And the saga of curiously named Singaporean places continues: dinner last night was at tamade (Chinese swear word if broken up into Ta Ma De), with Terry, at Robertson Quay. The waiters apparently scrupulously avoid explanations of the name; the one we asked said we’d have to ask the manager, but at any rate, he thinks it’s a mismatch, which I thought was the perfect answer showing himself as loyal employee but still down wit’ the Chinese hood.

The restaurant itself is sort of like a minimalist Wagamama (for the Londoners), and has great desserts. We had three. The stereotypically bitchy/luvvie gay waiter was a strange but entertaining touch.

Robertson Quay is lovely, and I wish I’d discovered it sooner. Lots of riverside eateries, but nothing with the garishness of Boat Quay, and all blessedly tranquil, just people and quiet coffeed conversations, beautiful asymmetric bridges which I wish I’d brought the digicam to photograph, and night-empty skyscrapers reflected in the dark shimmer of the river.