A sudden thought struck me while I was showering after a nice, chillastic night at Shawn’s with the aforementioned, Darren, Brent, Tham and Darius. *Drumroll. When I go back to Singapore, one of the first few places I have to visit at least WITHIN my first three days of being home, is Cafe Oliv.
I swear to you, this place is mega-awesome. A quiet cafe just off Still Road and Upper East Coast Road, I’ve been there for a couple of dinners and have left feeling satisfied, contented and smugly obese every single time. The Caesar Salad’s great, the brown sauce that comes with their sausages is great, the Lamb is GREAT, the ribs are great, the moist brownie that comes with a huge scoop of milky vanilla ice cream on top is great … what else can I say. -_- G-R-E-A-T. Thumbs up all round.
Except for the pasta. Not a huge fan of their pastas, or at least the ones I’ve picked from other plates. However, their appetisers, salads and main courses more than make up for the otherwise fatal flaw (since pastas are a general popular choice). And I don’t know, but I have an inkling that their mushroom soup is entirely homemade because how the monkey can a bowl of mushroom soup taste so heavenly and chewy and REAL?
Fuck, saliva has trailed down my chin and dripped unto my shirt. :/ So exhausted that I’m beginning to lose control of my motor active skills. Better sleep before my fingers go too, then I’ll just be like a lump of lard flopping on my shitty wok green chaaaiiiiiiirrriiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrqqqqqqqqqqqqqqghhhhhhhhhhktkkkkkkkkk
(Side note: This entry is not an advertisement but an originally authored expression of my nostalgic reminiscing of the glorious feasts available back home at only a fraction of the cost of what I pay for a simple burrito now.)
(Side sider note: This entry has also been an extremely fat one. Please excuse my vulgur piggishness, I just haven’t had a good meal in days.)
