Dining in Singapore

Singapore has an image problem. Mention the city-state known as the Lion City to someone who hasn't been there, and they picture a scrubbed and polished police state where the sale of bubble gum is banned and criminals are punished with a few whacks of a cane. (Both are true.) For many, it is a place to be passed through as quickly as possible on the way to what they believe to be more exotic destinations, such as Indonesia or Malaysia. What these travelers miss out on is dining in what the "Lonely Planet Guide to South-East Asia" describes as "far and away the food capital of Asia."

The little island at the tip of the Malay Peninsula is crammed full of hawker stalls, where most of the locals eat, as well as restaurants that cater to all tastes and budgets. One can enter the bygone world of the British Empire and dine at the Raffles Hotel or, just a few blocks away, sit at a wobbly sidewalk table with stray cats lounging beneath it and eat a traditional Singaporean meal, chicken rice, while contemplating the stars. Because Singapore is practically on the equator, dining outside is possible every day of the year. The weather is about the same in August as it is in February, highs in the low 90s and lows around a balmy 75. The only weather worry is an untimely passing tropical shower that sends dinners scurrying for cover.

Those Western tourists who do spend a few days in the Lion City usually end up eating in more familiar climes, such as the glass tower complex of Sun Tec City, or in one of the over-priced restaurants among the brand-name fashion shops on Orchard Road, either of which would fit seamlessly into the cityscape of Denver or Dallas. When visitors do venture beyond their comfort zone for what they think of as a new dining experience, it is usually no further than the sidewalk cafes along the Singaporean River, which are only a three-minute walk from the stock exchange and offer a nice view of several colonial buildings across the water.

Singaporeans themselves live by the motto that they love to eat and eat to live, and they practice what they preach in large numbers in the section of town squared off by Geylang Road, Sims Avenue, Lorong 23 and Lorong 5. Within this tidy little square is a gauntlet of restaurants, hawker stalls, fruit markets and coffee shops that poses that most universal of questions: "What do I want to eat tonight?"

Free choice, as the existentialists say, results in anxiety; here, the choices seem unlimited — except for those craving a burger or pizza, who will have to hail a taxi and head for Orchard Road.

Before making an impetuous decision and wondering while eating if you could have done better somewhere else, the best strategy is to go for a walk and see what is on display; very little is hidden. Menus, when they exist, are often nothing more than scraps of cardboard on which is scrawled the hawker's specialty. The "I see, I point, I eat" method of ordering applies. Displayed along Sims Avenue and Geylang Road are fish, stingray and squid on ice, ready to be grilled over a charcoal fire and served with chili sauce and a twist of lemon. Frogs await their fate in wire cages; chickens and ducks, steamed and roasted, hang from their necks behind glass stalls; bundled skewers of mutton, horse and chicken satay, served with peanut sauce, stick out of cans; oyster loaf and carrot cake (a fried dumpling) sizzle on oily griddles; prawns and crabs turn pink in woks; fresh slices of mango, papaya and guava glisten behind the dewy glass of refrigerators.

A few years ago, when my face was unfamiliar to most of the hawkers in Geylang, I was regarded as a curiosity, an oddball who somehow got off the bus at the wrong stop. At one stall, I attempted to order fish head curry stew, a local specialty, and was told that it was too spicy for a Westerner. Having grown accustomed to the preconceived ideas many Asians have of Westerners (that we live off French fries and cheeseburgers washed down with Coke), I persisted and had my order filled, only to be watched like a performing circus monkey as I ate, leaving behind only a round white thing the size and consistency of a marble (certainly not an eye) rolling around in the bowl like the ball in a roulette wheel. Now, the hawkers recognize me on sight, and ask what season it is in Japan, where I live. (Spring, summer, fall and winter are all the same to them, distinguishable only by colorful pictures on a calendar.)

It is my custom when in Geylang to eat dinner at one place, go to another for a plate of fresh fruit (usually mango, but occasionally mangosteens or rambutans) to cool down, and then top off my evening (or is it my stomach?) with an egg custard tart and pot of Chinese tea at a 24-hour pastry shop on Sims Avenue, or a sweet tea at one of the coffee shops on the corner of Lorong 15 and Sims Avenue. Here, workers from Bangladesh and India are entertained by old Jackie Chan movies, one of the more positive aspects of globalization.

Recently, on a pleasant tropical evening, I started out at a Thai restaurant on Geylang Road, taking a seat at a table in the alley behind the kitchen. As I worked my way through a prawn and cashew dish, I listened to the chanting of Buddhists down the street. The telltale scent of incense drifted by. Under a sputtering fluorescent light, the cook chopped away at some vegetables in cadence, it seemed to me, with the chanting. I looked up at the stars fading in and out through the wisps of a passing cloud, wondering idly where to eat tomorrow, and thought also of those sitting in an airless bus station eager to get out of town.

— James Roth (j dot roth dot mail at gmail dot com)