farm

we grow vegetables.

our farm is 600 metres above sea level, surrounded by a pristine highland forest, enveloped by monkey calls and birdsong all year.

we specialise in growing vegetables, herbs and edible flowers for chefs in the city. we are good at it. our produce is certified organic, 100% soil-grown, entirely cultivated by hand, and delicious.

chefs love them.

we practice regenerative agriculture. this means we cultivate with one eye on our crops and the other on environmental sustainability. this is why everything we do is driven at improving the health of our soil.

soil is life.

healthy soil smells musky yet sweet. that’s the perfume of the sub-soil ecosystem without which there can be no life. it’s the food and song by which we live. it’s the great connector, both the source and destination of all.

it’s everything.

we are so obsessed by soil we often don’t think of ourselves as vegetable growers at all.

we grow soil.

cuisine

we also cook.

about 4/5 of the vegetables used in our restaurant are grown at the farm. for ingredients that we don’t grow, we support local producers whenever we can.

our cuisine is hard to describe. we draw inspiration from the world over and apply techniques ranging from folk cooking to fine dining. the result is food that’s sophisticated yet oddly familiar.

take this wonderful french bean dish that we serve. it not only features french beans but also selom leaves. but the real star in here is the claret-coloured dressing made of rose petals pickled in red wine vinegar and cincalok…

yes, cincalok – fermented rice and shrimps – the peranakan classic.

it’s a surprising combination – one that embraces modernity and tradition simultaneously. we like the juxtaposition of seemingly disparate elements in our identity. you could say our cuisine resides along the same historical continuum as our country – a melting pot of local and global, past and present, all at the same time.

many adjectives have been used to describe what we do. clean. fresh. subtle. creative. but the only word that matters is ‘delicious’.

we do what we do.

spaces

like our food, our architecture appears simple, circumscribed by nothing more remarkable than common brick, wood and steel.

yet, look carefully.

a pattern emerges. a suspended wooden bench; racks made with rebar; flippable tables that transform the room; book-lined shelves that are portals to the world. these and more – they belie a coherent intention, a puritanical worship of form and function, lines and angles.

some call it ‘modern rustic’.

perhaps. but that’s not how we think of it. to us, it is simply sensible design.

a breeze rises.

the light softens. curtains begin to dance as evening shadows grow. it is now that lovelorn rumi emerges from his quaker silence. it is now that spirits start to play and the quiet contemplation of our spaces makes complete sense.

you see, we are many things at once. a farm. a restaurant. a retreat. a community. an idea. a painting. a memory. a stage. a film. a song, even.

a life.