The White Rabbit

Ever since someone told me the dilapidated garrison church on Harding Road was haunted by the ghost of a little boy who appeared near the entrance each day at around 4pm, I had given the place a wide berth. Precisely what the kid was doing at that time, and why, was never properly explained to me, but I took no chances. Then came news that the people behind Loof bar had moved in, with advance reports gushing about the renovation. For days, professional curiosity battled with spiritual nerves, but in the end, commitment to the gastro-cause won out. 



The White Rabbit’s interiors are, indeed, lovely. The lofty space is framed by beautiful wrought-iron grills, a stained-glass window, original floor tiles, discreet timber wall panels, polygonal lamps and a new deck area at the rear. Sage-green banquettes line both sides of the church while a drum chandelier hangs over the bar. Designwise, the only complaint is that the banquette tables are unbearably uncomfortable; the thick base allows no room to stretch your legs. 

Not that this has stopped the restaurant from being packed when I’ve been there. The vibe is festive and loud, with a succession of society mavens and the pink set swishing through the glass doors, and entire tables rising in waves to greet each other. ‘It feels like the old days when Marmalade first opened,’ observed one dining companion wistfully. ‘Everyone is here.’ The trick, and this might be a difficult one to pull off, is for the kitchen to maintain this initial rush of popularity. All too often, success breeds complacency and Singaporean diners are a notoriously fickle set. For the moment though, momentum is on The White Rabbit’s side. It helps that ex-Marmalade head chef Daniel Sia helms the kitchen, while the front of house is headed by the freakishly good Shireen Sheikh, another Marmalade alumnus, who remembered me from a single visit to Cork a few years ago. ‘Aren’t you from Time Out?’ she asked. ‘No,’ I replied, barely blinking while stealing looks at what other tables were eating. 



Sia’s menu breaks no new ground; he cleaves closely to Western classics (tournedos Rossini, anyone?) while keeping ennui at bay with a few clever twists. The macaroni and cheese (pictured top) was a favourite the moment the waiter lifted the cloche (nice touch, that) to reveal a tian of pasta, cheesy and fragrant with a whiff of truffle sauce. Even the Waldorf salad, so often mistreated in Singapore, was a lush, salted and mayonnaised pile of celeriac, thick slivers of smoked chicken, green apples and toasted walnuts. If further proof were needed of Sia’s credentials, a single bite of his pan-fried pork knuckle terrines – earthy, aromatic with just the right mix of meat, gelatinous tendon and peppery heat – put all doubt to rest. And this before I bit into the parsley-scented meatball ragu, only to be delighted by a nugget of foie gras lurking within. At another meal, oxtail stew charmed with its fork-tender meat. This after a perfectly poached brick of coral-coloured salmon encrusted with a barely recognisable cauliflower gratin, and paired with a velvety, grassy cauliflower purée. (No mean feat considering how bland cauliflowers are.) And who knew chicken and duck liver terrine could be so smooth, its richness cut by a port jelly and thick wedges of brioche soldiers? 

Sia is equally skilled with desserts. A good meringue is difficult to achieve in this weather, but his baked alaska (pictured above) was a crisp white cocoon enveloping a vanilla mousse crowned with strawberry ice cream. Other surprises: the layer of Nutella lining the base of the Mars Bar soufflé (tasting exactly like it sounds); and the unexpected crunch of toasted almonds in the textbook- perfect crème brûlée was, like everything about The White Rabbit, an unmitigated delight.