Mod-Sin Rising: How are young chefs reshaping both local and global perceptions of Singaporean food

The sheer thought of rethinking Singaporean cuisine requires spectacular bravery, and going through with it suggests remarkable foolishness to most. But Singaporean chef Marcus Leow, a former Magic Square and Naked Finn alumnus, reckons otherwise. At Belimbing, Leow is akin to an architect, taking apart the familiar and rebuilding it.

Take his rojak with grilled firefly squid, for instance. “It reads and looks nothing like traditional rojak, but somehow reminds guests of a familiar flavour profile of Chinese rojak, yet more balanced and more intense at the same time,” Leow explains. Think Argentinian red prawn head caramel replacing the pungent hae gor (prawn paste); grilled firefly squid dusted with squid powder, amplifying the oceanic sweetness; charred kailan, inducing a touch of smoke; and verjus-pickled strawberries for a bright and acidic lift. 

Leow calls it “new-generation Singaporean cuisine”, where he goes a little further by thoughtfully exploring native flavours that are comforting and unmistakably Singaporean, but just not quite the way our grandparents remember it.

Read more: Portraits of a nation: culinary doyenne Violet Oon on why preserving our food heritage matters more than ever

On the other hand, Law Jia Jun represents the intrepid—those who dare to venture into culinary wilderness armed with nothing but curiosity and profound respect. At Province, the young chef, who cut his teeth at award-winning restaurants such as California’s Atelier Crenn, approaches cooking through a philosophical and almost academic lens. “We’re not trying to reimagine local cuisine,” he affirms, doubling down that Singaporean cuisine shouldn’t be defined by just Hainanese chicken rice. “What we’re doing is exploring and discovering what local cuisine is and can be.”

Where most might view ingredients as is, Law sees stories waiting to be told. His courtship with midin, a wild rainforest vegetable that is abundant after heavy rainfall, exemplifies this philosophy. “When I first tasted midin raw, I was struck by its earthy, asparagus-like flavour and snappy, crunchy texture,” he expounds, noting that it could be paired with stronger flavours. 

From experimenting with varying sambals, sauces and vinaigrettes, Law arrived at a winning recipe. By combining belacan powder and calamansi vinaigrette, it fuses elements of umami and earthiness to complement the midin, which is pickled for texture and grilled for smoke. It is paired with aged coral trout, pamapa itum (burnt coconut) sauce and kaffir lime leaf foam to showcase Law’s exploration at its most refined.

“We sometimes expect a cuisine to arrive fully formed: packaged, defined, complete. But a cuisine is a living, evolving thing that both shapes and is shaped by people. That’s how I see the work we do at Province,” he reflects. “Not as the final word on anything, but as part of a longer, open-ended process.”

In case you missed it: Province restaurant is chef Law Jia-Jun’s love letter to Southeast Asia

If the explorers and architects represent the boundary pushers of the new mod-Sin chapter, then the reinventors occupy the emotionally charged territory of Singapore’s hawker culture. “I want people to see that Singaporean flavours deserve to be taken seriously, not just as hawker food or cheap eats,” declares Sujatha Asokan. At Quenino, the young chef de cuisine draws on her Chinese and Indian heritage to plate up what she calls “fun dining”. She shares, “For me, reimagining isn’t about making something fancy just because you can, or slapping some flowers on it and calling it modern.”

Take her 16-element octopus salad, ironically born from the team’s shared disdain for the traditional cuttlefish and kangkong (water spinach), as a testament to this philosophy. “Everything starts with flavour and memory at Quenino,” says Asokan. This now crowd-pleaser sees succulent, meaty octopus replacing rubbery cuttlefish; creamy macadamias instead of loose ground nuts; and limp kangkong exchanged for a locally grown bouquet of ulam raja (wild cosmos), pea tendrils, sweet potato leaves and borage flowers. More than just ingredient substitution, this dish defines how one honours the soul of a dish while completely reimagining its physical form. 

Meanwhile, Seth Lai, formerly of the now-defunct one-Michelin-starred 28 Wilkie restaurant, flipped the switch from serving European to contemporary Asian and Japanese cuisine since taking the helm as chef-owner of Ce Soir. Taking hawker classics to the upper echelons of fine dining, his five-grain porridge course represents what happens when childhood nostalgia and sophisticated culinary techniques intersect at precisely the right temperature and pressure.

Drawing inspiration from a bowl of fried porridge, Lai simmers the five grains in lobster butter and stock, then finishes the mix in a Japanese donabe claypot to induce that inimitable wok hei. The comforting dish is accompanied by tender grilled South African abalone, crispy Sakura ebi, and refreshing pickled cucumbers. More than just contributing textures, each grain (a mix of red and brown rice, barley, spelt and corn) carries a symbolic nod to prosperity and creates what Lai calls “a taste of home but with a refined twist”.

In a world filled with big cuisines, both Asokan and Lai believe that Singapore’s cuisine, with its depth and complexity, could stand shoulder to shoulder with these giants. “More chefs are digging into their heritage, taking risks, pushing the boundaries, and creating dishes that feel true to them,” Asokan expounds. “Not fusion for the sake of it. Not modern for the sake of it. Just food that’s bold, honest, and ours.”

In case you missed it: Willin Low on the inspiration behind Pastaro, his newest Mod Sin pasta restaurant in Chancery Court

“Many Singaporean chefs have already introduced mod-Sin flavours abroad, and hopefully, that continues to open doors for an international audience to want to visit Singapore to eat,” Low says. “As long as people discover Singapore flavours and are intrigued and want to taste more, I am happy.”

As Singapore celebrates its diamond jubilee, the spotlight on these young chefs reinforces the sentiment that fervent foodies aren’t content with just domestic recognition. Moving beyond the cheap eats stereotype towards spoonfuls worthy of international acclaim, these budding beacons are actively reshaping how the world perceives Singaporean cuisine. As Leow observes, “Our Asian neighbours, including Thailand and Korea, have produced stellar restaurants driven by innovating their native cuisine. I hope Singapore and their diners will have wider acceptance for what we want to do.”

The ambition extends beyond individual restaurants. From greater support for local producers to raising awareness about indigenous ingredients and techniques through education, the advocacy for systemic change cannot be ignored. Law envisions “more people feeling inspired to ask questions, to experiment, to share their memories and stories”, creating a cuisine that grows “not from a single voice, but through collective curiosity and dialogue”.

Redefining what it means to be Singaporean in the kitchen, these chefs are also cultural ambassadors, encapsulating the notion that the country’s culinary identity is no longer about proving itself, but rather more about leading the conversation. Cooking for posterity, Lai asks, “If it’s not us, who else, right?”

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