I came here entirely on a recommendation. The person told me the tomahawk was exceptional. They insisted it was a necessary expense. They built it up. I expected a full house. I anticipated a struggle for a reservation. I booked a table at the last minute on the very same day. There were plenty of seats available.
When I arrived, the reality set in. The dining room holds about 12 or 13 tables. Only two were occupied.
The physical space is fine. The ambiance is dark and comfortable. The temperature is regulated well. It is neither too cold nor too warm. It sets a standard steakhouse mood. You sit down expecting a serious meal. Then the service begins.
A man approached our table to take the order. I later found out he was the boss. I do not appreciate a lack of transparency in a dining room. He went straight to the pitch. He introduced the tomahawk.
It is the most expensive item on the menu, priced well over four hundred dollars. He claimed it was the only steak they subjected to their signature wet-aging process. He stated that this specific cut and aging method was a global rarity. One of a kind.
I looked at the menu. I saw a sirloin. The menu indicated the sirloin was also wet-aged. I asked for clarification. He paused. He admitted the sirloin was indeed wet-aged. His defense was that ordering the sirloin comes with “no performance.” There is no tableside carving. There is no show.
We were a table of two. A tomahawk here weighs one and a half kilograms. I asked how two people were supposed to finish that volume of meat. His solution was immediate. He told us we could pack the leftovers in a box and take them home (aka DABAO).
You do not pay upwards of four hundred dollars for a premium steak to eat half of it cold out of a takeaway box the next day. The suggestion was absurd.
We ignored the upsell. We ordered the four-hundred-gram wet-aged sirloin instead. It is properly portioned for two people. From the moment the order was finalized, the service shifted. You could feel the temperature drop.
The boss remained strictly professional, but the underlying displeasure was obvious. The hospitality vanished.
We started with an appetizer. Fish skin with avocado. The execution missed the mark completely. The fish skin was crispy, but it arrived at the table entirely cold. It was heavily dried out.
The moisture had been completely stripped away, leaving a brittle texture that offered no real satisfaction. It sat next to a mixture of avocado folded with raw onions. The onions were aggressive. They overpowered the fat of the avocado. The dish lacked balance and proper seasoning. But I did not come to a steakhouse for fish skin. I came for the beef.
The sirloin arrived. This was my introduction to their specific wet-aging technique. Wet aging is supposed to tenderize the meat by allowing enzymes to break down the muscle tissue in a vacuum-sealed environment. It retains moisture.
The beef was undeniably tender. The knife moved through it easily. But the texture was confusing. A good steak should offer some resistance. It should feel like a steak. This sirloin ate like a slow-roasted brisket. The fibers had softened to the point where it resembled a dense roast beef rather than a seared piece of premium loin.
Do not misunderstand me. It was not a terrible piece of meat. It was edible. It was fine. But we are talking about a steak that costs almost two hundred dollars in Novena. At that price point, “fine” is a failure.
The flavor profile did not justify the cost. The texture lacked the distinct, satisfying chew of a properly handled steak. If I want a truly excellent piece of beef in this city, Bistecca does it far better. Their cuts command respect. This sirloin simply existed on the plate.
I was disappointed but I was ready to pay and leave quietly. Then the bill arrived.
I raised my hand to request the check. The boss looked at me and instructed me to walk over to the cashier to settle the payment. I stood up and walked to the counter.
I looked at the itemized receipt. There were three separate charges for plain water. They charge one dollar and fifty cents per glass. I had consumed two glasses. I asked about the third charge simply for clarity.
I did not know the water was chargeable. No one informed us when we sat down. I did not complain about the cost. I just asked a factual question about the tally.
His reaction was entirely uncalled for. He immediately went on the defensive. He told me that this is normal procedure. He boldly stated that even local coffee shops charge for water.
There is a massive difference between a coffee shop charging thirty cents for a cup of tap water and a contemporary steakhouse charging a premium for tap water without warning, right after attempting to upsell a four-hundred-dollar slab of meat.
His attitude was stunningly poor. I had not raised my voice. I had not argued. I asked a simple question. The hostility felt like a direct punishment for refusing the massive tomahawk and the takeaway box earlier in the evening.
A restaurant is not just about the food on the plate. It is about the intention behind the service. The intention here was purely transactional. The focus was heavily skewed toward maximizing the bill rather than delivering a coherent, high-quality dining experience.
If you have a budget of one hundred and fifty to two hundred and fifty dollars per person, you have significantly better choices in Novena, or even some of the best omakase Singapore has to offer if you actually want to see what proper ingredient handling looks like.
You can find kitchens that respect the ingredients. You can find dining rooms that respect the diner.
Tomahawk fails on both fronts. The food does not match the price. The service does not match the ambition. I came for one dish. I left certain I will never return.
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