Please stop buying those red-bean goodies from Korea and Japan. I know they’re adorable cos they come in animal shapes and I know it’s not easy hand-carrying those giant boxes all the way back to Singapore.  

But how do I put it… I. hate. Red bean.  

And every time you buy it, I force myself to eat it cos I want you to know that I appreciate your efforts but the moment I sink my teeth into that powdery mush and my entire mouth is saturated with overwhelming sweetness, all I can think of is how it’s going to claw its way down the walls of my throat.  

Last night I think my dad noticed how tortured I looked as I ate this red bean pastry and he asked me if this was the face I was going to make if I went for a food tasting at a restaurant specialised in red bean.  

Good question, Dad. I never really thought of what I would do if I had to review a restaurant that served nothing but red bean.  

There are certain things I’m not a big fan of. Celery, polenta and chocolate to name a few. But I find them bearable and I try to put aside my own personal prejudice when I’m evaluating a dish.  

So let’s just say it’s a simple stir-fry dish that comes with celery. I might not like the taste of celery but I think there are different dimensions to a dish that contribute to the overall appreciation of the dish. For example, does the combination of all these ingredients make sense? Does the flavour of celery overpower? And if so, is it supposed to be the main star of the dish?  

Another thing I like about my food, whether it’s to my taste or not, is the amount of thought and effort behind it. There are fancy schmancy places that serve up dishes that are presented in a generically artsy fartsy way. A little smear there, a little blob there and tiny morsels of food on a giant plate. I’m not saying that contemporary presentations in general are stupid but some are just plain pretentious or excessive.  

Sure, one might say, “you’re just too shallow to understand what’s going on.” But here’s my retort to these food snobs: 

I understand that sometimes the appreciation of food requires education. For example, I’ve always been an avid drinker of beer and it was only after I got my impromptu crash course on beer appreciation from my pal that I advanced from, “Hmmm.. I like Little Creatures. Tastes nice, “ to being able to break down what made the beer more pleasant to me over others. It’s not that I expound on hops and the body of my lager/ale when I’m out but with this knowledge but when I actually try a beer I like, I now understand why that’s the case.  

But ultimately, whether you like something or not is emotive. You don’t work backwards and decide if you like something or not. For example, if a guy explains to me how a sunset turns the sky orange, colouring the clouds and reflecting light off the ocean, I don’t think, “Hmmm. A sunset is beautiful.” I look at a sunset and it either moves me or not.   

So if your dish on first impression comes across as pretentious then that means the intention behind the presentation is either a)weak (i.e. I’ll just the salad into a giant martini glass made out of tortilla chips cos nobody has done it before and it looks modern) or b) poorly executed. Either way, it fails in some aspect. 

So, to bring it back to my dad’s question. How would I review a place that served nothing than red bean?  

1. I’d bring a colleague who wasn’t allergic to the taste of red bean to offer more objective insights into how the food tasted.
2. I would still try it cos hey, you never know, I might stumble upon the dish that blows my mind away and changes my perception of red bean.
3. I would take note of my impressions of the décor, menu, service, ambience, crowd and food and see if everything gels together.
4. I would then talk to the owners about the concept and objectives behind the restaurant cos that’s helps me get a better idea of how much love and effort went behind a place.  

But that’s not to say that the thought of having to review a restaurant that served nothing but red bean doesn’t scare the shit out of me. So please, Dad. How about just bringing back vitamin supplements from Fancl for me the next time you’re in Japan?