Arcot Nawab: Feasting on the Food of Kings

I love it when the table turns. Recently, legendary siren of Thai street food, Nym Korokat Punlopruska guided me through the streets of Bangkok for great food. If you know much about Bangkok street food, or have watched Andrew Zimmern eat his way through it, you’ve seen Nym. She was in Singapore this week, so now it was my turn. And I knew a place that is so new it couldn’t possibly be in her excellent food guide, but so exceptional that it needs to be.

The fabulous Nym Punlopruska

Ravi, Nym & Jeera water at every table

Walking into Arcot Nawab Restaurant, Nym immediately sensed something different from the sea of other Indian restaurants. The place is small, bright and airy, with ocher walls and a pitcher of Jeera (cumin-seed) water on every table. Owner Ravi Jayakaran greeted us at the door and at once immersed us in a world of remarkable royal Indian cuisine unavailable elsewhere in Singapore. 

Upon the first sip of Vasantha Neer, a pale, fresh-scraped coconut water infused with lemon, honey and mint on the rocks, Nym got her note pad ready.  

Nawabi & Nizam cuisines from the Hyderabad region of Southern India are the specialty at Arcot Nawab, which opened less than a year ago. It is cuisine once granted only to India’s finest chefs, esteemed in the art of delicate Indian cuisine, to prepare for Mogul Empire royalty. But this day, despite arriving unannounced and pulling everything straight off the menu, we would be fed like royalty, too.

It started with Vallara Keerai, a seemingly simple soup made of pennywort leaf reduced with pepper, garlic and onion to a smooth creamy texture. This “brain food” delivered a deep earthy flavor, exotic in the first instance, then quickly softening into a rich, herbaceous simplicity that luxuriated on our tongues.

The Karuvepillai Prawn Varuval was firm and masala-tinged on the edges with soft, sweet meat that frolicked with flavors of fried curry leaves and delicate sesame oil. Don’t think “fried prawns” with this dish, as the marriage of flavors and texture transforms this into something unique and wondrous; the best of natural spices with the finest fare from the sea. It’s a must try.

But the star of Arcot Nawab’s show was its namesake biryani. The similarity between other biryanis in Singapore and this one – like a White Zinfindel in the shadow of Châtau Haut-Brion – ends abruptly at the name. Arcot Biryani is a distinct rice-based dish; lighter and more refined than more common biryani but packing a full-on spice punch that puts all others to shame. 

Cooked with mutton and Jeera Samba rice – a pleasing departure from the usual basmati nuttiness – it came with a Brinjal curry and a red onion raita that delivered an ultra-fresh yogurty sparkle. The biryani was robust, each kernel standing independent and oil-free, encapsulating a well-integrated flavor and careful balance of spice. But perhaps most compelling was its lightness of being. Unlike the clumpy, heavyweight biryanis stomping and pummeling their way around Little India, this was like a trim, featherweight fighter – each bite a quick, crisp jab of intense flavor, leaving no oily residue on the palate. Neat and clean.

The meal continued, Ravi steering us through a maze of royal classics. Like raw bittergourd diced with tomato and onion and brightened by a spritz of fresh lemon from a vegan selection. The bitter green bite of the crunchy veg was tempered by the lemony tinge and tomato sweetness to render a refreshing, uncommon salad.

We had Rasam, so deep and complex, with the chef’s hand light on the tamarind, ginger, lime and asafoetida, in order to avoid bitterness against the pepper, curry leaves, soft onion and pineapple within. Its seductive aroma and taste necessitated my drinking it all directly from the silver cup in which it came.

 A mélange of brunoised masala potato with mustard seed, curry leaves and herbs added a deep, cumin/turmeric/cinnamon component to the food piling up before us, each dish complimenting the others and adding something to prepare us for the next item; something Ravi would suddenly think necessary to round out the feast.

The Meen Kothu Idiyappa, was a blend of spicy cooked fish, minced and scrambled with crumbled idiyappam noodles, gentle spices and crisp-fried mint leaves. Its soft and pleasing texture and delicate if-not-curious combination somehow works together, intermingling seamlessly into a comfort food that’s light as a feather and instantly soothing to eat.

A tiny silver pot of dried lentils roasted with garlic, dry chilies and sesame seeds, all ground into a talcum-fine orange powder was set before us. A matching tin of Indian sesame oil – a complete departure from the ubiquitous Chinese version found here – and a plate of white basmati rice came beside it. Nym dusted the rice with the powder, I followed with a drizzle of sesame oil and mixed. The yellowish blend delivered a clean, ancient flavor, blossoming like a lotus flower in the morning sun. Each component whispered its presence in the rice, but then transformed into something more delicious than merely the sum of its parts and harkened back to a centuries-old flavor profile.

Closing the feast was Payasam, a cooling milk pudding with sage and vermicelli,  along with a warm chai infused with sarsaparilla root, and ending with a barely-sweet vanilla bean ice cream sprinkled with hand-candied ginger bits to relax our digestive systems.

Ravi's passion for his food is contagious

For each dish Ravi had a passionate explanation of its history and what makes it special enough to serve here. His philosophy is not just to serve outstanding food – which he does better than perhaps any other Indian restaurant in the neighborhood – but also healthy dishes with no MSG, no additives and balanced for control of such ailments as Diabetes. The result: light, delicate textures with intense, infused flavors that don’t leave you feeling heavy and tired afterward. It was truly a feast at this restaurant of royal food from the Kingdom of the Moguls.

Arcot Nawab Restaurant

49 Chander Road
Little India
Singapore

Tel: 6392-1530

Thaipusam: Spiritual food for the soul, not the stomach.

Poles of the kavadi are bolted through stomach flesh.

As a Foodwalker, the majority of my street roaming attention is on food, or things related thereto. And within the realm of food production, selling, cooking and eating – down the countless narrow alleys, beneath slanted shacks and within the confines of holes in the walls – lies fascinating culture which both defines the cuisine of the local area and at the same time transcends it into something greater than the subject of gastronomy, but of humanity. This element behind indigenous cuisine is one of the main ingredients making food taste so good.

But every now and then events occur which, though not related to food, seem still to fit a Foodwalker’s cultural passion. Like this month’s holy Hindu celebration of Thaipusam. It is on this one day each year that Tamil worshipers express prayers of gratitude to Lord Muruga and his victory over evil forces of darkness in the world, and make the final push for divine help in fulfilling their religious vows. The celebration is also one of atonement, where worshippers pay penance for the past year’s failings and pray for a better and more prosperous year ahead.

It’s no easy task. After fasting for anywhere from three days to a month, a devotee impales himself with religious decorations and items of significance. I’m not talking pinpricks here – he forces hooks, skewers and steel spikes into – even through -- his cheeks, tongue, lips, shoulders, chest, back and beyond. He then embarks, in a trance-like state, on a pilgrimage from one holy temple to another.

The items attached to hooks and chains vary, each representing a specific wish. Limes, for example, symbolize protection by the deities. Small pots contain sacred cow’s milk for cleansing and good fortune. To apply these adornments, selected areas of skin are massaged for a moment with white, holy ash, then the steel skewers and hooks are plunged through the tissue and out the other side – with no pain killers.

Many pious individuals also don steel or wood float-like structures called a kavadi (appropriately meaning “burden”) on their shoulders. The kavadi is traditionally decorated with peacock feathers, aluminum plates and gold ornaments which show images of Hindu deities. Bells, chains and other elaborate components drape from them and attach to the skin. Often weighing up to 15 kg (33 lbs), the kavadi is supported by long steel spikes which extend down from the base and pierce the skin on the chest, stomach and back to hold it in place. Support rods are bolted through thick folds of skin at the base of the abdomen to hold it all in place. With every step the sharp points and poles jiggle and poke a little deeper.

Spikes in the worshipper's chest help support the kavadi.

It requires great determination and endurance to pull off the pilgrimage and the toll it takes on many worshipers is palpable. Sometime one will begin to fade out of consciousness, only to be encircled by supporters, singing and chanting, clanging and drumming – louder and faster – as if to revive him enough to continue forward. Often someone will pause to hold a pilgrim up until he regains poise within his spiritual trance. The procession has been stopped by authorities in many countries, including even in parts of India. But it remains an annual tradition in Malaysia, where hundreds of thousands head to the Batu Caves near Kuala Lumpur, and here in Singapore, where it’s an arduous trek beneath the blistering sun and high humidity from the Sri Srinivasa Perumal Temple on Serangoon Road to the Sri Thandayuthapani Temple on Tank Road.

Friends and family walk with the devotee, encouraging him on and often carrying pots of milk on their heads during the procession. The clamor of drums, cymbals, horns and bells rings out from every devotee’s group, helping to keep him entranced, while Indian religious music blasts onto the street from the many merchants along the pilgrimage path. 

Walking on a bed of nails.

Though most walk barefooted on the hot pavement of the streets, some traverse on a literal bed of nails – spiked wooden sandals strapped to their feet – each step probing deeper into their soles. A cane is often needed to help support themselves with each, painful step.

Such large-scale public acts of penance are not witnessed much around the world anymore. And the degree of fortitude and personal sacrifice of those practicing this sacred passage impales an onlooker’s memory nearly as deeply as the hooks in the worshipers’ skin. It demands passion and commitment and generations of prior practice, which draws parallels for this Foodwalker to the culture behind something else equally as remarkable and magnificent from India: its food.

Foodwalk: Getting Lost in Singapore's Little India

Whether praying in temples, selling items on the street or hawking food in restaurants and markets, Singapore’s Little India is as real as India gets this side of the subcontinent. It's a great place for a foodwalk if, of course, you are feeling very hungry. 

Begin your 3-hour foodwalk at the Little India MRT and head into Tekka Market for roast duck from Heng Gi Goose & Duck (stall 01-335). They’ve been serving up Teochew braised waterfowl for nearly fifty years. Combined with their fois-gras, homemade tofu and a crunchy duck foot it’s a full flavor study in control and balance. But it's a big plate, so share it with a friend or two because there is some good food in your foodwalking future.

Walk up Buffalo Road past fruit and vegetables bulging from storefronts onto the sidewalks until you reach Serangoon Rd. Cross the road, turn left and head North to the corner of Norris Road for Azmi Restaurant (also known as Norris Road Chapati) (168 Serangoon Road) whose slogan: “Secret of good mood; Taste of Azim’s food” is hard to argue with. The menu here is old-school, with everything cooked from scratch since 1944 in the tiny kitchen out back. Their specialties – simple whole-wheat chapatis – are cooked on a round iron griddle by a guy in an izaar wrap standing barefoot on a sheet of cardboard. He’s been making chapatis there since 1956 when the British still controlled Singapore. 

To understand just how good Azmi is, order two chapattis and the mutton keema – granules of savory minced meat, peas, potatoes and spices slow-cooked into a mélange of magnificence. Brighten the deep, earthy flavors with a side of shaved onions, crisp cucumber and a squirt of calamansi.  The chapatis are soft and warm; thin disks of pure wheat and water, flaking apart like dense tissue paper. Tear it into ribbons and scoop up gobbets of the keema. Then fight to restrain your whimpers of jubilation. 

Just a few doors down Serangoon is Valli Flower Mill (174 Serangoon Road), one of the few remaining hand spice grinding and roasting operations in Singapore. Between running spice rakes though the raw umber powder, barefooted men still grind spices in the hundred-year-old mills. The air wafts a smoky perfume of cumin, chili, garlic, cinnamon, turmeric and other blended spices toasting gently in a large dry roasting trough. 

Continue along Serangoon, ducking under low-hanging awnings and crowded stores selling clothes, jewelry and food. Turn right at Desker Road and walk to Lembu Road to find the unassuming Bangla Square, also known as Lembu Road Open Space. Tall trees shade this bricked plaza, whose perimeter is lined with local shops selling Bangladeshi snacks, folded betel nut leaf and delicious sweets. Cool off with a refreshment at one of the tables while watching young men playing Carom, a sort of tale-top snooker with discs that slide on the powdered surface and knock the opponent’s discs away.

From Bangla Square, stroll past the many brightly colored shophouses along Desker and then right, along Kampong Kapor Road. When you reach Upper Weld Road hang a right and head to Tim Sim Coffee Shop (40 Clive Street) on a triangular intersection of Upper Weld, Dickson and Clive Streets. You may not recognize this wallless, tin-roofed corner of the street as a coffee shop at all. But it’s been there for nearly 100 years, according to the brewer who, by the looks of him, may very well have celebrated its grand opening. He'll make your kopi slowly, shuffle to your plastic table and bark “You try.” The coffee is old-school in the strictest sense: butter-roasted, dark and robust, and very, very strong.

From Upper Weld Road continue down Upper Dickson toward Serangoon, cross it and stroll down Kerbau Street, following it to the right where it becomes Belilios Lane. At the end of the lane you reach the side of the remarkably ornate Sri Veeramakaliamman Temple (141 Serangoon Road). If it’s open you should go in and have a look at the silver prayer bell, intricate religious art and enclosed courtyard with shrines dedicated to Hindu deities. Then retrace your path down Belilios Road and follow it the short block to Chander Road.

Directly across from you sits the tiny Cettinadu New Restaurant (41 Chander Road). A waiter will ladle from steel pots raita, stewed greens, spiced potato and a dollop of chutney “pickle” onto your fresh banana leaf “plate.” Order the classic Chettinad chicken curry or mutton masala and dive in -- but only with your bare, right hand. The waiter will keep refilling your sides until you beg him to stop. When you’re done, simply fold your leaf in half and wait for the (very small) bill.

Turn right upon exiting the restaurant and head down Chander Road to where it bends right into Kerbau Road. On the corner is North Indian Sri Lakshminarayan Temple (5 Chander Road), with its red beehive shaped Amalaka domes. Across the street, set back from the corner is a courtyard lined with small Indian snack joints offering tasty curry puffs, sweets, teh tarek and fresh-made pani puri. 

Across the courtyard is the ornately painted Tan Tang Niah shophouse (37 Kerbau Road), built in 1900 and passed through a colorful history until being designated a preservation building in 1990. From here you can pass through narrow, shaded vegetable stalls between the buildings leading to Buffalo Road and the end of your foodwalk.  Turn right a few meters to Race Course Road and the MRT station.

If you reflect over what you’ve just seen and tasted you’ll realize that old-school Singapore is still alive in Little India and it’s utterly approachable and delicious. If you enjoy Indian colors, culture and cuisine, you’ll fall in love with this neighborhood. And if you’re timid to Indian food here’s the good news: there’s no better or more hygienic place on the planet to discover the real thing than right here.