The Side of an F&B Owner’s Life We Don’t See


I arrive as Ivan is already finishing up his plate of cai fan (3 veg and rice) while scribbling into his notebook. He’s looking improbably fresh; his hair is still damp—either with water or pomade—and his eyes are bright and piercing.  

For the first time in 9 hours, we are free from fish carcasses and my brain is rested, so I take the opportunity to ask Ivan the harder-hitting questions. Like: why on earth would someone with no experience in the F&B industry set up a restaurant in Singapore, a notoriously inhospitable environment for restaurants? In 2019 alone, popular eateries like Non Entrée Desserts, Chili’s, Glory Catering have shuttered their doors; Michelin-starred chefs weren’t spared this bloodbath either, with Joël Robuchon and Andre Chiang closing their restaurants last year. So who does this young upstart whippersnapper think he is?

Ivan has no illusions about himself nor his business. “Before I joined F&B just 7 years ago, I didn’t know what pinot noir was. It’s wine, just drink it!” he lets loose a laugh that mixes equal parts male bravado and self-belittling. 

“I don’t know a lot about cooking. So I don’t dare to say I have passion for food. Anyway, I find ‘passion’ a meaningless word today. It’s like weed [‘the grass, not the drug,’ he clarifies]. It spreads fast, it’s shallow, it’s non-committal.”

‘Passion’ [is] a meaningless word today.

When they experience their midlife crisis, some people buy fast cars, some hit the gym, some join a monastery. Ivan opens a restaurant. Prior to his current role as chef-founder (“I only became a chef because my head chef left and my sous chef fucked up”), Ivan was a creative director at a media company. 

But he grew jaded of a life measured out in empty coffee cups and cigarette butts. “So I joined a band playing percussion,” Ivan says. “We would go into the kitchen for staff meals. Being in the kitchen environment sort of rekindled my interest in food.”

“I considered going to culinary school, but I knew I was too impatient for that. So I did everything myself, I learnt from trial and error.”

“Basically, I tested what every grandmother says about cooking and see what’s true,” Ivan laughs. Then he sobers up quickly, reflecting, “Nobody bloody explains anything. That’s why cuisines are dying. The older people don’t think recording their techniques or recipes is a big deal. So I’ve been documenting a lot. I have a journal of exchanges with older Teochew chefs.”

“You know how the French have 4 master sauces? We Teochew have 128 different condiments. Salted egg, preserved olives, kiam chye, fish sauce … and when you combine them, it’s just endless. That’s why Teochew porridge is bland, soupy. It can hold all the condiments together.” 

“Or did you know sashimi originated from the Teochew region in China?” Ivan asks us. 

We didn’t.

“Exactly. I don’t want my son growing up eating McDonald’s thinking it’s our culture. That’s why I started this. It’s using food as a medium to preserve our heritage.”





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