Though the gustatory notions of Cook-It-Yourself eateries have been debated greatly between culinary academics and MasterChef Juniors alike, the savoury analogue of such poorly critiqued establishments is simply a matter of cultural tastebuds. We East Asians certainly have it good with our hot pot delicacies, but lately a sense of sed non satiata rumbled in my connoisseur tummy, and I yearned for a contemporary update to this traditional mechanic of cooking.
A bright saviour to this predicament revealed itself upon my vision — 'twas 7-Eleven in all its conveniently eclectic glory.
Unlike the noteworthy horizontal arrangements of any orthodox restaurants, 7-Eleven pushes you past comfort zones by presenting a generous array of pre-packed platters, all displayed with the subtlety of a mountain as it awaited my shaking hands. Perfectly ordered by way of meal sizes, the bold display sat cold in refrigeration, sadly lacking olfactory aesthetics. However so, the packages arrived ready with ambrosial visuals that would have made any epicurean salivate in anticipation.
Taking a leisurely pace, I curated a sample of dishes that would form my dinner and carried it to the counter. Noticing a lack of cooking utensils or any kitchens for that matter, I asked the maître d' behind the counter to kindly direct me to their hidden churrasqueira or perhaps their shichirin for me to whip up my purchased choice platters. I very nearly dropped my satin-lined wallet when the befuddled lady simply pointed me to a microwave oven at the corner of the establishment. This humble appliance is where these delicacies can be concocted? Mind-boggling! My friends, we have truly arrived in the future.
I brought the microwaved platters to my dinner table, wafting heavily with furious steam and saporous aroma. As appetisers, I picked 7-Eleven's gourmet sandwiches — the Cheesy Beef with Black Pepper Mushroom Sauce ($2.80) and the Black Pepper Chicken Club ($3.20).
Biting into this eloquently crafted burger sincerely brought tears to my eyes; half induced by its joyous taste and half induced by the supreme burns in my mouth. The chemistry between the Italian button mushrooms, melted Swiss cheese and the luscious juices of the beef patty was simply of the highest order. The well-bred oxen that was sacrificed for this meal would have been honoured to know that its meat was utilised for this perfection. Oh fungi, thou hath bestowed upon my humble hands a great starter!
Thus it was to my utmost dismay that the club sandwich that trailed behind in my oesophagus was fell short of the taste preceded by it's lofty cousin. Even with the seasoned, almost jaded palate of a cheap gourmand, this was a worse meal than the time when a wayward Taiwanese vagrant tricked me into consuming 'true' stinky tofu that was actually fermented for a year in rodent discharge. Soggy bread, miserly chicken filling and non-existent sauce — this was an affront to John Montagu, fourth Earl of Sandwich. Not a great start to the meal, 7-Eleven.
Growing doubtful about the chef de cuisine behind these platters, I hesitantly bit into the the first main: Soya Sauce Chicken Rice ($3.90). Instantly, all my fears were crushed by a sledgehammer of flavour. Delicate with its shy sting of brine, the elegantly braised chicken oozes an orchestral signature of honeyed horizons, with influences of Shandong-styled seasoning lurking at the back.
The broth was bountiful and heavy, and made an extremely robust combination with the rustic chicken rice. As if the elements weren't aligned perfectly enough, the rice was garnished righteously with two carrot slices, adding a minor beta-carotene melee to the dish. With a dash of the thoughtfully provided chili-ginger sambal, the dish was downright golden.
A break to the proceedings were in order to rest my palate from that full-bodied meal. As a precursor to the next main, I opened up the Hanjuku Eggs ($2.30)
どのような一日！素敵な何日！彼らはどのようにビニール袋で無傷の風味豊かな芸術のこれらの二つの旋回部分を維持するために管理したのですか？特定のハイライトは、卵黄だった - 彼らはJAPONAISE醤油の酸っぱいドラマで完璧bedwettersました。ソース自体はあなたのvaginの食欲に飽和味のviolentのthrustです。
It delivered a great Kanagawa wave of pleasure to my senses, and gets a clear recommendation of purchase from me.
On to the next meal, the Chicken Carbonara with Penne Pasta ($3.90). This one took me by complete surprise — not only is this a faithful reproduction of a Roman classic, it dramatically approached the genre of carbonara pasta with the extravagance of a Renaissance architect. There were generous shreds of chicken, polygonal slices of chicken ham, chunks of free-range mushrooms on top of the already robust carbonara sauce and penne. It's just difficult to comprehend how they managed to keep the dish to an affordable expense.
This could have easily be served in Michelin-starred ristorantes, I thought as I bit into the chunks of meat and pasta. The creamy texture was undying in its milky Nirvana, confronting your tastebuds with the question "are we men, or are we dancers?". The penne teetered close to being al dante, but then again, nothing in this world can be perfect.
Then it was time for dessert, but as the 7-Eleven Selects only proffered the savoury, I had picked out the next best thing: Curry Fish Balls ($2.20). They resembled closely to handmade ice cream I guess.
Unfortunately, the meal had to end on a sullied note, as the curry failed to elicit any emotional response from my discerning culinary abilities. The fishball tasted like the processed meat it was, and the curry lacked the finesse or crescendo of its Southeast Asian origins. Mediocre!
Do I miss the high-octane adrenaline rush of cooking everything by hand, getting close enough to the flames to feel the heat dance on my face and hear my sweat sizzling on the pan? Yes, I dare say I do. But the other part of me rejoices over the spirit of hasty expedience that 7-Eleven provides in their practical yet piquant platters, which have certainly served the masses comfortably over the past decades. No, we shouldn't cast aside 7-Eleven as yet another brick in the culinary wall — give their offerings a chance, and chance may just offer upon you.
Photos: Ilyas Sholihyn
Though the gustatory notions of Cook-It-Yourself eateries have been debated greatly between culinary academics and MasterChef Juniors alike, the savoury analogue of such poorly critiqued establishments is simply a matter of cultural tastebuds. We East Asians certainly have it good with our hot pot delicacies, but lately a sense of sed non satiata rumbled in my connoisseur tummy, and I yearned for a contemporary update to this traditional mechanic of cooking.
A bright saviour to this predicament revealed itself upon my vision — 'twas 7-Eleven in all its conveniently eclectic glory.
Unlike the noteworthy horizontal arrangements of any orthodox restaurants, 7-Eleven pushes you past comfort zones by presenting a generous array of pre-packed platters, all displayed with the subtlety of a mountain as it awaited my shaking hands. Perfectly ordered by way of meal sizes, the bold display sat cold in refrigeration, sadly lacking olfactory aesthetics. However so, the packages arrived ready with ambrosial visuals that would have made any epicurean salivate in anticipation.
Taking a leisurely pace, I curated a sample of dishes that would form my dinner and carried it to the counter. Noticing a lack of cooking utensils or any kitchens for that matter, I asked the maître d' behind the counter to kindly direct me to their hidden churrasqueira or perhaps their shichirin for me to whip up my purchased choice platters. I very nearly dropped my satin-lined wallet when the befuddled lady simply pointed me to a microwave oven at the corner of the establishment. This humble appliance is where these delicacies can be concocted? Mind-boggling! My friends, we have truly arrived in the future.
I brought the microwaved platters to my dinner table, wafting heavily with furious steam and saporous aroma. As appetisers, I picked 7-Eleven's gourmet sandwiches — the Cheesy Beef with Black Pepper Mushroom Sauce ($2.80) and the Black Pepper Chicken Club ($3.20).
Biting into this eloquently crafted burger sincerely brought tears to my eyes; half induced by its joyous taste and half induced by the supreme burns in my mouth. The chemistry between the Italian button mushrooms, melted Swiss cheese and the luscious juices of the beef patty was simply of the highest order. The well-bred oxen that was sacrificed for this meal would have been honoured to know that its meat was utilised for this perfection. Oh fungi, thou hath bestowed upon my humble hands a great starter!
Thus it was to my utmost dismay that the club sandwich that trailed behind in my oesophagus was fell short of the taste preceded by it's lofty cousin. Even with the seasoned, almost jaded palate of a cheap gourmand, this was a worse meal than the time when a wayward Taiwanese vagrant tricked me into consuming 'true' stinky tofu that was actually fermented for a year in rodent discharge. Soggy bread, miserly chicken filling and non-existent sauce — this was an affront to John Montagu, fourth Earl of Sandwich. Not a great start to the meal, 7-Eleven.
Growing doubtful about the chef de cuisine behind these platters, I hesitantly bit into the the first main: Soya Sauce Chicken Rice ($3.90). Instantly, all my fears were crushed by a sledgehammer of flavour. Delicate with its shy sting of brine, the elegantly braised chicken oozes an orchestral signature of honeyed horizons, with influences of Shandong-styled seasoning lurking at the back.
The broth was bountiful and heavy, and made an extremely robust combination with the rustic chicken rice. As if the elements weren't aligned perfectly enough, the rice was garnished righteously with two carrot slices, adding a minor beta-carotene melee to the dish. With a dash of the thoughtfully provided chili-ginger sambal, the dish was downright golden.
A break to the proceedings were in order to rest my palate from that full-bodied meal. As a precursor to the next main, I opened up the Hanjuku Eggs ($2.30)
どのような一日！素敵な何日！彼らはどのようにビニール袋で無傷の風味豊かな芸術のこれらの二つの旋回部分を維持するために管理したのですか？特定のハイライトは、卵黄だった - 彼らはJAPONAISE醤油の酸っぱいドラマで完璧bedwettersました。ソース自体はあなたのvaginの食欲に飽和味のviolentのthrustです。
It delivered a great Kanagawa wave of pleasure to my senses, and gets a clear recommendation of purchase from me.
On to the next meal, the Chicken Carbonara with Penne Pasta ($3.90). This one took me by complete surprise — not only is this a faithful reproduction of a Roman classic, it dramatically approached the genre of carbonara pasta with the extravagance of a Renaissance architect. There were generous shreds of chicken, polygonal slices of chicken ham, chunks of free-range mushrooms on top of the already robust carbonara sauce and penne. It's just difficult to comprehend how they managed to keep the dish to an affordable expense.
This could have easily be served in Michelin-starred ristorantes, I thought as I bit into the chunks of meat and pasta. The creamy texture was undying in its milky Nirvana, confronting your tastebuds with the question "are we men, or are we dancers?". The penne teetered close to being al dante, but then again, nothing in this world can be perfect.
Then it was time for dessert, but as the 7-Eleven Selects only proffered the savoury, I had picked out the next best thing: Curry Fish Balls ($2.20). They resembled closely to handmade ice cream I guess.
Unfortunately, the meal had to end on a sullied note, as the curry failed to elicit any emotional response from my discerning culinary abilities. The fishball tasted like the processed meat it was, and the curry lacked the finesse or crescendo of its Southeast Asian origins. Mediocre!
Do I miss the high-octane adrenaline rush of cooking everything by hand, getting close enough to the flames to feel the heat dance on my face and hear my sweat sizzling on the pan? Yes, I dare say I do. But the other part of me rejoices over the spirit of hasty expedience that 7-Eleven provides in their practical yet piquant platters, which have certainly served the masses comfortably over the past decades. No, we shouldn't cast aside 7-Eleven as yet another brick in the culinary wall — give their offerings a chance, and chance may just offer upon you.
Photos: Ilyas Sholihyn