Craft Beyond Cuisine

The ancient Greeks had a word for it: symposium. A gathering where food, wine and conversation became vessels for the exchange of ideas, culture and companionship. More than two millennia later, very little has changed. The finest restaurants are rarely remembered simply because they serve exceptional food. They endure because they become part of our own stories, where friendships deepen, milestones are celebrated and memories quietly gather around a shared table.

Perhaps nowhere is this more evident than in Singapore, where one of the most common greetings remains, “Have you eaten?” In a city blessed with extraordinary culinary diversity, we are admittedly spoilt. One evening may unfold beneath the glow of an intimate omakase counter, the next over beautifully aged beef, before ending the week with a humble bowl of laksa perfected through decades of repetition. Great food has never belonged exclusively to fine dining. It belongs wherever passion, discipline and honesty come together.


Perhaps this is why I have always found myself drawing parallels between gastronomy and watchmaking. At first glance they could not be more different. One disappears with the final bite, while the other is built to accompany generations. Yet beneath the surface they share the same pursuit. Both are shaped by human hands, patience and countless invisible decisions that few ever notice. Much like Philippe Dufour’s Simplicity, the greatest expressions of craft often appear effortless precisely because so much has been refined away. What we ultimately admire is seldom the object itself, but the philosophy and people behind its creation.

Every discipline eventually finds those who redefine its own possibilities. Tennis has Jannik Sinner, whose seemingly effortless precision is built upon thousands of invisible hours. Marathon running has Eliud Kipchoge, who transformed what many believed to be the limits of human endurance. Formula One has long celebrated drivers whose pursuit of perfection extended far beyond raw speed. They are remembered not simply because they won, but because they quietly elevated the standard for everyone around them. Great restaurants aspire to much the same ideal. Not through louder flavours or greater extravagance, but through an unwavering devotion to craft that reveals itself over years rather than months.

It was with these thoughts that I arrived at LIORA.



Where Every Journey Begins

LIORA, a new contemporary dining restaurant in Clark Quay, Singapore.

Before a single course reached the table, there was already the unmistakable feeling that this was never intended to be another exercise in fine dining theatre. Instead, it felt like the culmination of countless journeys, experiences and philosophies brought together by Chef Kenny and his team. What stayed with me was never simply the food itself, remarkable though it was, but the process behind it. The quiet rhythm of the kitchen, the seamless choreography between the front and back of house, and the countless small decisions that most diners would never notice revealed the passion that defines LIORA.

I arrived a little before sunset, wanting to experience LIORA in the brief transition between day and evening, when a restaurant quietly settles into its own rhythm. From the outside, its earthy red clay façade immediately caught my attention. Contemporary in its architecture yet restrained in character, it reminded me, perhaps unexpectedly, of the red clay courts of Roland-Garros, where years of discipline quietly unfold beneath an understated surface.

Author arriving at the restaurant before sunset.

A quick glance at the Hitori Nexus Hanaasagi Blue on my wrist confirmed I had arrived exactly as intended. Passing through the elegant arched porte-fenêtre, I was met by an entirely different warmth. Before the evening service had fully begun, the dining room felt calm and almost intimate. Soft shades of terracotta, natural oak, beige and warm brown gave the space a comforting sense of balance, while the genuine welcome from the team immediately made my partner and I feel at home.

Yet the true heart of LIORA revealed itself just beyond the dining room. Hovering above was a sculptural canopy of flowing crimson fabric, its layered folds recalling the enlarged floral compositions of Georgia O’Keeffe, enveloping the room in an unexpected warmth. Framed beneath it, the brilliantly lit open kitchen became the natural focal point of the space, where every movement of the chefs carried a quiet sense of purpose. It no longer felt like a kitchen at all, but a theatre of craftsmanship, where every philosophy, every hour of preparation and every invisible decision would soon find its expression on the plate. Long before the first course arrived, the evening had already begun.

The interiors are such a mood. Just look at those seatings and lightings.

No matter how many restaurants one has visited or tasting menus one has experienced over the years, there is always a quiet sense of anticipation before the first course arrives. Every restaurant carries its own rhythm, its own philosophy and its own way of welcoming guests into its world. From the moment we settled into our seats at LIORA, I had the feeling that this would be an evening unlike the many that had come before.


Our table was thoughtfully positioned beside the open kitchen, yet discreetly tucked into a corner that offered a welcomed sense of privacy. It was perhaps the ideal vantage point, close enough to observe the quiet choreography between the chefs and the service team, while still allowing the evening to unfold at an unhurried pace. Before long, we were introduced to the menu and gently guided through the journey that awaited us.

To begin, we chose two of LIORA’s signature cocktails. The first was their interpretation of an Old Fashioned, where rich Japanese whisky was unexpectedly paired with white kimchi, lending savoury umami, gentle fermented acidity and a remarkably clean finish. The second, aptly named the Yojito, reimagined the classic Mojito through the addition of fragrant perilla, resulting in something brighter, more herbaceous and distinctly refreshing. They were not simply drinks to accompany dinner, but the opening notes of the experience, thoughtfully setting the tone for everything that would follow.

Got my seat and straight to the menu.

Korean Flavours, Reimagined

As we sipped our cocktails and studied the evening’s menu, I found myself imagining the journey each dish had taken long before it reached our table. Every course begins as an idea before becoming countless hours of preparation, refinement and quiet experimentation. Recipes are revisited, flavours adjusted, techniques questioned and repeated until the final expression feels exactly as it should. By the time it reaches the diner, all that remains visible is the finished plate, while everything that made it possible quietly disappears into the background.

The “Yojito” looks refreshing.

Literally a white kimchi in my Old Fashion.

Perhaps that is why I have always found gastronomy and watchmaking to be such natural companions. What captivates me has never been the object alone, but the invisible process behind it. The patience of the maker, the precision of the hands and the countless decisions that few will ever notice. As collectors, we often find ourselves fascinated by these details, sometimes to an almost obsessive degree, because we understand that craftsmanship is rarely measured by what is immediately seen.

In many ways, both pursuits are ultimately about creating memories. A beautifully made watch accompanies us through the chapters of our lives, while a memorable meal lingers in a different way, recalled through conversation, emotion and the people with whom it was shared. Long after the final course has been cleared and the watch has stopped ticking for the day, it is often these quiet moments that remain with us the longest.

The Westholme Wagyu before going into its firewood grill.

My partner’s watch of the day, the Yema Radiance.

As we lingered over the final notes of our cocktails, one of the sous chefs emerged from the open kitchen carrying a tray upon which rested a beautifully marbled slab of Westholme Wagyu. Before a single bite was served, he paused to introduce the next chapter of the evening. This was the hanger steak, he explained, a cut from the upper belly chosen not for extravagance but for its depth of flavour and character, exactly as Chef Kenny had intended.

It was a small but memorable moment. In many restaurants, ingredients simply appear on the plate. At LIORA, they are first given an introduction, allowing diners to appreciate not only what they are about to eat, but also the thought that led it there. When he finally asked how we would like it prepared, the answer was an easy one.

Medium rare.

The show has begun. Chefs at work.

The “Mulhwae” and the “Yukhoe”

The evening began with a quartet of small plates that immediately revealed LIORA’s philosophy. Rather than simply blending Korean flavours with contemporary techniques, each course reflected the collective experience of a kitchen assembled from remarkably diverse culinary backgrounds, unified by a singular vision under Chef Kenny. The progression itself felt deliberate. The seasonal Mulhwae opened the evening with remarkable freshness, setting a gentle rhythm before the Yukhoe Tartlet and warm brioche gradually introduced greater richness and depth. Every plate arrived with quiet confidence, each thoughtfully composed and beautifully restrained, allowing the ingredients rather than unnecessary embellishment to take centre stage.

Brioche with LIORA stamped

LIORA’s patissier Camille working on the Brioche.

Then came perhaps the most unexpected dish of the evening.

Simply titled Chicken Nuggets, the name alone was enough to raise an eyebrow. When the plate arrived, I couldn’t help but smile. At first glance, they resembled an oversized version of something almost everyone had grown up eating. It was playful, familiar and intentionally disarming. Yet instinctively, I knew this kitchen had no interest in serving nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake.

The “Chicken Nuggets” is more than meets the eye.

The first bite confirmed exactly that. The crisp exterior gave way to an unmistakably hand-crafted filling that bore little resemblance to its fast-food namesake. It was comforting yet refined, familiar yet entirely new. More importantly, it reminded me that craftsmanship often reveals itself only after closer inspection.

The thought brought me back to watchmaking. Some of the most extraordinary watches ever created possess an almost deceptive simplicity. A Rexhep Rexhepi, an A. Lange & Söhne or a Naoya Hida may appear understated from a distance, yet reveal astonishing depth the moment they are handled. The Chicken Nuggets embodied that very same philosophy. Beyond their playful appearance lay countless hours of experimentation, refinement and restraint, quietly reminding us that the finest expressions of craft are often those that ask the least attention of themselves.

Naoya Hida’s Type 1D-3 (Source: Hodinkee)

A Primitivo for the night.

Between the starters, I ordered a glass of LIORA’s house red, a beautifully expressive Primitivo from Puglia in southern Italy. Rich with dark fruit, gentle spice and just enough structure, it quietly tied the courses together, proving once again that the right wine rarely competes with the food. Instead, it completes the conversation.

Perhaps it is no different from choosing the right strap or bracelet for a watch. Neither exists to draw attention to itself, yet both have the ability to transform the experience entirely. A thoughtful pairing introduces harmony, allowing every element to feel considered rather than coincidental.

As the evening unfolded, I found myself noticing these small moments almost unconsciously. The fine polished surfaces of the Hitori Nexus bracelet caught the warm ambient light each time I reached for my glass, while across the table my partner’s gold mesh bracelet on her YEMA Radiance shimmered just as softly. Between each sip of wine and every course, those quiet reflections became part of the evening itself. They were subtle details, easily overlooked, yet somehow inseparable from the memories we were creating around the table.



Chef-Driven Flavours


With the opening snacks behind us, the evening naturally transitioned into the Small Plates. It reminded me of a DJ carefully building a set, where each track raises the energy just enough without ever rushing towards the climax. A thoughtfully curated tasting menu shares much of that same discipline. Every course exists not only on its own merits, but also for how it prepares you for what comes next.

The first to arrive was the King Crab Egg Custard, presented inside an elegant egg-shaped ceramic vessel. Delicate yet deeply savoury, it was followed by LIORA’s interpretation of hummus paired with warm charcoal-grilled pita. The creamy Levantine dip found the perfect companion in bread that had been gently blistered over the grill, carrying just enough smokiness to enhance rather than overpower its flavour.

“King Crab Egg Custard”

What fascinated me most, however, was watching Sous Chef Aiken at work. Throughout the evening he remained quietly stationed at the charcoal grill, tending to every piece of bread and every cut of meat with remarkable composure. There is a certain rhythm to cooking over fire that cannot be hurried. Temperatures shift by the second, charcoal must be constantly managed, and every decision influences the final result. Curious, I eventually found myself leaving the table to watch him in action. Seeing him carefully rearrange the charcoal, judge the heat with experience rather than instruments, and instinctively know when each ingredient was ready made me appreciate that what appeared effortless was, in reality, the result of countless hours of practice.

That appreciation deepened further with the final small plate simply titled Burnt Onion.

The “Burnt Onion” harks back Chef’s Kenny background.

The Michelin-starred restaurant Burnt Ends. (Source: Coconuts Singapore)

At first glance, it seemed almost disarmingly simple: a whole onion blackened over the fire. Yet the dish carried a significance that felt deeply personal. Chef Kenny’s years at Burnt Ends, Singapore’s celebrated Michelin-starred restaurant renowned for its mastery of Australian-inspired wood-fired cooking, were unmistakably present throughout the evening. The confidence with charcoal, the respect for ingredients and the restraint shown in allowing fire itself to become the seasoning all pointed back to that chapter of his career. It became clear that while LIORA is very much its own restaurant, those formative experiences continue to shape its philosophy.

The onion itself was extraordinary. Beneath its deeply charred exterior lay layer upon layer of remarkable sweetness and tenderness, transformed entirely by the fire. Rich doenjang butter lent savoury depth, while crisp shallot and garlic added texture and gentle fragrance. It was a beautiful reminder that an ingredient so often relegated to supporting roles could, in the right hands, become the star of the plate. Like so much of the evening, it demonstrated that true craftsmanship rarely depends on extravagance, but rather on revealing qualities that were always there, simply waiting to be discovered.

The kitchen knobs’ were turned to maximum pace.

If the earlier courses had carefully built the evening’s rhythm, the main course was where everything came together. It reminded me of watching DJ Craze perform at his peak. After a perfectly paced build-up, this was the moment where years of technique, confidence and instinct revealed themselves in full, not for spectacle, but because every transition beforehand had earned its place.

The Westholme Wagyu we had been introduced to earlier finally arrived at the table. Grilled over charcoal by Sous Chef Aiken and the team, the cube roll possessed exactly the kind of restraint that had become a recurring theme throughout the evening. LIORA was never trying to be a traditional steakhouse, nor was it simply presenting Korean barbecue in a more refined setting. Instead, the dish became a canvas upon which every element of the restaurant’s philosophy quietly converged.

The “Westholme Wagyu“ done in medium rare.

Before we began, we were encouraged to enjoy the beef in the Korean tradition, wrapping each slice in ssam, a crisp lettuce leaf accompanied by an assortment of herbs and condiments. There is something deeply satisfying about ssam. It transforms a meal from a sequence of individual ingredients into a thoughtful composition, where texture, temperature and flavour converge in a single bite. Much like a well-regulated mechanical movement, every component has its purpose, yet none seeks to dominate the others. The beautifully marbled Wagyu carried the unmistakable fragrance of wood fire, while two house-made accompaniments—a vibrant garlic mustard and a perilla-coriander chimichurri—offered contrasting expressions of the same ingredient. One added gentle richness, the other brightness and herbal lift, yet neither ever distracted from the remarkable quality of the beef itself. Instead, each element quietly elevated the whole, allowing every mouthful to feel complete.

Gotta consume the meat in “SSAM” style.

By this point, the evening’s identity had become unmistakably clear. Fire was never used merely to impart smokiness, nor fermentation simply to introduce acidity. Every technique existed with purpose, allowing nostalgic Korean flavours to converse naturally with contemporary craftsmanship. Rather than competing with one another, they found harmony, and that quiet balance, more than any single dish, captured what LIORA is ultimately about.

As the familiar saying goes, there is always room for dessert. Somehow, despite feeling perfectly content after the main course, that proved to be entirely true. Just when we thought the evening had reached its conclusion, LIORA’s patissier Camille presented a quartet of desserts that offered a final glimpse into the restaurant’s thoughtful interpretation of Korean-inspired flavours.

The journey began with a silky makgeolli panna cotta, followed by freshly prepared tteok, before arriving at what would become one of the evening’s highlights: a delicately crafted tofu ice cream, finished with fragrant injeolmi and beautifully charred banana. Completing the experience was a charming raspberry chocolate petit four, a fitting final bite that lingered long after the last sip of wine.

LIORA’s patissier Camille was the closing act for the evening, crafting the “TTEOK” dessert.

What impressed me most was not any single dessert, but how naturally they complemented one another. Each possessed its own distinct character without ever competing for attention, allowing the progression to unfold with the same balance and restraint that had defined the meal from the very beginning. The makgeolli panna cotta offered a light, refreshing elegance, while the tofu ice cream surprised us with its remarkable depth and comforting familiarity. Together, they provided a quietly satisfying conclusion to an evening built upon craftsmanship, hospitality and thoughtful storytelling.

As I sit here writing these reflections, I find my thoughts drifting back to my other enduring passion: collecting mechanical watches. The evening at LIORA made me realise that perhaps the greatest restaurants and the finest watchmakers are not so different after all. Neither asks you to understand everything from the very beginning. Instead, they invite you into a world, revealing their philosophy one thoughtful creation at a time.

“TTEOK”

The Bon Bons and Yema’s Radiance pairing here.

A memorable tasting menu works much like a carefully considered watch collection. Each dish, like each timepiece, expresses a different facet of the same identity. Some are restrained, others more adventurous, yet together they reveal the depth, character and creative confidence of the people behind them. The more time you spend with either, the more you begin to recognise the small details and invisible decisions that quietly define their work.

Perhaps that is why collectors often find themselves returning to the same independent watchmakers. It is rarely about owning every reference, but about wanting to understand the full breadth of their creative language. A first watch becomes an introduction to the brand’s philosophy. The second offers a different perspective. Over time, a collection grows not because something is missing, but because each piece tells another chapter of the same story.

Author with his last dessert.

Leaving LIORA that evening, I realised the meal had achieved something remarkably similar. It wasn’t simply a succession of beautifully executed dishes, but an introduction to Chef Kenny and his team’s way of thinking. More than satisfying our appetites, they had invited us into their world. And like any meaningful collection, once you’ve experienced its essence, you inevitably find yourself curious to discover what the next chapter might hold.



More Than the Final Plate, The Hands Behind LIOkay, now let me spend a little more time on the people behind the restaurant and its fine food.

There is an old saying in watchmaking that a movement is only as good as the hands that assemble it. The same, I suspect, can be said of restaurants. A menu may begin as a chef’s vision, but it only becomes reality through the collective discipline of the people entrusted to bring it to life.



That thought stayed with me as I reflected on the team behind LIORA. Chef Kenny Chung may have shaped the restaurant’s philosophy, but throughout the evening it became increasingly clear that every member of the brigade carried a part of that vision. Together, the team brings decades of experience across Michelin-starred kitchens, luxury hospitality and international culinary competitions, having earned championship titles at Singapore’s DEYTT Competition, the HOFEX Black Box Challenge and YCYW, while also representing Singapore internationally and collaborating with chefs across Japan, Macau and Australia. Yet none of those accolades ever announced themselves. Instead, they quietly revealed themselves through the confidence, restraint and consistency of every plate that left the pass.

One moment left a particularly lasting impression on me. During the evening, I had the opportunity to stand beside the open kitchen and observe the brigade at work. From the dining room it had always felt like the heart of LIORA. Standing beside it, however, I realised it was something more. It was the restaurant’s centre stage.

Behind the scenes at LIORA.

Watching the team move through service was quietly mesmerising. Orders were called with clarity, acknowledgements returned almost instinctively, and every movement carried purpose despite the intensity of the dinner rush. There was no panic, no raised voices and no unnecessary urgency. Instead, there was only composure. Every chef understood precisely where they needed to be, what they were responsible for and how their work connected to everyone around them. It was a level of professionalism that can only be achieved through countless hours working together, where trust gradually replaces hesitation and instinct begins to guide every movement.

It reminded me of the finest independent watchmaking ateliers. One artisan patiently assembles the movement, another finishes bridges by hand, another adjusts tolerances measured in fractions of a millimetre, while yet another performs the final regulation. Individually, each is a master of a particular discipline. Collectively, they bring to life a singular philosophy that ultimately bears only one name on the dial.


Sous Chef Aiken’s quiet mastery of the Wcharcoal fire, Gerome’s measured precision across the kitchen, and Pastry Chef Camille’s elegant conclusion to the evening each reflected a different expression of that philosophy. Equally deserving of recognition were the many chefs, commis and kitchen assistants whose names may never appear on the menu but whose hands shaped every service. Every garnish carefully placed, every sauce patiently reduced, every plate perfectly timed and every course delivered in harmony spoke of a brigade working not as individuals, but as one.

It was only after witnessing that choreography unfold before me that I truly understood what I had been trying to articulate throughout the evening. LIORA was never simply about beautifully executed dishes. It was about the people behind them.

As collectors, we often believe we are drawn to the objects themselves. Yet over time, we realise we are really following the people who create them. We don’t admire Philippe Dufour, Rexhep Rexhepi or Naoya Hida simply because they make beautiful watches. We follow them because every creation becomes another chapter in a philosophy we have come to trust. We become invested not merely in what they have made, but in what they might imagine next.


Perhaps that is why I left LIORA feeling the way I did. Long after I have forgotten the precise sequence of courses or the finer details of every ingredient, I know I will remember Chef Kenny and the remarkable team he has brought together. Their warmth, quiet confidence and unwavering professionalism are what transformed an excellent meal into something far more memorable. They are patiently building a body of work, one season, one service and one guest at a time.

Some things deserve to be made slowly, appreciated attentively and remembered long after the moment has passed. Whether expressed through a beautifully composed dish or a beautifully finished watch, what ultimately endures is never perfection itself, but the character left behind by the hands that created it. Subtle nuances in what each individual brings to the table, or to the workbench, are what ultimately give a creation its soul. Perfection is not absolute uniformity. It is consistency guided by experience, shaped through trust, judgement and countless hours devoted to a craft.


Perhaps that is the highest compliment one can offer any craftsman. Long after the meal has ended and the plates have been cleared away, it is not the food alone that remains with us. It is the people, their philosophy, and the invisible hands that brought it all to life.

Which leaves me with one final question: when will a LIORA Dry Shochu Martini find its way onto the menu?