Part 2/2
On my way to Potong, I stumbled and badly hurt my ankle (only later I learned it was a fracture). But a seat at the vaunted restaurant was too good to pass up, so I strutted in looking as cool as I could.
The mere sight of the exterior and interior of the 120-year-old building already scored top marks. Every antique piece or memorabilia... More
Part 2/2
On my way to Potong, I stumbled and badly hurt my ankle (only later I learned it was a fracture). But a seat at the vaunted restaurant was too good to pass up, so I strutted in looking as cool as I could.
The mere sight of the exterior and interior of the 120-year-old building already scored top marks. Every antique piece or memorabilia seemed to burst with a story to tell—and the service staff did a wonderful job articulating it.
Eating at Potong was like seeing the evolution of Chinese cuisine in Thailand in real time. Flavours were infused with essence of the adopted country. Sometimes it took a while to fathom the dish; but when it eventually came, the combinations strike you with electric clarity. Guess that is the story of all diasporic cuisine.
Chef Pam was a fantastic host; she juggled kitchen leadership, socialising, and overseeing the entire operation without a single hair out of place.
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