing myself in the aromatic world of kopi, I found myself yearning to explore the tea side of Singapore's vibrant beverage scene. Enter Teh Cino, a delightful concoction that marries the robustness of black tea with the creamy sweetness of condensed milk. This drink, often characterized by its visually appealing layers, offers a unique twist to traditional tea preparations. The Art of Teh Cino Teh Cino stands out not just for its taste but also for its presentation. Typically, a glass is filled halfway with condensed milk, topped with a layer of strong black tea, creating a beautiful gradient. The drink can be enjoyed as is, allowing the drinker to experience varying sweetness levels, or stirred to blend the flavors. This method of preparation is reminiscent of the techniques used in crafting Teh Tarik (Read up about my TehTarik Piece here), another beloved local tea, where the beverage is "pulled" to achieve a frothy texture. A Taste Test: Experiencing Teh Cino My first encounter with Teh Cino was at a lively hawker centre nestled in the heart of Singapore. Served in a tall glass, the drink arrived with its signature layered aesthetic—dark tea sitting elegantly atop a pool of condensed milk. One sip in, and I was hooked. The bold, slightly bitter edge of the black tea hit first, quickly softened by the silky sweetness beneath. It was both refreshing and indulgent, making it an ideal pick-me-up for a mid-day pause or a comforting end to a hearty meal. By local standards, Teh Cino is considered on the sweeter side—and that’s exactly what makes it so appealing to those with a sweet tooth, especially if you’re coming from an Indian palate that relishes rich, milky chai. There’s a familiar comfort in the depth of flavor and sweetness, making it instantly addictive. One of the delightful quirks of Singapore’s beverage scene is the magical word “peng”—meaning iced. Not a fan of hot drinks? Just say “Teh Cino peng,” and voilà: your favorite drink, now perfectly chilled for the tropical heat. Final Thoughts Teh Cino makes for a perfect end-of-meal drink—especially if you’re looking to skip dessert but still want something sweet and satisfying. Its richness and balance of bold tea and creamy condensed milk deliver just the right amount of indulgence without being overpowering. While my go-to remains the humble Kopi O Kosong—black coffee, no sugar—for its punch and simplicity (Read my blog here), the Teh Cino is always a welcome change of pace. It’s a little treat that feels familiar yet indulgent, and one I’ll gladly come back to whenever the sweet craving strikes.

After a long day at work, I was mentally winding down, already thinking about what to dabao (takeaway) on the way home. That’s when a Slack notification popped up short and cryptic from a coworker: “Dinner now – leaving in 5 – Dan Dan noodles.” Of the three phrases, only “dinner in 5” and “noodles” really registered. That was enough. I quickly hit our team's internal signal to join in (we call it “raising a hand”), and within minutes, seven of us were in the lift, heading down from the 12th floor united by a shared craving and the promise of something delicious. The Journey to Enishi: A Hidden Gem in the City The walk from our office to Enishi wasn’t long, but the anticipation made it feel like a little urban quest. Tucked away on the second floor of International Plaza at 10 Anson Road, #02-85A, it’s the kind of spot you’d miss if you weren’t specifically looking for it, right above Tanjong Pagar MRT, hidden behind an unassuming doorway beside the office tower lifts. First Impressions: A Tokyo Ramen Bar in Singapore Step inside, and you’re instantly transported. The interior is classic “Tokyo alleyway ramen bar”: a minimalist U-shaped counter with just thirteen seats, sleek birch wood panels, and chefs working with quiet intensity just inches away. There’s a focused energy in the air, like stepping into a ramen dojo where slurping is sacred. Weekday lines are no joke. We made it just in time to join the queue, rubbing shoulders with a mix of office regulars and curious foodies. The 20-minute wait flew by—just long enough for our cravings to peak and for someone to joke that we were walking into a “secret underground ramen cult.” To their credit, the staff made the wait feel smooth: chilled water flasks, paper aprons, and handwritten order slips were handed out well before we got inside, letting the kitchen leap into action the moment we sat down. The Menu: Two Choices, Infinite Satisfaction The menu? Delightfully minimalist—just two options: the signature Dan Dan Noodles, and a lighter Japanese Dashi Ramen. No fuss, no frills, just pick your poison and let the magic happen. Naturally, most of us went with the crowd-favorite Dan Dan. When my bowl arrived, it looked like organized chaos in the best way. There was minced pork, smoky chashu cubes, finely chopped sweet onion, fresh mizuna, crispy shallots, tangy pickled shibazuke, and an onsen egg gleaming on the side like a treasure waiting to be cracked. First-timers (like me) even got a laminated “how-to-eat” card, because yes, there’s a method to the madness. The instructions were oddly specific: snap a pic in under 20 seconds, mix the noodles five times from the bottom up, add your egg, and then pour in a ladle of clear dashi stock to your liking. To top it off, choose from four vinegars: spicy, orange-yuzu, sardine, or kelp. It sounds ritualistic and maybe a little over the top but trust me, it’s totally worth it. The noodles themselves were broad and springy, almost like ban mian on vacation in Japan. They soaked up the deeply nutty, sesame-chilli sauce beautifully, while the toppings brought waves of crunch, tang, and umami in every bite. It was a masterclass in texture and flavor layering. Somewhere after my third or fourth bite, mid-swoon, I paused and asked, “Wait… what meat is this, actually?” That’s when the entire group burst out laughing. Apparently, they had all forgotten to check if I ate pork; rookie mistake, they admitted and now they were half amused, half guilty. Thankfully, I do, and I was already too far into flavor heaven to back out. Final Verdict: A Must-Eat Ramen Experience in Singapore Enishi’s Dan Dan noodles aren’t just good—they’re phenomenal. Easily one of the best noodle experiences I’ve had in Singapore, and a masterclass in flavor balance, texture, and execution. If you’re a ramen purist or just someone who appreciates a dish that’s been obsessively perfected, this is your sign to go. But come prepared: arrive early (before noon if you want to skip a long wait), don’t wear white (the sauce will find you), and read the “how-to” card—those five stirs and vinegars make all the difference. And most importantly, make sure everyone in your group eats pork… or at least ask before the fourth bite. Pro Tips for First-Timers If it’s your first time visiting Enishi, here’s how to make the most of it: Arrive early: Try to reach before noon to avoid long waits—they only serve a limited number of bowls each day. Don’t wear white: You’ll thank me later. That sauce has a mind of its own. Follow the instructions: Yes, the five stirs and the vinegar choice really do make a difference. Check dietary restrictions: Especially if you're going with a group. Trust me. Go with friends: Ramen is best enjoyed with good company and shared laughter over rookie mistakes.

Back in India, Taco Bell was my ultimate go-to for a quick Mexican fix. Whether it was a spontaneous post-class meal or a late-night craving for crunchy tacos and cheesy quesadillas, Taco Bell always delivered (both literally and figuratively). It wasn’t just fast food; it was comfort food—a guilty pleasure that hit all the right notes. Naturally, when I moved to Singapore, I assumed I’d find a Taco Bell somewhere, ready to fill the same void. But to my shock, there was no Taco Bell in sight. I searched malls, scrolled through food delivery apps, and even Googled “Taco Bell Singapore” in a desperate attempt to uncover a hidden branch. The result? Nada. My beloved tacos, burritos, and chalupas were nowhere to be found. I was, to put it mildly, devastated. Taco Bell’s short stint in Singapore during the 1990s ended in disappointment, largely due to pricing that didn’t resonate with the local market. Left without my beloved tacos and chalupas, I set out to fill the void, unknowingly embarking on a culinary detour that would lead me to a new favorite. The GYG Discovery: A Mexican Detour on an SBS Bus My introduction to Guzman Y Gomez (GYG) was as serendipitous as it was exciting. On a regular commute to university, I spotted a vibrant advertisement plastered across an SBS Transit bus. The colorful images of burritos, tacos, and nachos grabbed my attention instantly, promising authentic Mexican flavors. Intrigued, I decided to give GYG a shot. Little did I know, this fast-food chain would soon redefine my Mexican food experience in Singapore. Let’s TACO About It! 🌮🌮🌮 I’ve always been fascinated by cuisines that bring bold, vibrant flavors to the table. While Mediterranean food has always held a special place in my heart with its clever use of spices and herbs, Mexican food is in a league of its own. So, when I came across Guzman Y Gomez (GYG) during my commute to university (thanks to a brightly colored SBS Transit bus ad!), I knew I had to give it a shot. What sets GYG apart is its focus on fresh, all-natural ingredients and bold, authentic flavors. From soft tortillas to juicy pan-seared barramundi, slow-roasted beef, and creamy guacamole, every bite feels like a carefully crafted celebration of Mexican cuisine. One bite into their tacos, and I was hooked. Wrapped in a fresh tortilla, each taco bursts with layers of flavor—nutty black beans, fluffy rice, savory Australian Jack cheese, and refreshing chopped tomato salsa, all brought together with their house-blend salsa. And let’s not forget the guacamole! Thick, creamy, and perfectly seasoned, it’s the ultimate companion to their crispy house-made corn chips. My personal favorite? The taco platter, paired with a Jarrito—a fizzy Mexican soda with fruity flavors like guava and lime. It’s a combination that perfectly balances rich textures and refreshing sweetness. GYG is more than just a fast-food chain—it’s a vibrant, immersive experience that brings a slice of Mexican culture to Singapore. If you’re craving a flavorful detour, GYG is a must-try. Who knows? It might just become your new favorite, too! 🌮💕

Having moved to Singapore to pursue my master’s at NUS, I was brimming with excitement to dive into the local food scene. Among the many culinary treasures I’d read about, one thing stood out—the unique kopitiam culture that’s woven into the fabric of Singaporean life. Yet, as a staunch lover of the classic chai and coffee from back home, I couldn’t help but wonder: could this beloved local brew truly rival the familiar comfort of my favorite cuppa? (Fun fact: If you’re a chai fan too, check out my piece on Naveen Tea House! (WIP)) During my move, I had spotted a humble coffee shop just a few meters from my new apartment—a no-frills kopitiam bustling with locals. I made a mental note to try it as soon as I settled in. For me, trying something as fundamental as a cup of coffee felt oddly significant—it wasn’t just about the drink; it was about setting the tone for my food exploration in the Lion City. Call me dramatic, but I was convinced that a single cup of kopi could either fuel my excitement or leave me pining for home. (And yes, this was only my second week in Singapore!) After diving into multiple Reddit threads and food blogs, I finally landed on a kopi combination that seemed like a safe bet for my taste buds. Now, I’m excited to share my first kopi-ordering experience and the story of how it unfolded. Let’s just say it was anything but ordinary! The Ordering Experience I walk towards the coffee house, my combination specification firmly memorized, quietly reciting it under my breath like a mantra. Stepping into the bustling kopitiam, I instinctively glance upwards, searching for a menu—a habit ingrained from countless trips to coffee chains where glossy boards dictate your choices. But there’s no menu to be found here. Instead, I’m greeted by a Singlish-speaking, middle-aged auntie with an unmistakable Hokkien undertone. "What you wan?!" she fires off, the words rapid and sharp, catching me slightly off-guard. It’s not a polite “What can I get for you today?” like at Starbucks. No name inquiries, no cheery smile, and certainly no barista waiting with a marker to scribble “Shlok” (or some hilariously butchered version of it) on a paper cup. It’s efficient, unvarnished, and refreshingly direct. Caught off-guard, I blurt out, “Kopi O Kosong!” hoping I nailed the pronunciation. She pauses, gives me a scrutinizing look, and repeats my order back, emphasizing every syllable as if to test my commitment: “Kopi...O...Kosong?” I nod quickly, like a student trying to pass a surprise oral test. She gestures towards a QR code for payment and rattles off the amount. As I fumble with my phone, she’s already moved to prepare my drink, her movements swift and precise. At first, I’m in awe. No name stickers, no customization requests, no waiting for a paper cup adorned with foam art. Here, coffee comes in a simple, no-nonsense beer mug filled with ice and kopi. It’s stripped-down and unapologetically practical—an efficiency I can’t help but admire. While my thoughts race, the drink is ready in record time. Kopitiams don’t waste a second—there are no lengthy waits, no queues of people agonizing over whether to get oat milk or soy. The auntie points to the counter where my mug sits, and I grab a straw before heading to a seat facing the street. From ordering to receiving my drink, the entire interaction barely lasts 90 seconds. As I take my seat, I marvel at the simplicity of the process. It’s unpolished yet strangely charming—a stark contrast to the polished predictability of global coffee chains. And as I sit there with my mug of kopi, watching the world pass by, I realize that this 90-second encounter has introduced me to a world of authenticity I didn’t know I was missing. The Taste and Verdict I take my first sip, letting the cold brew slide through the straw and hit my taste buds. The bitterness is immediate and bold, like a wake-up call in liquid form, but there’s a subtle depth to it that catches me off guard. It’s not just coffee—it’s kopi, uniquely Singaporean. The absence of sugar or milk makes the flavors unapologetically raw, and the chill from the ice mellows it out just enough, making it oddly refreshing. As I sit there savoring the drink, I replay the process I’d just witnessed. The auntie had ladled a generous scoop of coffee powder—likely robusta beans roasted with margarine and sugar, as is traditional—into a cloth filter that looked like a well-worn sock. She poured hot water over it, letting the dark liquid drip into a pot with practiced precision. The result? A concentrated brew, rich and thick, that she then poured over a mug full of ice to create the perfect Kopi O Kosong Peng—iced black coffee with no sugar. I find myself appreciating the simplicity of it all. There’s no fancy machine, no meticulously weighed shots, just a tried-and-true method honed over generations. The taste feels nostalgic even though it’s my first time trying it, like it carries the history of kopitiam culture in every sip. Verdict? This isn’t your average cold brew. It’s intense, earthy, and deeply satisfying. Sure, it’s not the creamy, sugary comfort of a chai back home, but it’s its own kind of comfort—an acquired taste that’s worth acquiring. And as I sip the last of my kopi, I realize something: this humble drink has officially set the stage for my culinary exploration in Singapore. If the rest of the food scene is anything like this, I’m in for a delicious adventure.