Seven Stalls, One Obsession
A Personal Deep-Dive into Wok Hei, Smoke, and Soul
Covering: Fuman · Two Chefs · Curry & Curry · Yong Tai · Yalong Bay · Sembawang Claypot · 21 Seafood
Why Zi Char Deserves More Than a Star Rating
There’s a particular kind of Singaporean memory that smells like garlic hitting a white-hot wok. Maybe it’s a childhood birthday at a round-table restaurant, or a late-night supper with cousins arguing over the last piece of prawn paste chicken. Zi char — literally translated as “cook and fry” — is less a cuisine category and more a cultural institution.
Unlike hawker stalls with their tight single-dish focus, zi char kitchens are theatrical, multi-tasking operations. A good zi char uncle can have five woks going at once, each singing at a different pitch, each cloud of smoke carrying a slightly different story. The result is food that tastes communal even when you eat it alone.
For this guide, I visited all seven stalls across Singapore over several weeks, often returning multiple times. What follows isn’t a points-based ranking — it’s a proper sit-down with each place, dish by dish, texture by texture, hue by hue.
“Wok hei” literally means “breath of the wok” — that fleeting, smoky, slightly charred quality that only comes from a ferociously hot flame and a cook who knows exactly when to stop. It cannot be replicated at home. It is the whole point.
- Fuman Seafood Zi Char
Location: 703 Hougang Ave 2, S530703
Hours: Daily, 12pm – 10:30pm
Nearest MRT: Hougang / Kovan
Price Range: S$10 – S$25 per dish
Wok Hei: ★★★★★ (5/5)
Value: ★★★★☆ (4/5)
Ambience: ★★★☆☆ (3/5)
Dish Variety: ★★★★☆ (4/5)
Setting the Scene
Fuman sits in a coffee shop that could easily be driven past without a second glance — a single-storey shophouse on Hougang Avenue 2, across from Serangoon Junior College. The plastic stools, tiled floor, and ceiling fans are all deeply, deliberately unglamorous. Fluorescent strips buzz overhead. A handwritten price list is taped to the wall.
Arrive after 7pm on a weeknight and you’ll find most tables claimed — three-generation families, office workers who’ve loosened their ties, young couples sharing a cold Tiger. The place smells overwhelmingly of lard and spring onion, which is exactly the right smell for where you’re going.
Dish Deep-Dive
Honey Milk Pork Belly (S$10 / S$15 / S$20)
This is the dish that makes regulars return. The pork belly arrives in a shallow pool of sauce — a lacquered amber-ochre that catches the light almost warmly. The sauce itself is a curious alchemy: sweetened condensed milk cuts through rendered pork fat to produce something that sits between a glaze and a gravy. It coats the back of a spoon without dripping, which tells you the reduction was done right.
Each piece of pork belly is about four centimetres long, braised until the fat layer turns translucent and the lean meat yields without resistance. The exterior carries a faint caramelised crust — a Maillard reaction artifact from a brief return to high heat before plating. Texturally, you get three distinct layers in a single bite: a yielding fat cap, a collagen-rich middle, and a firmer lean core. The honey adds a floral sweetness that peaks right at the finish, just before the milk’s dairy roundness takes over.
Best eaten hot, straight from the wok. The sauce thickens as it cools and loses its silkiness.
Prawn Paste Chicken (S$10 / S$15 / S$20)
Har cheong gai is zi char gospel, and Fuman’s version is well-memorised scripture. The chicken — mid-joint wings and drumlets — is marinated in a deep-purple fermented shrimp paste brine, then battered in a flour-cornstarch mix that fries up to a shatteringly crisp, crinkled shell.
The colour of the finished product is a deep mahogany-brown with reddish undertones where the paste has caramelised. Cut one open and the steam that escapes carries the full signature of fermented umami: briny, funky, deeply savoury. The flesh inside is moist and faintly pink at the bone, which is exactly where you want it.
The batter-to-meat ratio here skews generously toward the meat, so each bite is substantial. There is no pretension about it — it’s a dish that wants you to eat it with your hands and not care about the sauce on your fingers.
Claypot Hor Fun (S$10 / S$18 / S$25)
Served in an actual claypot — not a for-show ceramic replica but a real blackened, heat-retaining clay vessel — the hor fun arrives still bubbling gently at the edges. The broad, flat rice noodles have absorbed a dark, eggy gravy studded with prawns, squid, and sliced pork.
The gravy is deep mahogany, glossy, and intensely savoury — built on a foundation of good stock, dark soy, and wok residue. The noodles at the bottom of the pot have taken on a slight char, which is the point. You scrape up those sticky, smoky remnants deliberately.
The claypot hor fun is Fuman at its most technically ambitious — a dish that rewards patience and punishes those who let it cool too long.
- Two Chefs Eating Place
Location: 410A Sin Ming Avenue, #01-01, S571410
Hours: Daily, 11am – 10:30pm
Nearest MRT: Bishan
Price Range: S$8 – S$25 per dish
Wok Hei: ★★★★☆ (4/5)
Value: ★★★★★ (5/5)
Ambience: ★★★☆☆ (3/5)
Dish Variety: ★★★★★ (5/5)
Setting the Scene
Two Chefs is one of those zi char places with a genuine cult following — the kind where regulars don’t need menus and the aunty at the cashier knows their usual. The space is a large, well-ventilated HDB coffeeshop with adequate elbow room between tables. It is busy without feeling frantic.
The menu, spanning over 50 dishes, is printed in a laminated booklet thick enough to double as a coaster. Walking in alone is slightly daunting; coming with four or more people is ideal. The variety is the whole appeal.
Dish Deep-Dive
Butter Pork Ribs (S$8)
This dish is Two Chefs’ most-ordered and for very good reason. Pork ribs — short cut, bone-in — are deep-fried until the exterior is craggy and golden-bronze, then tossed in a coating of sweetened milk powder and butter that fuses to the surface in the wok’s heat.
The milk powder creates a dry, sandy-sweet crust that clings to every ridge and crevice of the fried rib. The colour is a warm gold with pale cream specks where the powder hasn’t fully dissolved. On the palate: the initial crunch of batter gives way to tender, fatty pork, and the sweetness of the milk hits a full half-second after the savoury — a delayed, almost disorienting pleasure.
At S$8, this is one of the most outrageously good-value dishes in the entire zi char landscape. You will order a second portion. Everyone does.
Pro tip: order this as your first dish. It arrives fast and sets the tone for everything that follows.
Sambal Kang Kong
The water spinach arrives piled high — a tangle of dark green leaves and hollow stems glistening with sambal and a light wok char. The sambal here is not the pre-jarred variety: it has layered heat, a fermented-shrimp undertow, and a slight brininess from belachan that you feel in the back of the throat.
The texture of well-cooked kang kong is the whole trick — stems that are toothsome without being raw, leaves that have just surrendered their moisture into the sauce. Two Chefs gets this exactly right. Nothing is over-cooked. The wok hei is present, not overwhelming.
- Curry & Curry
Location: 203 Hougang Street 21, S530203
Hours: Tue – Sun, 11:30am – 9pm | Closed Mondays
Nearest MRT: Kovan
Price Range: S$10 – S$30 per dish
Wok Hei: ★★★☆☆ (3/5)
Value: ★★★★☆ (4/5)
Ambience: ★★★☆☆ (3/5)
Dish Variety: ★★★★★ (5/5)
Setting the Scene
The name is a statement of intent. Curry & Curry in Hougang is fundamentally a curry-first zi char spot, which already makes it a rarer breed. The layout is a standard open coffeeshop — ceiling fans, foldable plastic chairs — but the smell is unmistakable: lemongrass, coconut milk, and a deep base of turmeric and chilli that permeates the walls.
Tables turn over quickly on weekends and the ordering system is slightly hectic if you arrive unprepared. Come with a game plan.
Dish Deep-Dive
Fish Head Curry (S$26)
The fish head curry is the reason to come. What arrives is a wide, shallow metal claypot filled with a thick, terracotta-orange curry in which a generous half-head of red snapper is half-submerged. Okra, eggplant, tomato, and green chilli bob in the sauce, fully saturated and tender from long simmering.
The colour of the curry is a deeply saturated brick-red with orange undertones — indicative of a high chilli content balanced by coconut milk and turmeric. The consistency is thick and clinging; it doesn’t pour so much as tumble from a ladle. The sourness — a deliberate tamarind note — arrives early and lingers, giving the curry its characteristic brightness against the fatty richness of the fish head.
The fish itself is the star. The cheeks yield in large, silky flakes. The collagen around the eye and jaw has rendered completely, turning gelatinous and coating the tongue with a richness that the spice then cuts through. This is a dish that rewards those who eat slowly, excavating every crevice of the head.
Pair with steamed white rice. The curry sauce alone is worth the price of admission.
Singaporean fish head curry is a dish with Indian, Malay, and Chinese influences simultaneously at play — the zi char kitchen is perhaps the only place all three coexist on the same flame.
- Yong Tai Seafood
Location: 130 Sims Avenue, S387453
Hours: Mon – Sat, 5pm – 4am
Nearest MRT: Aljunied
Price Range: S$5 – S$20 per dish
Wok Hei: ★★★★☆ (4/5)
Value: ★★★★★ (5/5)
Ambience: ★★☆☆☆ (2/5)
Dish Variety: ★★★★★ (5/5)
Setting the Scene
Yong Tai is a late-night institution. This is not a place you plan in advance — it is a place you end up at, usually after 11pm, when the other options have closed and your hunger is non-negotiable. The ambience is stripped-back to the point of being almost confrontational: bare tables, plastic chairs that scrape on concrete, the clatter of the kitchen unimpeded by any acoustic softening.
The menu — over a hundred dishes by their count — is a printed A3 laminate propped against a sauce bottle. The options range from the deeply familiar (prawn paste chicken, fried rice) to the pleasantly unexpected (fried mee sua, salted egg yolk pork rib rice).
Dish Deep-Dive
Sambal Fried Rice (S$5)
Five Singapore dollars for a plate of fried rice is the kind of price that triggers mild suspicion. It should not. Yong Tai’s sambal fried rice is a lesson in restraint: individual grains of overnight jasmine rice, dry and separate, stained a pale burnt-orange from a sambal that is applied with confidence rather than excess.
The visual is deceptively simple — a mound of scattered orange-hued grains, dotted with egg shreds and spring onion. But the aroma from close range gives it away: wok hei is present, even at this price point. Each grain has been in direct contact with the hot metal surface. Nothing is steamed or stewed.
On the palate: chilli heat that builds slowly, a mild sweetness, and egg that has been scrambled directly in the wok rather than added pre-cooked. The texture is the whole appeal — dry enough that the grains don’t clump, but not so desiccated that they lack flavour.
Salted Egg Yolk Pork Rib Rice (S$6)
The salted egg yolk sauce has become something of a Singapore culinary shorthand for indulgence, and here it earns that reputation. Pork ribs are battered, fried, and then tossed in a foamy, golden salted egg sauce until each piece is lacquered yellow.
The sauce colour is a rich egg-yolk yellow — not the pallid imitation that comes from egg powder but the deep golden hue of actual cured egg yolk emulsified with butter and evaporated milk. It is intensely savoury with a faint, pleasant brininess from the curing process. The richness hits immediately; the saltiness lingers.
An essential late-night order. At this price and this quality, it is one of the great value dishes in Singapore.
Fried Mee Sua (S$5.50)
Mee sua — thin wheat vermicelli — is more typically eaten in a soup context, which is what makes the fried version worth investigating. Yong Tai’s rendition dry-fries the noodles to a slight char on the outside while preserving a soft, almost silky interior.
The colour is a pale golden-tan with charred-brown patches. The flavour is anchored by dark soy and a whisper of sesame, with crispy shallots providing both crunch and a sweet onion note. It is a dish that reveals the kitchen’s wok skills — mee sua is delicate and overcooks in seconds.
- Yalong Bay
Location: 978 Toa Payoh North, #02-01 Grains & Hops, S319001
Hours: Daily, 11am – 2:30pm | 5pm – 10:30pm
Nearest MRT: Braddell
Price Range: S$10 – S$30 per dish
Wok Hei: ★★★★☆ (4/5)
Value: ★★★★☆ (4/5)
Ambience: ★★★★☆ (4/5)
Dish Variety: ★★★★☆ (4/5)
Setting the Scene
Yalong Bay is the outlier on this list. Founded by Chef Tony Tan — formerly of the acclaimed Lei Garden Restaurant — it occupies a stall inside a air-conditioned food court in Toa Payoh North. The surroundings are considerably more comfortable than a typical coffeeshop setup: cooler air, better lighting, less noise.
The food court context initially feels at odds with the ambition on the plate, but that contrast is partly the point. Yalong Bay is bringing fine-dining technique to a hawker-priced format, and it mostly succeeds.
Dish Deep-Dive
Signature Crispy La-La Hor Fun (S$17)
This dish is a legitimate showstopper. Broad flat rice noodles, wok-fried in a dark, lala-enriched gravy, are finished with a generous scattering of shards from deep-fried wonton wrappers — crinkled, golden-tan, and as thin as parchment. The visual is striking: a dark, gleaming mound of noodles topped with pale amber-gold crispy fragments that catch light like broken stained glass.
The clams (lala) are opened and dispersed throughout, their orange flesh visible against the dark gravy. The gravy itself has a deeper, more complex character than standard hor fun: there is a seafood sweetness from the clam liquor that has been cooked into the sauce, a smoky note from proper wok hei, and a rounding umami that speaks to a proper stock base.
The textural interplay is the genius of the dish. The noodles are silky and yielding; the wonton shards dissolve on contact with moisture but have a brief window where they provide a shattering crunch. Eating quickly is advised. The contrast between the crispy topping and the yielding noodles below is temporary and precious.
Chef Tony Tan has done something quietly impressive here: he has taken a street-food staple and given it a composed, restaurant-quality finish without removing any of its soul.
- Sembawang Traditional Claypot Rice
Location: 4 Jalan Tampang, S758948
Hours: Daily, 11am – 10pm
Nearest MRT: Sembawang
Price Range: S$10 – S$35 per dish
Wok Hei: ★★★★☆ (4/5)
Value: ★★★☆☆ (3/5)
Ambience: ★★★★☆ (4/5)
Dish Variety: ★★★★☆ (4/5)
Setting the Scene
Up in the North, in a neighbourhood that feels a long way from the city’s culinary noise, Sembawang Traditional Claypot Rice occupies a casual dining space that is a step above coffeeshop comfort. The lighting is warm, the tables are properly sized, and the ventilation is managed. It is a good place to bring older relatives who want a meal, not just food.
The menu bridges claypot dishes and zi char, which is a combination that works better than it might sound. Both rely on the same principle: heat, time, and the kind of patient cooking that produces depth of flavour.
Dish Deep-Dive
Traditional Claypot Rice
Claypot rice is an exercise in patience and trust. The claypot arrives at the table sealed, still hissing gently, and the first task is to wait — at least two minutes — before lifting the lid. What you find underneath is a mound of partially dried rice, topped with Chinese sausage, salted fish, chicken pieces, and dark soy that has been allowed to permeate downward.
The visual is a deep mahogany dome, the sausage slices a glistening ruby-red, the chicken a burnished gold where the skin has rendered against the clay. The aroma that escapes when the lid is lifted is deeply smoky — a distinctive claypot rice note that you cannot manufacture any other way.
Crucially, the bottom layer. Scraping reveals a crust of slightly burnt, deeply caramelised rice — fan jiao — that is golden-brown to dark amber, crunchy in a way that shattered rice should be, and carrying a sweetness from the soy and chicken fat that soaked in from above. This is the most important part of the dish and the reason claypot rice must be served in a claypot and not a regular pot.
Order the salted fish to stir through. The contrast with the sweet soy rice is essential.
KL Hokkien Mee
Unlike the Singapore version — which is a dark, soy-heavy dry noodle — the KL interpretation is a braise of thick yellow noodles and thin rice vermicelli in a rich, dark prawn stock that has reduced to a sticky, almost syrupy consistency. Sembawang’s version is faithful to the KL original.
The colour is a deep brown-black from the pork lard and stock reduction. The noodles are slick and heavily coated. Pork belly slices, prawns, squid, and chives are distributed throughout. The flavour is intense — barely manageable alone, perfectly calibrated with sambal belacan on the side.
- 21 Seafood
Location: 212 Hougang Street 21, #01-347, S530212
Hours: Daily, 12pm – 2am
Nearest MRT: Kovan
Price Range: S$6 – S$60+ per dish (market rate for crabs)
Wok Hei: ★★★★☆ (4/5)
Value: ★★★★★ (5/5)
Ambience: ★★★☆☆ (3/5)
Dish Variety: ★★★★☆ (4/5)
Setting the Scene
21 Seafood is the place you take friends who claim crab is too expensive and want to be proven wrong. Open until 2am, it is a late-night seafood spot that keeps coffeeshop pricing and coffeeshop aesthetics — functional, practical, unpretentious.
Sri Lankan crabs are the headline act, priced by weight but considerably more accessible than the big-name seafood restaurants in the city. The rest of the zi char menu is solid without being ambitious, which is the right call when your crabs are this good.
Dish Deep-Dive
Sri Lankan Crab — Chilli & Black Pepper
Two preparations, two entirely different sensory experiences from the same crustacean. The chilli crab arrives in a wide, shallow wok: a thick, tangy-sweet tomato-chilli gravy in which crab segments sit half-immersed. The sauce colour is a deep sunrise orange — you can see the egg-flower stirred through in white-gold tendrils. The sauce is thickened with egg to a consistency that clings to shell and meat alike.
The crab meat — and there is a great deal of it, in fat, generous chunks behind the claws and in the body cavity — is sweet, faintly briny, and yielding. The sauce should go everywhere. That is non-negotiable. Order the fried mantou buns to drag through the residual sauce at the end.
The black pepper version is a different animal entirely. The crab is wok-fried dry in a ferocious amount of cracked black pepper, butter, and dark soy. The pepper here is not background — it is the entire argument. The coating is a near-black, coarse, deeply aromatic crust that stings the lips and clears the sinuses. Inside, the crab meat is identical: sweet, tender, marine.
The contrast between the sweet meat and the aggressive pepper exterior is one of the great textural and flavour contrasts in Singaporean cooking.
Prawn Paste Chicken (S$8 / S$10 / S$12)
A second iteration for comparison with Fuman’s version. 21 Seafood’s har cheong gai is slightly less crispy on the shell but carries a more pronounced fermented shrimp paste funk in the marinade — bolder, more assertive, less refined. The colour skews darker, toward a deep maroon-brown.
This is zi char’s most consistently brilliant dish and the version here is a strong one. The paste penetrates deeper into the chicken during marination, and you taste it fully from first bite.
Mixed Furong Omelette (S$6 / S$8)
The furong omelette is a zi char staple that rarely gets the attention it deserves. Here, beaten eggs are wok-fried with a mixture of spring onion, tofu, prawns, and mixed vegetables. The result is a thick, slightly puffed omelette with a golden-brown, slightly charred exterior and a just-set, custardy interior.
The hue gradient is the whole visual story: deep golden-brown at the edges where the egg hit the wok directly, transitioning to pale yellow-cream at the soft, barely-cooked centre. The prawns inside have turned pink and sweet. The tofu has retained its shape but softened. This is comfort food in the truest sense.
Final Thoughts: Where to Go and Why
Across these seven visits, a few truths emerged. First: price is almost entirely decoupled from quality in zi char. Yong Tai at S$5 and Yalong Bay at S$17 are both doing something excellent; they are just doing different versions of it.
Second: wok hei is the defining variable. It is the measure that separates a competent kitchen from a great one, and it cannot be faked. You either have a powerful enough flame and a cook skilled enough to use it, or you don’t. Fuman and Yong Tai both have it. Yalong Bay has it with a chef’s touch layered on top.
Third: the best zi char meals are not about any single dish. They are about a table covered in plates, people reaching across each other, the last pieces going cold because nobody wants the meal to end. That condition can be recreated at any of the seven places on this list.