Taking the Shish

Let's begin at the beginning: I like to think that I know a lot about kebabs, right? I was there during the Portsmouth & Southsea Kebab Wars in the late 80's when the phrase "buy 1 get 1 free" was invented over stirrings of chilli sauce. I've eaten TWO kebabs in one night - hey, it was a long walk home! I've eaten shawarma in Israel, in between mixing cement and cutting floor tiles, and tucked into souvlaki in Greece next to the Acropolis. I haven't been to Turkey or the Lebanon but i've been there in spirit in the restaurants of Dalston, Green Lanes and Newington Green in London. Yep, I've tried 'em all.

"Small Doner, please" 

What I haven't tasted before is a Singapore kebab, so it is with great merriment that I skip towards Arab Street with my trusted companion, El Jacko (aka Caroline) to sample the delights of this culinary enclave.

Tonight we are to frequent TWO establishments. No, not to recreate a bygone era of drunken student debauchery: It is because the first place is so bad that we have to walk out, Gordon Ramsay style.

On arrival at Alaturka Restaurant, Bussorah Street, we are told that they are shutting early tonight because they have their anniversary party. How sweet, we say, no problem. How inconvenient, I think to myself.

"Are you celebrating with your own home-cooked food?" i joke.
"No, we are going elsewhere", comes the reply.

Little do I know that I'll want to do the same thing in approximately 25 minutes time.

We are forced to order tea from the drinks menu as there is not a beer in sight, so opt for the mint tea. Curiously,  the opportunity to give us our first glimpse of authenticity is thwarted by the arrival of a pot of tea that would have looked at home in my Nan's kitchen in the 50s. Where is the wonderful, ornate teapot, fashioned out of metal and delivered on an intricately crafted tray?

I look up and notice that the "authentic tiles" on the wall are in fact laminate...

The baba ganoush turns up with all the florish of a navvy's breakfast, and the sad middle eastern salad is devoid of any discernible flavour. In fact, it seems remarkable that flavour can actually be taken away from a dish, but somehow they manage it.

In comparison with the second course, the starter is a triumph. I order the lamb chops as they are recommended by our guide book. Served on a copper platter, it says.

They turn up on a very ordinary looking plate, covered in what can only be described as cold Bisto. There are some cold vegetables too: Peppers? No. Eggpant? No. Boiled broccoli and cauliflower? Of course!

All meat, yes: but not kebabs

The only hot thing at the table is the steam coming out of my ears, but I wait patiently for Caroline's food to turn up. Five minutes later and still nothing. It's not that my food is getting cold - that would be impossible - If i left it long enough in Singapore's heat it might just be warm enough to eat.

So, having had quite enough, I demand to see the manager to complain that my food seems to have been mixed up with that of a bad school canteen. I find myself pointing at vegetables and gravy and saying in high pitched Ramsay-stylee, "What's that doing on this plate??"

So we walk out. I do pay the man £10 for his trouble, which is far more that he deserves.It's a kind of anniversary present of sorts.

On to the next venue we go, eagerly awaiting our next disappointment. And are we disappointed? No, it is just as bad as the last!

Sufi is the name of the restaurant, but it is largely irrelevant seeing as the standard of food here is indicative of the poor standards of the whole area.

Again we order mint tea, but this time it arrives in a more authentic teapot. Nice touch. Until we look inside. Even the first place used FRESH mint. This is a mint teabag. Oh dear.

While waiting for the food to arrive, a cockroach scurries from the premises next door, straight towards us. Even cockroaches are bemused by the standards here. One swift crunch of the flip flop and it's bye-bye time Mr Roach. It's lifeless body is the most edible thing I've seen so far this evening, certainly the freshest.

As rigor mortis sets in, our mixed meat platter turns up. Hooray! It's in a copper bowl! This is gonna be great!

As the bowl approaches, my heart sinks as I see some grilled meats lying in a Bisto gravy with brocolli and cauliflower on the side. Like the cockroach, I feel crushed, but summon the strength to tuck into what looks like sunday lunch served with rice.

In a city that loves to eat, we have discovered the one place that is culinarily deserted. As I scan the dessert menu merely out of politeness, I notice the typo error "desert". We take the hint and hail a taxi home.