In his second year helming the Singapore Writers Festival (SWF), Festival Director Yong Shu Hoong has not only brought in heavyweight names like Ken Liu and R.F. Kuang, but also pushed the festival toward new ways of experiencing literature. This edition sees him experimenting with more intimate formats—small-group sessions that allow participants to meet authors up close, and hands-on workshops that prioritise interaction over audience size.

While previous editions have included similar programmes, what sets this year apart is the integration of one of Singaporeans’ favourite pastimes: food. Several events paired literary engagement with curated dining experiences, creating multisensory encounters that explored how stories can be tasted as well as told. We attended two of these programmes, and although they are still evolving concepts, the potential is clear. The collaborative effort between SWF organiser Arts House Limited and its surrounding partners feels like a natural and promising direction for the festival to continue developing in the years ahead.

The Salon with Marylyn Tan and F.H. Batacan @ Brasserie Astoria

There is something faintly Last Supper-esque about the scene at Brasserie Astoria in Victoria Theatre: a long table, glasses gleaming, and at its centre, two women in conversation: Singapore Literature Prize winner and first-ever Arts House Literary Fellow, Marylyn Tan, and F.H. Batacan, the Philippine National Book Award–winning author whose groundbreaking crime fiction has reshaped the genre in her country.

Despite coming from vastly different backgrounds and working in seemingly distant genres; Tan in speculative poetry and Batacan in crime fiction—their dialogue revealed striking resonances. What emerged was an intimate, free-flowing exchange, the kind that reminds attendees why salons remain compelling spaces for creative dialogue. Conversations drifted across the table, new friendships forming easily over shared literary interests and attentive listening.

Batacan spoke about her commitment to decolonising Philippine crime fiction and Southeast Asian writing as a whole, rejecting imported tropes, procedural clichés, and CSI-style spectacle in favour of narratives that examine systemic oppression. Crime, she argued, is a symptom, not the story itself. Beneath it lie entrenched inequalities—political corruption, class privilege, and, centrally, the oppression of women.

She pointed out how women are often expected to shoulder burdens silently, whether remaining in abusive marriages “for the sake of the children” or becoming complicit in corrupt systems through marriages into power and wealth. The impact, she noted, falls most heavily on women and children, with mainstream media turning female suffering into spectacle. This theme came through powerfully when she read an excerpt from her work featuring a news reporter investigating a murder—an exploration of the female body as a site of violence, but also of silence, erasure, and the ways victims are spoken over.

Tan, in turn, offered what many consider her signature poem, Nasi Kang Kang, a startlingly bold and visceral choice for lunchtime reading. Its themes of witchcraft, taboo, and female empowerment elicited delighted shock around the table, quickly winning over diners and deepening their fascination with her reclamation of female power through speculative poetics.

All this unfolded over an elegant lunch—an irony not lost on ourselves and the speakers, given the colonial history of the venue’s name and the themes of power and privilege at hand. Diners enjoyed Toast Astoria topped with coldwater shrimp, Japanese snow crab and trout roe, followed by a tender grilled chicken supreme, and a delightful hazelnut ice cream crowned with candied nuts and shaved chocolate, all accompanied by Jolie-Laide wine.

By the end, the conversation had seeded something potent: the idea that anger, when articulated and shared, can catalyse change. As Batacan noted, if readers leave not only informed but affected, perhaps even furious, the work has already begun.

Supported by Brasserie Astoria, this salon offered a rare opportunity to witness two Southeast Asian writers learning from each other in real time, affirming that genre fiction, whether crime or speculative, need not be formulaic. With rigorous research, sharp social insight, and a willingness to confront discomfort—even over dessert—it can reveal the forces that shape the region and spark meaningful connection, one table at a time.

The Edible Future @ Bricolage

On the other hand, the microfiction writing workshop The Edible Future offered a distinctly sci-fi slant, inviting participants to flex their creativity through concise storytelling. Led by Victor Fernando R. Ocampo, the session was relaxed and welcoming, an accessible introduction to the form of microfiction, defined here as stories under a hundred words. Ocampo guided attendees through the art of making every word count, sharing tips on precision, impact, and economy.

As the workshop progressed, Ocampo also touched on world-building, and how food and ritual often anchor his imagined futures. Fittingly, this theme threaded into the meal prepared by venue partners Bricolage, an unconventional F&B concept that utilises rescued produce from Cameron Highlands to create new menus each week, alongside offerings like beer and coffee.

Participants met the minds behind Bricolage: Sara Shum and Russell Nathan (formerly of Nouri restaurant), before being served a deceptively simple dish centred on what Ocampo described as a likely staple of future diets: fungi. The ochazuke featured three different millets and three varieties of mushroom, a warm and comforting bowl that nevertheless felt like it needed an extra spark. Asians, after all, often crave seasoning and spice.

Enter a mysterious green furikake. On Ocampo’s encouragement, we added a generous spoonful, and the dish suddenly transformed, deepening in flavour and complexity. Only later did he reveal its key ingredient: moringa and powdered crickets. Highly nutritious and sustainable, these insects, he suggested, may well become essential sources of fibre and protein, in line with Singapore’s 2035 goals.

And you know what: we enjoyed it. The powdered crickets tasted faintly like shrimp, a pleasant surprise and a reminder that gastronomic innovation is just as integral to the future as technology or artificial intelligence.

We left the session satisfied in more ways than one, our hunger for both food and writing fully sated. Listening to fellow participants read their microfiction fostered a renewed sense of community, a shared excitement for ideas freshly planted. With a Moleskine Passion Recipe Journal in hand, we departed not just with full stomachs, but with new material and inspiration to shape into stories, ready to face tomorrow.

The 28th Singapore Writers Festival ran from 7th to 16th November 2025. More information available at singaporewritersfestival.com.