December 3, 2010
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I do plenty of silly things now and then, and lately, I’ve run out of excuses for the mindless things I’ve done. It’s like there’s some missing link between my thought processes that my brain just skips without realising.
I have no excuse for dining at an egg-inspired all-breakfast place and not ordering anything to do with eggs.
Really. Don’t bother waiting for my explanation because I have none.
I wasn’t thinking. (Haven’t been doing that for a while, and…wait, is that considered an excuse? Shrugs.)
So I returned to Hatched to redeem myself. Read more of this post
October 10, 2010
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In a direct one-eighty to the Choupinette post I put up a while back, I’m embarrassed (well, a little) to admit that yes, I’ve been brunch-ing far more frequently than I would normally and that I will now openly declare that I’m brunching as opposed to just having a late breakfast. It sends a chill up my spine that I realise that I don’t think I can return to that normalcy. I’m afraid, very afraid.
The thrill of finding an awesome brunch place now supercedes the steady thinning of my wallet.
See, the novelty of doing something unconventional (like having brunch dishes at 4pm, brunch-ing on a weekday before class, playing with Google Man to find brunch places..) will never wear out as long as this idea of brunch is still shiny and new to me.
And as long as I keep chancing across gems like Cafe Hacienda, nestled in the lush foliage of Dempsey Hill, all peaceful and warm and blissful and cozy and empty during weekdays and with killer Eggs Benedict…
I’m saying tata to breakfasts and lunches.
All-day breakfast and brunch places are sprouting up all over the island, and while Café Hacienda’s brunch and breakfast spread of waffles, egg dishes and pastries aren’t going to win an award for variety, it is much appreciated and admirable that they make up for the lack by executing the few that they have to offer fantastically. Now that’s reliability – doing one thing right and well each time without fail, namely, their Eggs Benedict. Read more of this post
- Jones The Grocer
Raise your hand if you knew Jones The Grocer existed right smack in Orchard Road.
Keep your hand raised if you know where Mandarin Gallery is.
Mmhmm…I’m keeping my hand down on both accounts.
Perhaps you’re like me too, or not since I have somehow managed to walk past Mandarin Gallery with my eyes closed, never knowing it existed and then where it was after hearing of it.
Recall passing by a gargantuan palatial silver building just after Takashimaya while walking towards the Somerset-Dhoby Ghaut direction? The one that makes you feel like an insignificant dust mite under the watchful and glamorous presence of Mont Blanc, D&G, Just Cavalli and Marc by Marc Jacobs that it flaunts? The one that looks far too atas, out of your league, and just so darn intimidating to even want to venture a step in?
Yea, that’s it.
But maybe that’s just me, who somehow never once saw the name of the building since it was always overshadowed and eclipsed by dear Marc.
Then again, you know, I know some people who would frolic and skip around inside the building like a playground, fully comfortable and right at home surrounded by all those designer labels.
That’s fine by me, really. They can graze and spree and party and bounce from one branded boutique to the next like a pachinko ball at the hands of a jaded Japanese salesman.
But me? I don’t care for that when there’s Jones (but that is not to say that I even could).
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