update:
After reading this piece,some disbelieving friends decided to come here just for the fun of it.They decided on a set lunch each and related that despite having a good laugh over the jittery and inexperienced youngsters,their lunch never arrived even after half an hour of countless reminders in which the nonchalant and politicky older staff repeatedly blamed the youngsters and pointed fingers at one another while the oldest of the lot a white haired guy just slunked off quietly into some corner.
That,they did not find funny in the least.
The meal ended abruptly with them storming off with just a miserable cup of kopi each as their lunch.
In conclusion if you are in a rush,you better think twice because they are terribly disorganised.
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I never set foot into the former Hardwicke even though it was given a good review by that whole bunch of croony bloggers.
I came because a friend insisted that we pore through our strategy during lunch.
The first thing that hits you upon stepping through its doors is a lingering odour of toilet trodden shoes.
I know that smell so well because it so reminds me of school.Look down at the red tiles and yes they are the ones the missionary schools so like to use.
Then once you sit,you feel uneasy because right across you is a cluster of unwaiter like kids fresh out of school nudging each other to take your order.
The brave one shuffles towards us.His inexperience shows.His eyes dart from left to right,too embarassed to make eye contact.
He hands us the menu as if it were made of fragile glass then adjusts his spectacles and scuttles out of the way.
You are left to your own devices at this point,you need to tick your orders in the Kim&Gary hongkie style.
After handing it over I scan the room.It must have been quite grand once upon a time.
What a pity that today it has boiled down to scruffy accounts clerks popping in for a quick giggle filled lunch.
Found it disturbing that the entire place is overrun with underaged kids sporting Heng Ee hairstyle working part time as temporary staff from the kitchen to the dining area.As such it felt as if we were the pretend to be patrons in a catering school.
When the food arrived,they were laid ever so gingerly on the table as if the plates were struggling babies cradled by those nervous teens.Every plate that arrived got the same treatment.
And each time we actually held our breath heaving a sigh of relief that this was not one their boss would deduct their salary with.
Let's cut the long story short with a brief summary of the food.
The son of a gun iron chef wannabe that barely looked like he was old enough for a kapchai licence,loves to demonstrate his prowess to the diners by artistically whisking his hands around the plate armed with carrot tendrils just before tinkling the serving bell.He does it with such gusto yet forgets to wipe of the little spills and splashes that sauces are bound to make when you act like a cooking Pavarotti.
Even though they offer traditional dishes everything on the menu is given the fusion touch with new tastes and presentation styles that ranges from cute to strange,not bad to jelak.
Due to the unexpected distraction of having to play guardian angels to various sizes of plates our mission went out the window.
Give me a fully matured devil may care attitude plate banging waiter anytime over this.
After reading this piece,some disbelieving friends decided to come here just for the fun of it.They decided on a set lunch each and related that despite having a good laugh over the jittery and inexperienced youngsters,their lunch never arrived even after half an hour of countless reminders in which the nonchalant and politicky older staff repeatedly blamed the youngsters and pointed fingers at one another while the oldest of the lot a white haired guy just slunked off quietly into some corner.
That,they did not find funny in the least.
The meal ended abruptly with them storming off with just a miserable cup of kopi each as their lunch.
In conclusion if you are in a rush,you better think twice because they are terribly disorganised.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I never set foot into the former Hardwicke even though it was given a good review by that whole bunch of croony bloggers.
I came because a friend insisted that we pore through our strategy during lunch.
The first thing that hits you upon stepping through its doors is a lingering odour of toilet trodden shoes.
I know that smell so well because it so reminds me of school.Look down at the red tiles and yes they are the ones the missionary schools so like to use.
Then once you sit,you feel uneasy because right across you is a cluster of unwaiter like kids fresh out of school nudging each other to take your order.
The brave one shuffles towards us.His inexperience shows.His eyes dart from left to right,too embarassed to make eye contact.
He hands us the menu as if it were made of fragile glass then adjusts his spectacles and scuttles out of the way.
You are left to your own devices at this point,you need to tick your orders in the Kim&Gary hongkie style.
After handing it over I scan the room.It must have been quite grand once upon a time.
What a pity that today it has boiled down to scruffy accounts clerks popping in for a quick giggle filled lunch.
Found it disturbing that the entire place is overrun with underaged kids sporting Heng Ee hairstyle working part time as temporary staff from the kitchen to the dining area.As such it felt as if we were the pretend to be patrons in a catering school.
When the food arrived,they were laid ever so gingerly on the table as if the plates were struggling babies cradled by those nervous teens.Every plate that arrived got the same treatment.
And each time we actually held our breath heaving a sigh of relief that this was not one their boss would deduct their salary with.
Let's cut the long story short with a brief summary of the food.
The son of a gun iron chef wannabe that barely looked like he was old enough for a kapchai licence,loves to demonstrate his prowess to the diners by artistically whisking his hands around the plate armed with carrot tendrils just before tinkling the serving bell.He does it with such gusto yet forgets to wipe of the little spills and splashes that sauces are bound to make when you act like a cooking Pavarotti.
Even though they offer traditional dishes everything on the menu is given the fusion touch with new tastes and presentation styles that ranges from cute to strange,not bad to jelak.
Due to the unexpected distraction of having to play guardian angels to various sizes of plates our mission went out the window.
Give me a fully matured devil may care attitude plate banging waiter anytime over this.
