I’m standing in a cellar, surrounded by some 3,000 bottles of wine. It’s cold. Wooden crates lie open atop wooden shelves. The only thing tempering with this climate-controlled space are the spotlights casting sharp pools of light from above, illuminating thin layers of dust covering the wine bottle labels. Gravel crunches beneath my soles—tiny stones that swallow humidity and absorb vibrations. I suspect it’s the reason why the air feels drier in here.
Just outside the exit of this cellar resides Ma Cuisine, the first gastro wine bar in Singapore to receive a Michelin star. Anthony Charmetant, co-founder of the establishment, had joined me for a meal prior. Throughout dinner, he offered insights into the restaurant’s philosophy, stories from his professional (and very interesting personal) life, and a passionate commentary on Ma Cuisine’s impeccable sourcing. He also guided the wine pairing as a bottle of red Camille and Guillaume Boillot from Meursault accompanied us for dinner.
Before leaving to tuck his kid into bed, he urged me to visit the cellar. He would know—his decades-long ties with France’s most respected (and emerging) winemakers built this collection. A thousand different brands form the bedrock of one of Singapore’s most extensive collections of wine.
Truth is, I came for the food. The highly coveted star that they’ve managed to hold for seven consecutive years lured me in. But by the end of the evening, it was the wine. It's nuance, its ability to reshape flavour, that ultimately challenged how I thought about food. It expanded my sense of what’s possible in a pairing.
We began with an egg. L’Œuf en Gelée Vichyssoise—soft-boiled, suspended in spring pot-au-feu jelly, nestled in a cold leek and potato soup. Flecks of ham, herbs and flowers shimmered inside the gelatinous aspic. Before I even took a bite, Anthony launched into a small monologue about the importance of ingredients at Ma Cuisine. The eggs, he said, are air-flown from Japan—“not shipped to preserve freshness and flavour!”. This dish felt like an ode to that precious egg. When I cut through the oval-like form, the egg yolk, bright and viscous, spilled out into the chilled leek and potato soup, deepening the broth with richness.
And then came the wine, Camille and Guillaume Boillot. Its effervescent acidity sliced through the creaminess, lifting the dish and balancing its fatty depth with a lively snap.
Next, the Navarin d'Ormeau Printanier—confit abalone with spring vegetables in a white wine sauce. The chefs gently lower the abalones from Jeju Island into a bath of salted butter. They're soaked for four hours until they achieve a snap reminiscent of mushrooms—firm with a polite give. On the plate, the chefs lay the vegetables in elegant disarray: peas, fava beans, asparagus, baby onions.
Each combination of abalone and vegetable felt like an adventure that offered a different flavour register: earthy, sweet, herbaceous. Yet, the dish never stretches itself too far. It all ties together with a white wine sauce finished with refined fish stock and mussel jus—bringing subtle, consistent hits of cream, pepper and brine.
A sip of wine introduced a smoky undertone that invaded the dish, while the wine itself evolved—a livelier, more acidic taste that puckers on the tongue. Interestingly, the butter became more pronounced after each taste, lingering softly on the palate as we moved towards...
The baby lamb, L’Agneau de Lait Vichy. Flown all the way from the Pyrenees, baby lambs—raised on a mountain range somewhere between Spain and France—are fed solely on their mother’s milk. The result is a texture and flavour that feels almost otherworldly, as though the fat and flesh have melded into something entirely new. The flavours are delicate, almost restrained, as the gaminess only revealed itself at the back of my tongue. A parsley-garlic crust added green clarity to the dish, while a thick, 16-hour jus, rich as molasses, draped over the lamb lollipops, adding umami depth to the lamb’s gentle sweetness.
The wine here sliced the richness between bites with its brightness to refresh the palate without overwhelming the lamb’s nuanced character. Towards your last bite, a house-made broth of meat, vegetables and fresh ginger arrives, comfortingly resetting the palate and ushering in the finale.
Dessert was La Millefeuille à la Fraise, a flirtation of strawberries and elderflower sandwiched twice over between layers of crispy, caramelised puff pastries. It’s gently sweetened and kissed by the floral ingredients. A delicate end to Ma Cuisine’s refined take on traditional French cooking.
By the time you’ve emptied your plates at Ma Cuisine, what you’re left with isn’t just a full belly. You’ve been led through a silently choreographed experience that honours the provenance of its ingredients, the chemistry of pairings, and the stories of those who pour their lives into what you eat and drink. I came with curiosity and left with a palate slightly rearranged. Not a conversion, exactly, but a kind of opening like a cork easing out of a bottle. Quiet, gentle, irrevocable.
Ma Cuisine is located at 38 Craig Rd, Singapore 089676
