Vegetable-Lover and Unforgettable: The Plates Everyone Steals Bites Of
From tahini and tamarind to labneh and za’atar, here’s why Aniba has quietly become the darling of veggie lovers—and the place I send friends who want a sensual, share-worthy night out.
Some nights aren’t about chasing the newest opening or the loudest hype.
Some nights are about texture and tempo: a fork passing between two people, a dish that makes you pause mid-sentence, a room that edits the world down to warm light, and a table for two.
That’s the spell Aniba casts—and it’s why I’m writing this as much for the vegetable-obsessed as for anyone craving an evening that lingers.
I go out a lot—part job, part joy—and I’ve learned that the most memorable meals are rarely the most complicated.
They’re the ones with intention: flavours built like chords, pacing that respects conversation, hospitality that feels like a hand at the small of your back guiding you through the night.
Aniba does all of that with a Middle Eastern heart and European finesse, and the dishes that keep pulling me back are the ones where vegetables lead.
This isn’t a checklist of “light” options, or a compromise for mixed groups.
It’s an argument—loving but decisive—that the most seductive food in the room wears olive oil and spice, not excess.
If you’ve been hunting for vegetarian-friendly restaurants in Singapore that deliver romance and craft, or you’re curating a short list beyond the usual picks you see from food influencers Singapore follows, Aniba is the recommendation I make softly, so it still feels like a discovery when you arrive.
Why Vegetables Lead at Aniba (And Why That Matters)
Vegetable-forward cooking is easy to admire and hard to execute.
Aniba’s kitchen treats produce with the same reverence chefs usually reserve for protein: seasoning in layers, textures in counterpoint, finishes that make each bite feel complete.
Nothing is there to “stand in” for something else.
Cauliflower isn’t pretending; it’s centre stage, dressed for it.
The flavour language is generous and precise.
Tahini gives satin and depth.
Tamarind lays a bright line you can follow with your fork.
Preserved lemon lifts like a cymbal at the end of a bar. Spice blends—za’atar, dukkah, the warmth of cumin—don’t shout; they hum under the melody.
You taste abundance, not austerity, and that’s a crucial distinction for anyone searching beyond the binary of salad or heavy mains.
This is where Aniba distinguishes itself from a typical vegetarian restaurant Singapore lists.
The room is sophisticated, the menu is inclusive, and the vegetable heroes are written with enough confidence to satisfy a table of mixed preferences.
If you’re dining with omnivores, they’ll be stealing bites off your plate—gladly and repeatedly.
Ask me how I know.
The Cauliflower That Makes You Set Down Your Fork
Every city has a cauliflower dish that becomes a calling card.
This is Singapore’s. Aniba roasts the head until the edges blush and the interior stays plush, then composes it with herb pesto, tahini, tamarind, and a crown of crispy kale.
The first forkful is the hook: sesame warmth, sweet-tart brightness, fresh green perfume, a gentle crunch that lands like punctuation.
What makes it memorable isn’t just seasoning; it’s proportion.
There’s restraint in the way the tahini coats without smothering, generosity in the shine of oil that carries spice to the finish, and intuition in how the tamarind traces acidity through the richness.
It’s a dish you share because you’re polite, then defend because you’re human.
Pair it with something sprightly from the bar (I love starting with a cucumber-dill highball) and let the conversation do the rest.
This plate alone is reason enough to send friends to Aniba when they ask for vegetarian-friendly restaurants in Singapore that feel celebratory, not worthy.
The Jerusalem Bagel Ritual (Labneh & Za’atar, Two Hands, One Smile)
There’s always a point in a great meal when the table becomes a little more yours. At Aniba, that moment often arrives with the Jerusalem Bagel.
It’s warm, generous, and meant for tearing. The move is simple: swipe through labneh glossed with za’atar, and try not to grin at the tang-meets-thyme combination that tastes like sun on stone.
This is food you eat with your hands in a room that feels dressed for a photograph.
I love that contrast. It softens shoulders, lowers voices, and invites ordering “just one more thing.”
The bagel isn’t an accessory; it’s a gesture—the edible equivalent of a welcome.
For couples, it’s almost ceremonial; for friends, it’s an instant icebreaker.
And for anyone who has been dutifully avoiding bread, it’s the permission slip you’ll be happy you took.
I’ve filmed too many boomerangs of that swipe, and I’ll do it again.
Not because content needs it—but because the moment does.
Vine Leaves That Whisper and Then Sing
Vine leaves are often relegated to the appetizer page, outshone by larger plates and bolder claims.
At Aniba, Vine Leaves feel like a poem: tender rice & spices tucked beneath a dark gleam of molasses, finished with a cloud of yogurt–yuzu foam.
Earth, perfume, and a bright whisper of citrus—three registers in harmony.
What I appreciate most is the temperature and texture calculus.
The leaves arrive just warm enough to release aroma when you cut in, the grains are distinct but soft, and the foam is effervescent without slipping into frothiness.
One bite and you can taste the intent: to let contrast tell the story. It’s sophisticated without being fussy, comforting without tipping into sweet.
I’ve watched “I’ll just try a little” turn into “we should have ordered two” more than once at my table.
If you’re making a night of it, this dish slots perfectly between a brighter bite and a richer pour.
It’s the quiet middle of the playlist—the track you replay later because it surprised you most.
The Bites That Set the Pace (And Why Pacing Is Everything)
Aniba’s “bites” are more than openers; they’re the metronome of the meal.
I always recommend starting with Cigars—crisp, delicate rolls that can be filled with grouper or mushroom.
Pair them with peppery arugula and amba aioli (a tangy mango-spice wink), and you’ve got that irresistible combination: snap, steam, and a sauce that asks you to take the last half and promise to share the next one.
If you’re building a vegetable-forward table, go mushroom.
It sits beautifully alongside the cauliflower and vine leaves, and it keeps the flavour arc interesting: toasted notes from the pastry shell, a round savouriness from the filling, brightness from the amba that ties the bite back to the rest of the menu’s vocabulary.
Why linger on pacing in a piece about veg-led dishes?
Because generosity isn’t just portion size—it’s time.
When the kitchen and floor team pace a meal like this—bites that make you curious, vegetable heroes that make you slow down, a bread ritual that makes you talk—you’re not just eating; you’re connecting.
That’s the difference between dinner and a night you remember.
Drinks That Move the Room (Zero-Proof Included)
I’d be remiss not to mention the bar because it shapes how the food lands.
Start bright (a mango-amba highball with a whisper of smoke), then pivot to something crisp (hello, cucumber-dill), and when you’re ready to lean in, order Sesame—a silken stemmed pour built on toasted black sesame, tahini, honey, and halva, kept aloft by a citrus-forward gin. It’s not sweet; it’s persuasive.
If you’re not drinking, the zero-proof list is thoughtful and grown-up: floral spritzes with restraint, green coolers with a mineral snap, even a date-and-tea build that drinks like a nightcap. This matters because not every celebratory table wants alcohol, and the vegetable-first arc benefits from drinks that refresh and reset without heaviness.
Pro tip from someone who eats for a living: tell the team how you like to feel, not just what you like to drink—“bright, not sweet,” “silky, low sugar,” “botanical, zero-proof.”
They’ll pace to match.
Service That Protects the Conversation
The most luxurious thing in a dining room isn’t a material; it’s attention.
At Aniba, service has that rare blend of intuition and ease.
Plates arrive like commas, never full stops. Water appears without breaking a sentence.
A candle inches closer as the room deepens, and you don’t notice until your companion looks particularly luminous.
Dietary preferences are handled like a pleasure, not a problem.
Pairing suggestions feel like nudges from a friend, not an upsell.
And when you’re deciding between staying for one more dish or taking a long walk under city lights, the team seems to know the answer you’ll be happiest with, and makes it easy.
For readers who follow a lot of food influencers in Singapore and feel overwhelmed by the carousel of “must-tries,” remember: the best rooms feel like they want you to have a great night, not a great list.
That’s the service vibe here.
Value, Measured in Memory
“Worth it” often gets reduced to price and portions.
I measure value in the afterglow—how you feel walking out, what you keep talking about two days later, whether the meal nudges you to call someone you miss and book a table together next week.
Aniba’s vegetable-led plates ace that metric.
The cooking is careful without being precious.
The room is dressed, but not stiff.
The experience unfolds in a way that honours time as much as taste.
You’ll find higher bills, and you’ll find louder rooms; you’ll struggle to find a place that leaves you lighter and closer to the person across from you while still feeling undeniably polished.
If you’re assembling a personal map of places to take someone you love (or like a lot), put this pin in the first ring.
How I’d Build Your First Veg-Forward Night at Aniba
Start with Cigars (mushroom) for the snap-steam-sauce trifecta. Bring in the Jerusalem Bagel for the ritual and the labneh-za’atar tang.
Centre the table with Cauliflower—that satin-bright, green-crunch symphony.
Add Vine Leaves for perfume and contrast.
If there’s room, ask for a chef-suggested seasonal green or salad to thread freshness through the sequence.
Drink bright, then crisp, then silky (or stay zero-proof and follow the same arc).
Tell the team if you want a quick cascade or a lingering flow.
Sit in a two-top banquette if it’s date night; the bar corner if you love watching craft.
And breathe. You don’t need to capture everything. Some meals want a camera; this one wants your company.
The Takeaway (Beyond the Takeaway)
As a blogger, I’m supposed to end with a neat list of reasons and a call to action.
Here’s mine, pared to the truth: go because you like vegetables and because you like people.
Go because you’re tired of meals that feel like checklists. Go because you believe, as I do, that flavour can be sensual without being heavy and that great rooms are built for leaning closer, not leaning back.
I could show you a hundred places that are trendy, and a handful that feel timeless.
Aniba is one of the latter.
If you’re searching for vegetarian-friendly restaurants in Singapore where dinner becomes an experience you actually remember, start here.
Conclusion
Aniba proves that vegetables aren’t supporting actors; they’re headliners with range and romance.
Cauliflower in satin and citrus. Bread as ceremony. Vine leaves that whisper and sing. Bites that set the pace.
Drinks that move with you, not against you. Service that protects all the little moments that add up to a night well spent.
I’ve eaten my way across openings and anniversaries, but the meals I recommend most are the ones that make time feel generous.
That’s what you’ll find at this table. Bring someone who steals your fries—they’ll be stealing your cauliflower next.
FAQs
Do I need to be vegetarian to enjoy the dishes you’ve highlighted?
Not at all. The vegetable plates are written to stand on their own—balanced, layered, and satisfying for any palate. Mixed groups love them.
Is this a fully vegetarian venue?
No. The menu is inclusive, with excellent options across the board. If you prefer plant-led dining, you can easily build a full, abundant meal from vegetable dishes and starters.
What should I order if I want a vegetable-first table for two?
Cigars (mushroom), Jerusalem Bagel, Cauliflower, and Vine Leaves make a beautiful sequence. Ask the team for a seasonal green to add lift.
Can the bar do thoughtful non-alcoholic pairings?
Yes. Zero-proof builds mirror the craft and complexity of the signatures. Tell them your preferences—bright, botanical, low sugar—and they’ll pace the night for you.
What’s the best seating for a cosy, conversation-led evening?
A two-top banquette if you want a private pocket; the bar corner if you enjoy a little theatre. Either way, the room is tuned for easy conversation.
