Monster seafood, high prices at Ministry of Crab

NEW RESTAURANT Ministry of Crab Block 6, Dempsey Road Singapore 249683 Tel: 8389 0948 Open for dinner only Wed to Mon: 6 pm to 11 pm. Closed on Tues.

DINING at Ministry of Crab (MOC) begs the question: If this is how Sri Lankan crabs are supposed to taste, what have we been eating all this while?

Waterlogged. Macho claws hiding puny flesh. Meat clinging to shell. You name it, we want to body-shame it. You can win the crab lottery at times, but nothing is left to chance at MOC, which churns out perfectly proportioned specimens as if they were being 3D printed somewhere in the swamps of Sri Lanka.

That perfection, however, comes at a price. Don’t even think of coming if you’re the type to swap out S$118-per-kilo chilli crab for sweet-sour pork at Jumbo. At MOC, the price averages out at S$150 a kilo, and up to S$175 or more if you opt for the Crabzilla, a 2 kg monster that sells for S$350. But if you’re so inclined, there’s curry chicken rice at S$20 too.

Part of the price goes to the pedigree of MOC – an Asia’s 50 Best alumnus, and also the bona fide Sri Lankan citizenship of its chef-owner Dharshan Munidasa. His claim to fame is that even with a string of restaurants from the Maldives to Chengdu, he’s able to guarantee sustainably caught, wild crabs and prawns flown in three times a week.

Of course, you do have to take his word for it, since you don’t get to meet any crabs when you step into the tropical surroundings of MOC’s colonial-inspired setting in Dempsey. Maybe because the chefs don’t want them to see the disembodied shells of their relatives lined up above the kitchen according to size. Each of them gets a name, from small and medium to jumbo, colossal and OMG.

We’re highly recommended the 1.2 kg colossal (S$190) by a server who’s not too subtle about pushing anything big and expensive. If we weren’t so distracted by the hanging heliconia at our table trying to attack our ears, we might have saved S$20 on the 1.1 kg jumbo at S$170. But at least he allowed us to order just one giant prawn (S$30) when we promised only one of us would eat it.

In the end, we also ordered half a dozen oysters (S$60), but from someone else less pushy.

At S$10 a pop, the oysters are thoughtfully shelled and presented in a shot glass, with soy sauce and a piquant chilli dip on the side. But plain lemon juice is best at enhancing the mineral tones of the Irish shellfish.

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Surprisingly good and not bank-breaking is the clever crab liver pate (S$25), served caviar style to be spread over squares of toasted pita-like bread. The richness of blended liver gets a nice contrast with smoky kithu treacle, a mellow palm sugar syrup.

There’s also crab chawanmushi (S$15) – a slightly bland, wobbly egg custard filled with crabmeat.

But they’re all bit players waiting for the real stars to make their entrance. First up is the giant prawn, or make that a small prawn with a giant head full of rich coral that oozes into the surrounding pool of melted butter, oil and soy sauce. A side of garlic bread is just the right sponge to soak up the umami mixture, even if it gets cloying after a while.

But that’s nothing compared to the crab done chilli-garlic style – which had no hint of chilli, but enough oil to power the aircon in my hamster’s house – wok-fried with a savoury crumble of garlic and roe. It doesn’t hold a candle to the chilli crab we’re used to, but at the same time, we’ve never had crab so solid that chunks of meat just break off without you having to pry it out. We don’t know what gym routine this critter has, but its flesh practically bursts out of its shell with zero gaps in between.

If the so-called chilli-garlic treatment doesn’t do the crab enough justice, the pure crab version might. But we didn’t have the option as it requires an advance order of six hours so they can steam and chill the whole crab, and then serve it with your choice of dip.

Nonetheless, being good at seafood doesn’t make you good at dessert. Again, we were “persuaded” to order the coconut creme brulee (S$15) with an extra one on the house, which was a nice gesture. It looks pretty in its coconut shell, but that’s as far as its appeal goes. The custard is heavy, and the sugar shell requires not a tap but a hard knock to crack.

We won’t order the Shibuya French toast (S$15) either. That’s just a fancy name for an egg-less, weirdly soggy fat slice of bread covered in sweetened cream and strawberries.

Ministry of Crab is the kind of seafood supplier we wish we had access to. But until we can kidnap their crabs and cook them the Singapore chilli-style, we’ll return just to enjoy the spoils of Munidasa’s catch.

  Rating: 6.5