Lucas

We’re not quite sure who Lucas is, but we’re betting that he has something of a split-personality disorder. Why do we say this? Because on a recent visit things were more uneven than Jim Carrey in Me, Myself and Irene. The first thing that hits you in this smallish mod space (part of the crazy-cool Klapson’s hotel) is the hip décor complete with a lighting fixture that seems to be comprised of silver molars. The tables though, were draped in burgundy tablecloths that would be more at home at a 50th anniversary party than in a chic eatery. Sadly, they were also stained. While it was clear that the staff was trying really, really hard to be attentive and professional, everything felt a bit forced and bumbling. We were given yummy complimentary cocktails when we sat down—a classy touch. Yet the bar blender for drinks was so loud that we had to stop speaking whilst it was whirring. Upon getting our cocktails, we asked to enjoy them awhile before ordering, but we practically had to karate chop the eager waiter several times. This would all have been OK if the food worked but, it too, was also hit-and-miss. The cream of mushroom soup was full of divinely rich shroomy flavor, but it was served a bit cool and in such a small portion that it seemed like the chef forgot to put the second scoop in the bowl. The crabmeat Caesar salad on the other hand, was plentiful with a perfectly made dressing. For the mains, my dining companion exclaimed that the Dijon and pistachio crusted lamb chop was possibly the best she’d had in Singapore. Yet, not only was the blackened tuna not blackened, the cooking was uneven. The texture was tough even though it was still raw in the middle. Things smoothed out a bit at dessert with a wonderful mouse that balanced dark chocolate’s tendency toward bitter with luscious creamy overtones. Overall this is a restaurant that’s trying really hard—and maybe that’s the problem. Perhaps Lucas should just lighten up a little—take off the burgundy tablecloths, let its staff relax and serve more casual food. If the space was converted to a bistro-bar, it would indeed be a very cool place in which to hang—and no one would even notice the blaring blender.