RESTAURANT REVIEW
万隆华和海鲜菜馆
122 Casuarina Road, Singapore 579510 | Est. 1986
Upper Thomson, Singapore
Introduction & Heritage
In the constellation of Singapore’s zi char landscape — a culinary tradition built on wok fire, family recipes, and generations of institutional memory — few establishments command the kind of quiet, earned reverence that Ban Leong Wah Hoe Seafood does. Tucked along a low-rise shophouse stretch of Casuarina Road, parallel to Upper Thomson Road and a short distance from the Pierce Reservoir, this restaurant has been a fixture of the neighbourhood since 1986. It was then that the Teh family inherited the space from the Ban Leong supermarket that had previously occupied it, and set about building something altogether more enduring.
The name itself is an etymology of kinship. “Wah” and “Hoe” are the given names of founder Mr Teh Chor Joo and his brother — a brotherly partnership encoded permanently into the restaurant’s identity. What began as a humble cai png (economic rice) stall gradually transformed, as demand expanded and reputation deepened, into a full-service seafood zi char restaurant occupying two shophouse units. Today, the restaurant is helmed by the second generation: Noel Teh Jing Long, Mr Teh’s son, who absorbed the craft first as a reluctant apprentice — guided, in his own words, like “a puppet on strings” by his watchful father — and has since grown into a confident steward of the family’s culinary heritage.
What elevates Ban Leong Wah Hoe beyond the ordinary is a supply-chain advantage that is vanishingly rare in the restaurant trade: Mr Teh also owns a seafood stall at Senoko Fishery Port, where he operates as a wholesale importer of crabs. This farm-to-wok proximity is not incidental — it is the foundational logic of the restaurant’s quality. The seafood served here is not merely fresh; it is traceably, verifiably fresh in a manner that most establishments cannot claim.
Ambience & Setting
Ban Leong Wah Hoe makes no pretence of fine dining. The ambience is robustly utilitarian — the open-air, coffee shop-style layout is characteristic of Singapore’s zi char tradition, where the emphasis has always been on the food rather than the furnishings. Plastic chairs, round tables covered in simple tablecloths, and overhead lighting that prioritises functionality over mood are the room’s primary features. Walls, largely unremarkable in décor, carry the accumulated patina of decades in service.
What the space lacks in aesthetic refinement, it compensates for in atmosphere. On weekend evenings, the restaurant fills rapidly — the small car park, by multiple accounts, reaches capacity with a speed that frustrates even regular visitors — and the collective din of families, celebratory groups, and longtime regulars creates a convivial, almost celebratory energy. The noise levels are considerable. Conversations must be conducted at volume, and the air carries the mingled aromas of wok smoke, chilli paste, and the brine of live seafood tanks positioned in the dining area. Lala (venus clams) and crabs are kept alive in these tanks until the moment of cooking, a practice that functions as both a quality signal and an ambient feature of the dining experience.
The setting is located well away from the city’s tourist precincts, embedded instead in a quiet residential neighbourhood where the Pierce Reservoir provides a backdrop of greenery. For diners accustomed to the polished environments of Orchard Road or Marina Bay, the journey north requires adjustment — but regulars insist this is very much the point. This is a place to eat, not to be seen. It rewards the traveller who seeks authenticity over artifice.
Verdict: Atmosphere 3/5 — Loud, crowded, unpretentious, and entirely in keeping with the zi char tradition. Parking is a genuine challenge on weekend evenings; reservations are strongly advised for groups.
The Meal: Dish by Dish
Prawn Paste Chicken (Har Cheong Gai) — from $12++
If Ban Leong Wah Hoe is to be understood through a single dish — a kind of gastronomic thesis statement — the Har Cheong Gai is the most compelling candidate. Known more formally as 虾酱鸡 (xiā jiàng jī, literally ‘shrimp paste chicken’), this is a dish of deceptive simplicity whose quality is almost entirely a function of marinade depth and frying precision.
The restaurant’s rendition is consistently cited across multiple sources as being among the finest in Singapore. What arrives at the table is a plate of deeply bronzed chicken pieces — wings and drumlets typically — that gleam under the overhead light. The exterior coating achieves what is arguably the hallmark of great Har Cheong Gai: a shattering crispness that yields, in a single bite, to meat that is juicy and suffused with the funk of fermented shrimp paste.
Texturally, the dish operates in contrast. The crust is dry, crackling, almost lacquered in its rigidity — a result of the batter and marinade being unified (rather than applied separately, as is conventional), then rested overnight to allow the proteins to bond and the starches to set. Beneath this shell, the chicken flesh retains a tenderness that speaks to careful temperature management during frying: an initial lower-heat immersion to cook the interior, followed by a high-heat finish to achieve the burnished, golden-amber exterior. The colour spectrum of a well-executed piece runs from a pale honey-gold at the thinner wing tips to a deep chestnut-red at the thicker joints, with the shrimp paste imparting an almost reddish warmth to the surface hue.
The flavour profile is tidal: it begins with the sour, saline depth of fermented shrimp paste — not the dark Malaysian-style paste used in rojak, but the pinkish-grey southeastern Chinese variety, which is more delicate and more complex — and finishes with a sweetness from the rendered fat beneath the crust. A squeeze of calamansi at the table introduces acidity that cuts through the richness and brightens the overall profile. The dish is served piping hot; even a modest delay diminishes the crust’s structural integrity.
Hotplate Oyster — from $15++
The Hotplate Oyster is one of the restaurant’s more theatrical offerings. Unlike the conventional oyster omelette (orh chien) — a dish defined by the gummy, starch-thickened base made from sweet potato starch — Ban Leong Wah Hoe’s version arrives on a sizzling cast-iron hotplate, the egg and oyster mixture still finishing its cook on the table. The absence of sweet potato starch is a notable departure from convention, one that produces a lighter, more cohesive texture rather than the gluey chew that characterises the hawker centre standard.
The dish presents in warm earth tones: the golden-brown egg scrambled through with the oysters’ metallic grey-black, the whole dressed in a chilli sauce that pools in a deep, brick-red at the edges of the hotplate. The chilli here is described as robust, carrying a defined heat — sufficient to register on the palate as a punchy contrast to the briny, custardy oysters. Some reviewers note that the heat, while characterful, can overpower rather than complement, and that a note of tang (acidity) would balance the spice more elegantly. The sizzle as the dish arrives at the table carries its own sensory appeal: the metallic fragrance of the hotplate, the caramelising eggs, and the steam rising in thin columns.
Visually, the dish is striking. The contrast between the burnished egg edges, the glossy chilli glaze, and the plump, pearlescent oysters makes a compelling case for itself before a fork is lifted.
Chilli Crab — from $60/kg (market rate)
The Chilli Crab is the restaurant’s centrepiece and the dish most responsible for its reputation. Given Mr Teh’s direct role as a wholesale importer of crabs from Senoko Fishery Port, the quality of the raw ingredient here enjoys a structural advantage that is immediately apparent. The flesh of a freshly sourced crab — properly handled, properly stored, and properly timed from tank to wok — separates cleanly from the shell, a characteristic that long-term regulars use as their primary quality indicator.
The sauce is built on a homemade chilli paste that the kitchen guards with characteristic secrecy. What it produces is a gravy of considerable complexity: not overwhelmingly spicy — which would mask the crab’s natural sweetness — but layered with the aromatic funk of belachan (shrimp paste), the acidity of tomato, the sweetness of egg-enriched sauce, and a background note of warm spice. The colour is a vivid, almost operatic orange-red, glossy and saturated, the kind of hue that photographs brilliantly and stains white tablecloths with equal enthusiasm. The sauce pools in generous quantity around the halved crab, and the protocol is clear: deep-fried mantou (Chinese buns) are the instrument of absorption, their hollow, doughy interior made for dragging through the residual gravy.
The crab flesh itself — when the sourcing is at its best — delivers a sweetness that is almost marine in its freshness, the proteins just set, yielding to pressure without resistance. At approximately $60–70 per kilogram, pricing is towards the higher end for a casual dining environment, but consistent reviews position the value as justified by quality.
Stir-Fried Lala (Venus Clams)
The lala (venus clams) are kept alive in tanks until ordered — a freshness guarantee made visible to the dining room. The dish arrives in a light, fragrant broth built on ginger, chilli, and the natural brine released by the clams during cooking. Under the second generation’s stewardship, Noel has amended the original recipe to introduce a note of pepper that deepens what was previously a predominantly sweet preparation. The result is a more complex balance: the natural salinity of the clam flesh is met with mild heat and a lightly peppery, umami-dense broth that rewards slow sipping. The clams themselves are described as notably larger and meatier than what most comparable restaurants produce — a benefit, again, of superior supply chain positioning.
Fried Mee Sua — $10
One of the restaurant’s more unconventional offerings, the Fried Mee Sua is a departure from the dish’s usual incarnation as a soup noodle. Here, the mee sua — wheat vermicelli, typically associated with celebratory longevity and birthday meals in Chinese culinary culture — is wok-fried to a state of fragrant, slightly charred deliciousness that carries genuine wok hei (the smoky breath of the wok that separates masterful zi char from the merely competent). The noodles are fine and soft, absorbing the seafood broth and rendered fat without collapsing into a glutinous mass. The accompaniments are generous: large slices of fish, prawns, squid, bean sprouts, and fried quail eggs contribute textural variation and layers of flavour. The overall effect is one of unexpected sophistication — a dish that converts even sceptics of mee sua’s culinary potential.
In the Kitchen: Har Cheong Gai — Recipe & Technique
The following is a home-cook’s reconstruction of the Har Cheong Gai technique, drawing on the culinary logic of zi char kitchens. The professional kitchen version remains proprietary; this is the closest approximation available to the domestic cook.
Ingredients (serves 4)
For the marinade-batter: 1 kg chicken wings and drumlets, 2 tablespoons fermented shrimp paste (pinkish-grey Southeast Chinese variety, not dark Malaysian belachan), 1 tablespoon oyster sauce, 1 teaspoon sesame oil, 1 tablespoon Shaoxing rice wine, 1 teaspoon white pepper, ½ teaspoon sugar, ½ teaspoon salt.
For the batter component: 3 tablespoons plain flour, 2 tablespoons tapioca starch (or potato starch), ¼ teaspoon bicarbonate of soda, ¼ teaspoon baking powder, 1 egg (lightly beaten), 2 tablespoons cold water.
For finishing: 1 litre neutral oil for deep-frying, calamansi limes (quartered), sweet chilli sauce (optional).
Method
- Prepare the chicken by rubbing the skin with coarse salt to exfoliate, then rinse and pat completely dry. Moisture is the enemy of a shatteringly crisp crust; incomplete drying is the most common cause of a soft result.
- In a large bowl, combine all marinade-batter ingredients — including both the flavouring components and the flour and starch — and work together until a thick, cohesive batter coats each piece of chicken evenly. The unified batter-marinade is the defining characteristic of this dish; it is not a two-step process. Cover with cling film and refrigerate overnight, or for a minimum of six hours, turning once halfway through.
- Remove the chicken from the refrigerator 30 minutes before frying. This step is critical: cold chicken introduced directly to hot oil will lower the oil temperature precipitously, compromising the crust and extending cook time such that the interior overcooks before the exterior achieves proper colour.
- Heat oil in a wok or deep-sided pan to 180°C. Working in batches of four pieces, introduce the chicken carefully into the oil. Use long chopsticks to separate pieces immediately, as the starchy batter is adhesive in the first 30 seconds.
- Allow the oil temperature to settle (it will drop on introduction of the cold chicken), then maintain at approximately 160°C for three minutes, cooking the interior through. Raise the heat to return oil to 180°C and continue frying until the exterior achieves a deep golden-amber — the colour of polished honey, verging on chestnut at the thicker joints. Total frying time is approximately 5–7 minutes per batch.
- Drain on a wire rack, not absorbent paper (which traps steam and softens the crust). Serve immediately with quartered calamansi. The crust’s optimal window is approximately 10 minutes post-frying.
Technical Notes on the Shrimp Paste
The fermented shrimp paste is the dish’s non-negotiable component and its most challenging ingredient for the uninitiated cook. Produced through the controlled fermentation of small shrimp — a process that breaks down proteins into their constituent amino acids (glutamates and inosinates) — the paste delivers an extraordinary concentration of umami that no substitute replicates. Its aroma on first opening is pungently saline and almost sulphurous, a quality that reflects the depth of fermentation rather than spoilage. Once cooked, the sharpest notes volatilise, leaving behind a complex, savoury backbone that permeates the chicken flesh and defines the dish. The correct variety for this preparation is the pinkish-grey Southeast Chinese paste — brands imported from Hong Kong or Fujian province are commonly recommended among zi char practitioners.
Critical Assessment
Ban Leong Wah Hoe Seafood is not without its inconsistencies. A restaurant of this age and volume — serving hundreds of covers on peak evenings — will inevitably produce variance. Multiple reviewers note that standards have fluctuated over the years, with some long-term visitors reporting that certain dishes no longer match the benchmarks they remember from earlier decades. Service has drawn mixed assessments: wait times for noodle dishes in particular can stretch unreasonably, and floor staff are described as variable in attentiveness, ranging from efficient and knowledgeable to indifferent and difficult to engage. Pricing, while commensurate with quality, sits above the casual dining bracket that the physical environment implies — an incongruity that occasionally generates friction.
What the restaurant consistently delivers, however, is an encounter with zi char cooking at its most characterful. The supply chain integrity, the generational continuity, and the institutional weight of nearly four decades of operation produce a dining experience that is, at its best, genuinely difficult to replicate. The Har Cheong Gai remains, by the consensus of Singapore’s food-writing community, a benchmark preparation. The Chilli Crab, when the crab arrives in peak condition, is an object lesson in how the quality of the raw ingredient determines the ceiling of a dish’s achievement. The Fried Mee Sua is a quiet revelation — a dish whose simple presentation belies considerable technical skill.
For the visitor willing to accept the restaurant’s terms — the noise, the crowds, the parking tribulations, the journey north — Ban Leong Wah Hoe offers something of genuine value: a window into the living tradition of Singapore zi char, practised by a family for whom cooking is simultaneously a livelihood, an inheritance, and a form of devotion.
Practical Information
Address: 122/124 Casuarina Road, Singapore 579510
Telephone: +65 6452 2824 / +65 6455 4013
Opening Hours: Mon–Thu 11:30am–2:30pm, 5:00pm–11:00pm | Fri–Sun 11:30am–2:30pm, 5:00pm–12:00am
Reservations: Strongly recommended for groups, particularly on Friday and weekend evenings. Reservations are prioritised for groups of eight or more.
Parking: Limited on-site; peak-hour parking requires patience. Public transport options include bus services along Upper Thomson Road.
Halal Status: Not halal-certified.
Price Range: Approximately SGD $25–$45 per person, dependent on seafood selections.
Overall Rating: 4.1 / 5
Food: 4.3 | Ambience: 3.0 | Service: 3.5 | Value: 4.0