Jokbal

1

The jokbal (족발) arrives with weight and presence, as if the dish itself were crafted rather than cooked. The skin glistens in deep amber tones, the thin layer of fat pressed gently against the meat, never showy, never stingy. Pick up a slice and it springs back with life. Bite down, and the gelatin clings to your tongue before yielding into a slow, mellow richness. This is not just food — it is patience and fire distilled into tenderness.

The table is already crowded with accompaniments. Kimchi sharp and fiery, garlic with its raw bite, green chili with its clean crunch, and pickled radish bright with sweet acidity. They are the chamber music, the supporting notes, waiting to lift the star into focus. A leaf of lettuce or perilla becomes the stage curtain — wrap the pork inside, take it in one mouthful, and the fresh against the rich, the crisp against the yielding, strike the chord that defines a Korean meal.

Cold noodles sit ready, their chilled strands tangled in a sauce that is at once spicy and sour. On their own they are bracing, but paired with jokbal they become a duet of fire and ice. Nearby, a plain broth waits quietly, the kind that resets the appetite, wipes away the fat, and leaves a soft warmth in its place.

About fifteen minutes in, the manager comes by. Tall, glasses perched neatly, carrying a smile both genuine and restrained. With a small bow he says, almost like a secret: the vegetables can always be replenished. It is a detail so slight you might miss it, but it turns the meal into something more than service — it becomes hospitality.

And yet, for all the dishes, all the flourishes, memory will only hold the jokbal. Each slice is a different composition: skin taut and springy, fat melting on the tongue, lean meat with its firm honesty. Some will argue for the jelly-like cuts that dissolve instantly, others for the parts with tendon and bite. Either way, the chopsticks keep moving, always searching for the next perfect piece.

When it is over, the table is a scatter of empty plates and spent side dishes. The cold noodles gone, the broth finished. What lingers is the image of those shining slices of pork — the true star, never once dimmed.

豬腳（족발 / Jokbal）一端上桌，整盤沉甸甸，像一件工藝品。皮色發亮，透著深琥珀般的光澤，脂肪層薄薄貼在肉上，夾起一片，彈牙，咬下去，膠質立刻黏住舌尖，帶著微微的韌性，隨後散開成溫潤的香氣。

桌面還排滿小菜（반찬）：泡菜的辣，蒜片的辛，青辣椒的脆，還有酸酸甜甜的醃蘿蔔。它們全都在側，像幕間奏鳴曲，等著襯托主角的風采。生菜和紫蘇葉更像是舞台上的布幕，捲起豬腳，一口吞下，清新與厚重交錯。好久沒吃過韓式餐桌的經典味道。

十五分鐘後，經理走了過來。人高高的，帶著眼鏡，眉眼後面藏著一股細緻的禮貌。笑容不吝嗇，卻很真誠。他輕聲問候，提醒我們蔬菜可以隨時加。這樣的細節，讓整個用餐體驗有了溫度。不是單純的服務，這一桌菜不只是吃飽，而是一種款待。

還有冷麵（비빔냉면）。冰涼的麵條纏繞著酸辣的醬汁，單吃爽快，與豬腳同入口，更有妙趣。還有清湯，看似樸素，卻在最後關頭為胃點上一盞溫柔的燈，把油膩抹去，留下一口平衡。

但所有這些安排，仍舊只是陪襯。真正讓人記住的，是那一片片豬腳。皮、脂、肉的三重層次，沒有一口是相同的。有人偏愛入口即化的膠質，有人欣賞筋膜的韌性。整場下來，你會發現自己一再伸筷，永遠覺得下一片，才是最完美的一片。

到最後，桌上滿是凌亂的碟子，心裡卻只留下那一盤晶亮的豬腳。真正的主角，從頭到尾，不曾失去光彩。

2

A hopper looks deceivingly simple, but there’s real craft hidden in it. When it arrives at the table, it’s shaped like a delicate bowl—edges burnished gold and brittle, the center soft and pale, carrying the gentle tang of fermented rice and coconut milk. Bite into the rim and it snaps like a potato chip; move to the middle and it shifts, chewy and cushiony, almost like a steamed rice cake. Two textures, two moods, contained in a single, fragile circle.

The stage for this little performance is Kotuwa’s new home at New Bahru. Once a Chinese school, the site has been reborn into a compound of restaurants and studios. The red-brick walls remain, but step inside and it’s contemporary energy. The bar greets you first, bottles glowing under amber light like lanterns at a Colombo night market. The room isn’t large, but it thrums with a tropical elegance—wooden chairs, woven rattan, dark timber accents—South Asian warmth given Singaporean polish.

Back to the hoppers: they’re not meant to be eaten plain, but to host supporting characters. Crack an egg into the center and suddenly it’s an egg hopper—the whites barely set, yolk molten, begging to be scooped up with shards of crisp edge. Add a spoon of fiery pol sambol, and coconut, chili, and lime ignite across the tongue like fireworks.

At Kotuwa, servers sweep out of the open kitchen with stacks of hoppers fresh off the pan. Steam and fragrance spill across the long table before they even land. With ten of us crowded around, someone always reaches first, aiming for the thinnest, crispest piece.

By the end, you realize the hopper is, in its own way, very Singaporean—open, adaptable, a canvas anyone can make their own. And Kotuwa mirrors that spirit. It’s not simply Sri Lankan food in Singapore; it’s a dialogue between city and flavor, where old brick walls, tropical spice, and shared laughter converge in one meal.

Hoppers（Appam）這東西，看似簡單，其實暗藏玄機。端上桌時，一張像碗一樣的薄餅，邊緣金黃酥脆，中央卻白嫩柔軟，帶著米漿與椰漿發酵過的香氣。那邊緣，咬下去咔嗞一聲，像薯片般脆；中間則像蒸米糕，帶點黏牙卻不膩口。兩種口感同時存在，一張薄薄的圓餅就演了一場對比戲。

而這戲碼的舞台，正是 Kotuwa（Kotuwa）新址的餐廳空間。它位於 New Bahru，一座由舊南僑中學改建的複合場域，紅磚外牆仍在，裡面卻是當代的熱鬧。推門進去，首先見到吧檯，金色光線映照在酒瓶上，像科倫坡夜市的燈火。空間不大，卻有一種精緻的熱帶喧嘩：木椅、藤編、深色木材，帶著南亞的氣息。

回到 hoppers，它不是單吃的東西，而是舞台，等著其他角色登場。你可以在中間打顆蛋，立刻變成 egg hopper，蛋白嫩滑，蛋黃半熟，跟餅身混在一起，讓人忍不住用手撕邊緣來蘸。再撒一點 pol sambol（辣椰絲），椰香、辣意、酸味交織，像在舌頭上放煙火。

在 Kotuwa，侍者端著一整疊剛出爐的 hoppers 從廚房裡走出來，熱氣和香氣立刻在長桌間流竄。十個人圍桌，總有人眼睛發亮，伸手去搶那張邊緣最薄、最脆的。

吃到最後，你會發現這餅其實很新加坡——融合、開放，誰都能加點料，誰都能找到自己的方式。Kotuwa 的氛圍，正好襯托了這種精神：不是僅僅在新加坡吃斯里蘭卡菜，而是讓人在一頓飯裡感受到空間、城市與味道互相呼應。