SEPTEMBER 2019 WORLD’S BEST RESTAURANTS 63
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THE LINE AT FUUNJI IS SERIOUS: It
took me and my son about an hour
to make it from the end of the queue
to a seat at the 15-person counter.
It stretches out the door, breaks to
allow for traffic, and then continues
across the street.
Once you get to the restaurant’s
threshold, you realize that there’s
still a long way to go: The line
extends along the back wall of the
restaurant, meaning that the people
leaning over their food at the counter
have hungry diners right behind
them, willing them to slurp faster.
But that time inside gives you a
chance to watch the show, to observe
the gregarious owner, Miyake-san,
perform his theatrical routine; his
cooking and plating of noodles and
his ladling of soup is a dance. The
wait inside the door will also allow
you time to figure out the ticket ma-
chine, which is how you order and
pay. (You put cash in, punch a button
for your chosen meal and drinks,
and the machine spits out a ticket for
each item, which you then hand to
the staff upon being seated.)
The specialty here is tsukemen,
the thick dipping broth with noodles
on the side. You can ask for a large
or medium serving of noodles—the
cost is no different whether you get
a huge meal or merely a large one.
The noodles are tender and chewy,
the broth (which is made with
chicken and kombu) decadent and
so umami-rich it’s like slurping the
platonic ideal of pure flavor. Though
Miyake-san is known specifically for
his tsukemen, his ramen is awfully
good, too.
There are lots of great noodles
in Tokyo, many long lines that are
worth the wait. But this was the
place my son and I kept reminiscing
about, even weeks after we visited. In
the midst of a particularly expensive
and fancy meal a few days later, my
son said, “This is fine, but Fuunji cost
20 bucks, and I’d so much rather be
eating there.” He’s a wise kid.
FUUNJI
TOKYO, JAPAN
BURNT ENDS
I HAVE TWO MAIN PIECES of advice for
the traveler to Singapore. The first is:
Eat all the chili crab you can possibly
manage. My second: Get a reservation
at Burnt Ends.
In some ways, the six-year-old
Chinatown spot is barely Singapor-
ean at all. It bills itself as a “modern
Australian barbecue restaurant,” the
chef is from Perth, and the staff is
a wildly diverse crew from all over
the globe. But in some respects, this
is representative of Singapore, one
of the most thrillingly international
cities in the world.
That chef, Dave Pynt, designed the
massive brick kiln at the heart of the
operation, and almost everything
in the restaurant is cooked in one of
its ovens or on a custom-built grill.
Smoke and char rule the day, in ways
both expected and surprising.
There are steaks from Australian
producer Blackmore Wagyu, and
SINGAPORE
they’re everything good about the
meeting of meat and flame. But the
most revelatory moments on the
menu are vegetable dishes like long
garlic shoots that are grilled and
served with gremolata, and smoky
fennel served over burrata.
It would be easy to spend a fortune
on steak and wine, but one of the
great things here is the flexibility.
You can also stop by for a beer and
a Burnt Ends Sanger, an immense
pulled pork sandwich that costs
about $15. The service is attentive
but not overly formal, and the crowd
is as international as the city itself,
with locals and visitors striking up
conversations; this restaurant is
rollicking.
The majority of the seating is at a
long counter that faces the kitchen,
which imbues the whole experience
with the sense that you’re eating at
the bar of the world’s greatest mod-
ern pub. An Australian/Singaporean
pub/fine-dining/barbecue restau-
rant? Yes, please.
Smoked wild strawber-
ries and cream at Burnt
Ends.
PHOTOGRAPHY: SIMON PYNT
