Valentine's Day 2009: Pierside

14th February 2009

"And no, it doesn't start with 'R' darling," I said, the cold-air of the car's air-conditioner blowing into my face, as I continued to keep my eyes on the road.

"Then does it start with 'F'?" she asked.

"What the hell place starts with 'F'?" I asked as callous as possible, the car moving along slowly amongst the exceptionally-heavy Saturday evening traffic.

"Then does it start with 'O'?" She was relentless.

"Well, knowledge is power my dear, just let me feel powerful more just that little longer, ok?" I answered, sensing that she was on to something.

As the car came to a obligatory stop behind three others at a traffic junction, I placed my hand gently on her lap and said, "Actually darling, it starts with a 'P'".

"Haha, I know, 'cos its a 'place' right?" she said cheekily.

I smirked, and remained silent about the subject for the rest of the journey.

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As we turned into the familiar carpark, she probably started to realise that she was on to something with her previous guesses.

Worry started to set in as I parked the car, worried of the sense of underwhelm that came with the grounds of familiarity. I expressed my anxiety verbally as the lift doors shut, while she held my hand reassuringly. I knew that I had probably set a benchmark too high with the last stint, and there was hardly any way I could replicate that sense of wonder, or even come close to it.

As we approached the signboard in a distance, her face lit up with a sense of realization, as I quickly followed up, "See, I told you it starts with a 'P', haha."

She laughed it off as we stepped into the barely-filled restaurant.

The Vacant Room

Divided into a ambient outdoor section facing the Singapore Flyer and the landscape that complimented it, and a modern indoor section that was lined with the light-hazel brown of the wooden furniture couple with white-washed walls, interspaced by frames of reflective mirrors; the setting of Pierside was one that was simple and sleek at the same time, with a generally casual ambience lingering in the air.

"So do you want indoors or outdoors darling?" I asked the customary question whenever we had a choice, even though I have already booked one specifically (which is indoors most of the time).

"I don't mind outdoors," she said.

"'Don't mind' doesn't mean 'yes'," I said in partial jest and in partial fervour to correct the indecisive language used in decision making.

We were ushered to our seats between two other pairs of love-birds, as the waiter presented us with a little card that depicted the menu for the day. Following the general convention, the restaurant had a Valentine's Day set menu, one that I would normally shun, since I tend to believe that you get more value out of a la carte, but then again, the increasing difficulty in finding a locale without a set menu AND without multiple-seating sessions over the past weeks left me choosing the lesser of the two evils in my book.

"We only get to choose the main course, darling." I said to her, as I scrutinized the details of the menu that had been briefly mentioned to me over the phone, "it's either the Salmon or the Beef Cheeks."

Craving for seafood after the slew of meat and poultry dishes that lined my last few fine dining experiences, I had my eye on the Salmon. But her much more recent with a Beef Main Course led us to a little lovers' tug-of-war.

It's funny how these tug-of-wars between lovers tend to play out, instead of trying to claim the winning ground, it tends to become more of a counter-intuitive game of trying to let your partner have his or her way. Obviously, as charming (read imposing) as I was, it was only a matter of time before I managed to give up on the Salmon.

"So what was I like last year on Valentine's Day?" I asked her, as the bread was served to the table.

"You were grouchy," she said, clearly remembering my mood then.

Not having the slightest recollection, I probed for a more elaborate response, "Are you sure? I totally don't remember being grouchy at all."

"Haha. Darling has a very selective memory for this kind of things, in the end, you only remember those things that really mean something to you," she said, taking a jab at my rather selective memory, between the praises about the bread being sweet and to her liking.

The words for a retort hardly surfaced even when the starting sampler, a Salmon Cup was served to the table. The bits of Salmon in the complimentary appetizer were merely a tease to the tongue, tingling the sensations of my tastebuds to the euphoria that would soon follow.

Seafood Platter - Euphoria

As I witnessed the Seafood Platter being served to the table, I knew in my mind that that was my highlight for the day. With a spread of Fresh Oysters, Fried Oysters, Black Mussel Shots, Canadian Tuscanian-baked Scallops and Smoked Yellow Fin Tuna, the seafood spread was had already won me over with its rich colours and its sheer variety.

Not wasting any time, I grabbed the Fresh Oysters and pried away at the succulent flesh with my fork. For me, seafood is one of the draws of Modern Australian cuisine, partially due to the food culture of the island-continent and the freshness of the ingredients.

The Oyster's flesh was effortless detached from its shell, indicating its freshness, and as I chewed on the succulent flesh, I could savour the salty essence of the sea still very much entrapped within its flesh.

Unfortunately, Fresh Oysters are a rather acquired taste, and I failed to see the same level of enjoyment from my company's face, perhaps as a fore-bearing sign of the gastronomical problems it would cause her very much later.

I moved on to the Scallops next, and as I bit into it, I could again pick out the freshness of the scallops underneath the succulent flesh and the cheese layering, so much so that I left half to be consumed later, to prolong the enjoyment for a little bit more.

I was pleasantly surprised when she told me of her liking for the smoked tuna, considering how smoked fish is not too far off from the texture of Sashimi that she stays away from on normal days. She also thoroughly enjoyed the Black Mussel Shots, as I heard the acknowledging "Umm" after she downed the remnants of its sauce.

"I can guess your order of preference for the entire platter," I said to her, confident of my all-knowing mind. "The Scallop, the Mussels, the Smoked Tuna, the Fried Oyster and then the Fresh Oyster, right?"

In semi-shocked, she exclaimed, "How do you know?"

With a prideful nod, I told her to guess mine.

"Hmm, the Scallop, the Fried Oyster?" she asked, seeking some assurance.

I shook my head. Indeed, my enigmatic tastes left her permutating her choices a good 5 times before she got them right.

The main courses arrived to my by-then-already-bellowing appetite, as I looked on at her Salmon and wondered if I made the right choice with the beef.

"You know what, I think that everyone for Valentine's Day, we have Scallops." I said to her, as I raised my fork and knife threateningly over the cowering Beef Cheeks below.

"Haha. And Salmon too," she said, referring to her Salmon Fillet at Morton's exactly a year ago.

Salmon and Asparagus - Nothing can convince me about Asparagus

As she cut sliced off a piece of the Salmon Fillet and sampled it, she immediately concluded that the Salmon with Asparagus was better than last year's Salmon Fillet. As she fed me a slice of it, I couldn't help but agree. The salmon flesh was juicy and aromatic, and was satisfying to bite into. However, being the believer-of-essence-rather-than-sauce, I prefer the salmon as it was rather than when it was mixed with the sweet, fruity sauce that I couldn't tell if it was bore from Cranberry or Raspberry.

Beef Cheeks - Hannibal Lector calls them the most delicious part

My beef main course was of the expected soft texture, considering how some say that the cheeks are 'the best parts' for meat. The dish was overall more salty than sweet, very much more to my liking and leaving me with no regrets for my initial choice in losing (or winning, rather) the lovers' tug-of-war. However, the star of the dish was the crispy potato layer that lined the top of the dish.

"Did I ever tell you why they put potatos in the di-?" I asked.

"Yes," she interrupted me, knowing full well what I was about to say.

"Haha. But I don't care, I still must tell you anyway, it's so that the potato can absorb the sauce and the essence of the meat," I continued regardless. And indeed, the potato layers, both the crispy-top and the mashed-bottom layer fully carried the essence of the dish as I rolled my tongue around them.

"You know what else is a tradition on Valentine's Day?" she asked rhetorically, "Good desserts."

Indeed as I made a downward slice to the Chocolate Tart and watched the warm chocolate lava flowing out from within, I knew that it was something different. And true enough, the addition of a little pastry to make it a tart rather than a cake, took it away from the realms of direct comparison to the still undefeated Chocolate Lava Cake from Morton's last year.

Chocolate Platter - Partners in Crime

It's partners in crime also managed to make an impression next to the absolutely delectable Chocolate Tart, albeit to a much lesser extent. The Vanilla Ice Cream was termed to be made of high-quality vanilla according to my Vanilla-connoisseur, while the Chocolate Macaroon was numbingly sweet, nicely complimenting the somewhat sweet-sour taste of the White Chocolate Panna Cotta that was littered with fresh strawberries, another of her favourites.

The Things we Do to Try not to Bother the Service Staff

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As we walked towards the Merlion to walk off a fraction of the unexpectedly filling dinner, my worries of an underwhelming night out were put to ease, knowing that the relatively-casual ambience of the evening played out right, and besides, there was the consolation of the disaster that was the last year.

"I still can't believe that I was such a spoiler and was grouchy on Valentine's Day," I told her, as we looked across the river to the Esplanade's skyline.

"Haha, you were. 'Cos you were tired from work or something and we got lost too, while looking for the place, remember?" she challenged me.

Looking at the very complex with the 3 different hotels across the river, I recalled last year's scene of walking to the wrong hotel and arriving late for the reservation. "Oh yeah, now I remember," I said.

"See, I told you that you only remember things that involve you, or mean something to you," she said, taking another jab at me.

Suddenly, with a rush of inspiration, I replied, "That's because my mind is always preoccupied with planning for the next major event," ending it with a sheepish grin, as she began to construct her rebuttal.