“Italian
restaurant here,” says the cab driver.
“Okay,”
I reply, fumbling with the unfamiliar currency, trying to pay him while
checking the GPS on my phone.
I leave the airconditioned cab and stand in the street. Seconds later, my glasses have fogged up, the
sweat is pouring down my forehead and stinging my eyes. I cross over to the
restaurant and check out the signage. “Pasta Brava” is what I read.
I’m
in the wrong place. I told the cab driver that I needed to go to the Italian
restaurant on Craig Road and he has brought me to an Italian restaurant on
Craig Road but this is not where I need to be. Surely there can’t be two
Italian restaurants on the same street?
I
decide to walk a little further up the street, consulting my GPS while trying not
to trip over the uneven paving outside the run-down shop-houses. Two minutes
later, I see it. The relief of being in the right place is second only to the
relief of being able to step out of the humidity and into the cool, dim,
cellar-like interior of In Italy.
Proem
(feel free to skip)
My
very first job was as a teacher in Singapore. I was young and inexperienced but
enthusiastic. For two and a half years, I worked in a government school in the
Novena district and devoted myself to my students. And at the end of that time,
I finished my contract and returned to Australia, hoping that ‘my kids’ would
be okay, that they would grow into amazing people and do well for themselves,
that they would find careers they loved, that they would travel and see the
world. It’s hard though, to really envision a future for someone when they are
only 14 years old. As an educator, all you can do is hope that you have done
your bit well.
When
I left Singapore, there was no social media of any kind. People were using
email but mainly for work. Letter-writing was on the way out. So it was that I
lost contact with most of my former students until, about 2 years ago, a sudden
surge of Facebook interest put me back in contact with them again.
The
last time that I saw Felix he was a cheeky little kid with a big grin and spiky
hair who wore the standard blue-and-white school uniform you can see in schools
all over Singapore. Now he is Chef
Felix, the grin is still cheeky, the hair still spiky (although more modish stripes shaved into the sides)
and the uniform is his chef’s gear with his name embroidered upon it.
He
has organised for me to be seated at the counter and booked me in under my
former name – when I was a teacher I was “Mrs Paterson”, a name I no longer use
but that is how my Singapore kids know me – and I am so thrilled to see him
that I can hardly concentrate on the menu.
A table for "Mrs Paterson"
I
put myself in his hands, telling him that I want to try what he believes are
his best dishes. He advises the stracciatella with sweet and sour stewed
eggplant caponata, then the signature dish which is the squid ink linguine. For
dessert he promises me that he will do ‘something special, not on the menu’.
I
relax and take in my surroundings; a wall of wine bottles before me, a loaded
dish of Roma tomatoes to the side. I didn’t photograph the bicycles which were
on the ceiling, but there were bicycles on the ceiling. I have a glass of
prosecco placed in front of me, a basket of beer-bread and salsa verde, a dish
of shaved reggiano.
It’s
Friday lunchtime and the place fills up quickly. I hear local accents mixed in
with English, American, and Italian. Felix later tells me that the restaurant
draws Italian ex-pats who come for a taste of home-cooking. There are certain
dishes that can be immediately identified as origjnating from Liguria, from Firenze,
from Milano. Felix knows because he travels regularly to Italy to do training
in regional cuisine.
The
stracciatella arrives. It is settled between the caponata and the seasoned
tomatoes, warm, separating into strands as I twist my fork in. It is very, very mellow with the caponata
providing the necessary zing and bite while the tomatoes are fresh and
flavoursome.
Felix
pauses to show me another dish he has made – a huge crostino, all golden and
fragrant, served with prosciutto. It looks amazing and I wish I were dining
with more people so I could have some. Felix takes pity on me and gives me a
sample of the prosciutto – I don’t usually rave about prosciutto but this one
has been truffled and that makes all the difference.
The
truffles that are used at In Italy, in fact most of their key produce, arrive
weekly, freighted from Italy. I joke with Felix that he needs to source from
Western Australia, it is closer after all, but he tells me that In Italy they are all
about authenticity, especially where truffles and cheeses are concerned.
As
I finish the prosciutto, the linguine arrives, with a whiff of the ocean and of
garlic. The restaurant is packed by now, by Felix comes past when he can to
give me information. He prepares the linguine in a base of lobster bisque, the
squid ink goes into the pasta rather than the sauce because it’s more elegant
(who wants black teeth, especially when you have to go back to the office?).
Each
forkful is dense and spicy. The chili provides just the right amount of burn on
the lips to keep me happy. The prawns are sweet and juicy. It is all so very,
very good but what makes me happiest is know that Felix made it all.
Time
for a coffee! Time for two. The brand is Illy and it is the best coffee that I
have had since arriving as the choice thus far has been between Nescafe Instant
or the ubiquitous Starbucks which occurs practically every 500m along Orchard
Road.
Dessert
is just beautiful. The chocolate fondant sits on raspberry puree, and is
flanked by two macarons. The macarons are Felix’s signature dessert – the shell
is squid ink, the filling triple sec butter-cream. Now, I know what you’re
thinking, but you’d be wrong – the squid ink imparts colour and saltiness but
there is no fishiness to it all all. The buttercream adds the sweetness and
citrus complement. I know enough Italian to understand that ‘fondant’ should be
‘melting’ and when I push my spoon in, it does exactly that – there is a warm
chocolate flow across the plate.
Things
are starting to become quiet again. No such thing as an early Friday knock-off
in Singapore – the corporate types must return to the office. The lunch-time
service finishes so Felix can join me at the bar and we chat about his career
and his travels and his passion for creating good and interesting food.
He
summons a waiter who puts a dish of sorbeto in front of me.
“Guess
what flavour this is?” he challenges.
It
is orange, a little on the dense and floury side, not super sweet. My first
thought is persimmon, but perhaps that is too obvious.
“Pumpkin?”
I hazard.
It’s
actually prickly pear. Felix has seen the bushes, growing wild on the roadsides
in Italy and has harvested the fruit to come up with this intriguing dessert.
Of all the things that I tried while at In Italy, this was the one that
impressed me the most. It was very different and I’m guessing that it will be a
while before I eat prickly pear again.
Another
gesture to the waiter, another speciality.
“We
make our own limoncello,” says Felix, as the shot glass is set before me. They
use organic lemons and distill it in-house only to avoid the use of
preservatives. I tell him that I would buy it by the bottle if I could and I
imagine it poured over ice-cream.
We
are joined by Felix’s boss, Mario Caramella, whom I had been introduced to
earlier in the afternoon. I tell him I have recently been in Sydney, staying in
Pyrmont, and he tells me about restaurants that he has set up, one in The Star
complex. I like his old world courtesy and business cards are exchanged in case
he should ever find himself in Perth. I like more that he is a good boss and
mentor to Felix, who speaks of their association with contentment and of his
working conditions with satisfaction.
It’s
time to go and one of the waiters snaps a photo of me and Felix which I plan to
keep next to my old school photos from 1997 and 1998. I give him a hug, urge
him not to work too hard (although I now know from everything he has said that
his work ethic is tremendous and makes huge demands on his time and energy) and
I promise to come back again when I can. Perhaps I get a bit teary when I step
outside or maybe that’s just perspiration in my eyes again.
I
throw myself into another airconditioned cab and take stock.
So,
“Mrs Paterson”, what was it that you said you wanted?
I
wanted to my students to be okay. Tick.
I
wanted them to grow into amazing people and do well for themselves. Tick.
I
wanted them to find careers they loved. Tick.
I
wanted them to travel and see the world. Tick.
Anyone
who has ever been involved in education knows that, for the most part, your
satisfaction comes through the achievements of others. I am not the only
educator involved in food-blogging, and there are several people out there who
will know exactly what I mean when I say that you make investments in people
often not knowing when or if you will get a return. I could even get a bit
biblical and talk about ‘casting bread upon the waters’ which stays neatly with
the food theme.
In
Italy, in Singapore, I got that return upon my investment.
No teacher could really ask for more.
Thank you, Felix.
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| I'm really proud of you, Chef! :D |
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