We have all done this: trawl the web for the next big thing to savour. First, we wolf down photos, videos, and reviews from wherever the algorithm feeds us; then, we let the bricks we lay hype us up; and finally, only to realise the meal wasn’t really bussin’. It can be quite the perilous journey. And mine began with finding a quirky, yellow door.
Find the yellow door, so says the social media captions behind Meh’r by Inderpal. I had found the space online — oblivious then that this was the restaurant by a Singapore MasterChef winner Inderpal Singh — and smitten by the chock full of fun it promised from the start. The door, which I eventually located after a quick turn from a familiar alley, was an earshot away from Field Assembly (shout out to Kevin, my PT).
When the lift’s door opened, I was greeted by that iconic trophy, basking in the warm glow. MasterChef Singapore Winner 2023, it proclaimed, and I thought we were off to a good start. I had returned from a trip to Japan and wanted to steer clear of Chinese and Japanese munchies. Indian cuisine sounds about right.
Except that Meh’r by Inderpal isn’t serving just Indian flair.
The flavours of Southeast Asia have beguiled Singh and his debut act threads the chaotic joy of street food through a menu that jumps from Singapore to Bangkok, following the iconic KTM Express train ride, with the swagger of someone who’s actually been there, or at least listened well to those who have. Fun.
The ride began with a lone pani puri, its shell delicate, its filling a blast of sour cream that steamrolled right over the caviar’s brine. There was comfort in the complimentary ‘pappadum’ snack which boasts guava cream, smallish mango cubes, and tomato spheres (Yep! Spheres!). Crisp, tropical and cheeky.
There’s always one dish that tries too hard. At Meh’r, it’s the Bak Bak Wings II, apparently a rework of Singh’s MasterChef creation. Mid-joint wings are filled with chicken rice, paired with a clear consomme steeped in a siphon that looks straight out of a JC chemistry lab. The soup is heaty, as in rife with ginger heaty, but pleasantly sweet too. The chilli, which had creamy hints of banana, was sharp, and I admired the ambition. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that all the smoke and mirrors were hiding a dish that just didn’t taste like much.
Thosai Matti got points for personality: beetroot-dyed thosai, sardines, and three dips for good measure. It’s playful, if not exactly memorable.
Memory is a playful thing. It muddles fact with feeling, nostalgia with invention. While the menu takes inspiration from a cross-border train ride through Southeast Asia, the restaurant itself is rooted in something more personal. Named after his three-year-old daughter, Meh’r, which opened this year, is Singh’s way of marking a beginning.
On social media, he wrote: “One day when my daughter reads this, I hope it is an origin story of how our chain of restaurants started.”
At this point, I couldn’t help but wonder where the redemption arc was? Not that far off, I soon learnt. The Scallop Ceviche is a work of precision; a gleaming, plump, singular piece of scallop sits atop a bright, creamy and slippery Tom Kha reduction, flanked by tender chunks of sweet Thai mango and delightful pops of ikura. A beau indeed.
The Lamb Biryani is where Singh stopped playing coy. Up to this point, the chef had been inventive, if not over-the-top. Then, came the spiced Basmati rice, loose but plush grains that arrived warm, fragrant and flecked by pistachio, the nuts of royalty, and cranberries.
Where biryani comes from is, like most good things, up for debate. Some say it has roots from India. While others argue that it originated from Persia. Historian and food scholar Lizzie Collingham posits that modern biryani developed in the royal kitchens of the Mughal Empire (1526–1857), blending the aromatic rice traditions of Persia’s polao with the spicier, more robust rice dishes of South Asia.
Singh’s variant came with generous servings of tandoori lamb. It was thick, properly rested, and cut like it wanted to be eaten. The char gave it smoke. The spice gave it heat. Everything else stepped out of the way.
Dessert was a durian kheer made with the Mao Shan Wang variant, served with three pieces of burnt butter toast arranged into the towering silhouettes of Marina Bay Sands, which is visible, faintly, from the restaurant’s fifth-floor window.
It was mildly absurd and oddly charming. The kheer had the familiar funk, the toast gave it crunch, and together they made for a dessert that was more comical than moving.
There’s a glimmer of hope at Meh’r. But right now, the concept gets tangled in its own story. The train ride metaphor, the clever names, that science lab apparatus set-up… it’s more distracting than helpful. Still, there’s something here. Singh has a clear affection for the food he grew up with. This is his first brick-and-mortar at 35. He’ll figure out what to hold onto, and what to leave at the station.
Meh’r by Inderpal is located at 42 South Bridge Road, #05-01, Singapore 058676
Meals tried: 1
Price: $$ (out of $$$$$)
Rating: 2/5
What the rating means?
1/5: Poor
2/5: Average
3/5: Good
4/5: Very Good
5/5: Sublime.
This was not a sponsored tasting. The meal at Meh’r by Inderpal was paid by yours truly. All thoughts are my own.
