A garden-grown fine-dining journey inside Singapore’s Flower Dome.
When you imagine dining in a garden, perhaps you picture something quaint? A gingham tablecloth, tea and a slice of cake sat under the shade of a tree. I used to picture this too, until I stepped inside Marguerite, a Michelin-starred restaurant, grounded at the base of the Flower Dome at Singapore’s Gardens by the Bay.
This isn’t your typical fine-dining experience. It’s a story told through produce, petals, ceramics and the precise placement of microherbs, and it starts with a walk through the world’s largest glass greenhouse.
A world under glass
The Flower Dome is a huge, climate-controlled glass shell that houses flora from every corner of the globe.
The Flower Dome is a marvel. A huge, climate-controlled glass shell that houses flora from every corner of the globe. You stroll a winding path, passing plants from the Mediterranean, South African savannahs and even an Australian garden, then hidden at its base is Marguerite, a restaurant that feels like it was grown, not built.
At first glance, the space is minimalistic. The handmade Scandinavian furniture and white marble tabletops are understated, clearly designed to let the food speak for itself. Rather than facing outward to the garden overflowing with orange clivias and camellia trees, our table for two faces inward, toward the beating heart of the restaurant. At the centre, two hand-carved boulders double as the bar, and beyond that, there are three open kitchen islands.
As we sip our welcome drinks, we watch the chefs work quietly and methodically. They don’t mind if you approach the benches for a closer look. I do, and catch Chef Michael Wilson gently placing tiny chive blossoms onto sweet dwarf tomatoes layered over seven-day dry-aged kingfish using a pair of tweezers. It’s precise but not clinical, artful but not showy.
A meal that moves with the garden
The dishes arrive at your table with creative flair.
The cuisine at Marguerite defies easy labels. On paper, it’s called creative cuisine, but it’s also contemporary and nature-inspired, following the European seasons. The gardens surrounding the restaurant inspire the chef’s designs. Each course is presented on a different crockery piece: a ceramic leaf-shaped dish, a flower pot, a raised wooden pedestal that resembles a mushroom cap. There’s a mini wooden bowl and spoon, ceramic plates speckled with natural imperfections.
Even the sourdough has its moment, served on a lipped, hand-crafted plate by a local potter, it’s been custom-shaped to cradle Marguerite’s round loaf perfectly. The glassware is also considered. Coloured-stem glasses, changing with each course, are chosen not only for function but to enhance the visual of the meal.
Wine, or something else entirely?
Coloured-stem glasses change with each course to enhance the visual of the meal.
Rather than hiding it away on a back page of a menu, Marguerite proudly presents a temperance pairing, handcrafted, non-alcoholic beverages that pair thoughtfully with each course.
Sea Buckthorn & Bay Leaf juice sings with the Obsiblue prawn noodles. Blood Orange & Rosemary pairs with Roscoff onion custard, teardrop peas, tarragon, and lardo. My husband, who chooses the wine pairing, remarks he’s never had such precise pairings before.
The menu grows in this Australian chef’s kitchen
The Obsiblue Prawn Noodles is a clear star dish.
At the helm of Marguerite is Michael Wilson, an Australian-born chef whose food philosophy is as layered as the dome he works in.
Before Marguerite, Wilson earned his first Michelin star in Shanghai within just five months of opening Phénix. With Marguerite, he’s grown something more personal. As he wandered the Flower Dome before opening the restaurant, Michael came across the Marguerite daisy, beautiful and botanical, yet humble and without ego. It embodies the restaurant’s spirit: refined without spectacle.
The Marguerite Opera is a must-try dessert.
You’ll find subtle nods to the chef’s Australian roots. An Indigenous artwork on the wall, a boomerang resting on a shelf, and a dessert named ‘Marguerite Opera’, his chocolate-hazelnut ode. Complete with a symphony of tuiles, parfait, cake, artichoke gelato, coffee oil, aged balsamic, and a shaving of truffle.
Michael is not one to hide in the back of the restaurant. Over the course of our evening, he visits our table several times, always with enthusiasm, and together we reminisce about growing up in Melbourne’s suburbs.
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The people behind the plates
They take a minimalist yet welcoming approach to interior design.
And then, the service. I don’t count the number of staff working, but it feels like a 1:1 ratio. Rather than assigning one waiter per table, every member of the team visit us throughout the evening, sharing insight into the dishes and their design. It’s communal and unforced, much like nature itself.
While the service is polished, it also has a cheeky touch. When I return from the bathroom, I find my napkin artfully folded into a miniature Sydney Opera House.
This is an experience, not just fine dining
Everything at Marguerite is in conversation with the natural world around it.
Marguerite doesn’t just serve dinner; it cultivates a full sensory experience. From the ingredients to the ceramics, the climate to the people, everything is in conversation with the natural world around it. And, it’s unforgettable.
The details
Marguerite is a contemporary fine-dining restaurant nestled at the scenic Gardens by the Bay.
Where: Flower Dome, Gardens by the Bay, Singapore When: Wednesday to Sunday Menu:Four- and seven-course meals. Lunch starts at S$148 per person, dinner from S$288 per person. Optional wine, temperance or mixed pairings available. Extras
Complimentary entry to the Flower Dome via the restaurant entrance.
Exclusive limousine buggy service from the Gardens by the Bay main entrance or walk at your convenience.
The writer was a guest of Reymond Communications and Marguerite.
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After youth-led protests in 2025, this year Nepal elected a 35-year-old former rapper as Prime Minister. In a country where tourism is its biggest industry, what’s next for travellers?
In 1986, Nepal changed its clock. It had used India Standard Time since 1920 so, to differentiate, it wound its clock 15 minutes ahead of, not behind, its big-brother neighbour. Boss move. “Nepal is strongly opposed to the idea that our identity is connected to India,” says Community Homestay Network (CHN) guide Bikal Khanal.
Tharu dance is traditionally set to hand drums. (Credit: Kate Lewis)
Today, Nepal is the only independent country with a 45-minute deviation to universal time; an oddity that’s become a symbol of national pride. The quirk is nearly as endearing as Kathmandu’s Tribhuvan airport where carved varnished wood and shiny red bricks rule. One sign points to a ‘Travelator’ and another to a ‘Grievance Handling Desk’ while visas are noisily stamped at customs for US dollars, cash only. When am I?
Spot the endemic Nepal gray langur. (Credit: Simon Urwin)
The 15 or 45 minute anomaly sees me tap out completely on timezone calculations. Why bend my brain calculating if it’s quarter to or quarter past elsewhere when I’m in the honking here and now of Kathmandu where the air is high-altitude crisp, the prayer flags flutter and the street dogs howl?
How tourism is changing in Nepal
Bardiya National Park is rich with wildlife. (Credit: Simon Urwin)
India is not the only association many Nepalis would like to shake. With eight of the world’s 10 tallest mountains, including Mount Everest and Annapurna, Nepal has long attracted mountaineers and trekkers, and expedition numbers are continuing to rise.
Tourism is one of the country’s biggest sources of foreign currency, so this growth is not negative, per se. But according to Ang Tshering Lama, who co-founded Phaplu Mountain Bike Club, being reduced to a mere trekking destination is limiting.
“Trekking is just one layer of our identity,” says Ang. “When it becomes the dominant narrative, it limits how we’re seen and how we see ourselves.” Nepal’s recent success, however, in diverting trekkers to less-trafficked areas such as Manaslu mofuntain, where visitor numbers rose by 117 per cent last year, offers hope that tourism can diversify even more radically.
Local men in Bhada village. (Credit: Simon Urwin)
The founder of CHN, Shiva Dhakal, wants that change. “The whole idea of the Community Homestay Network is to promote experiences outside of trekking,” he says. “Community tourism changes lives and helps kids stay home instead of coming to the city or migrating to the Middle East.”
Ang grew up seeing people leave, “not because they wanted to but because there weren’t enough opportunities to stay”, he states. Yet from remote villages to living traditions; food, art, music and emerging subcultures, “there’s so much that’s not being seen.”
CHN is opening some of those doors. It doesn’t own, or fund, any homes. Rather, it promotes homestays to travellers on a single, slick platform, while fostering entrepreneurship in places where women, marginalised castes, Indigenous people and the youth stand to benefit the most.
A new generation demanding more
Dalla Town Hall, where volunteers discuss anti-poaching tactics. (Credit: Bheem Thapa)
The future prospects of next-gen Nepalis can no longer be ignored. On a Kathmandu tour with 33-year-old guide Monica K.C, we pass buildings torched in the September 2025 ‘Gen Z protests’, including the Supreme Court and Parliament House. Seventy-two people died. “They were anti-corruption protests,” says Monica. “Politicians’ children are living a lavish life but the airports are crowded with youngsters leaving to find work.”
We stop in ‘little Tibet’ at the wondrous sixth-century Boudha Stupa. “The wheel of life is Buddhism in a nutshell,” says Monica. “Things such as hate, ignorance and anger keep you rotating around the wheel, so you must follow the principles of Buddhism to detach. If you can’t, there’s no nirvana for you.”
Boudha Stupa’s prayer wheels are used to recite Buddhist prayers. (Credit: Kate Lewis)
In a sun-drenched twist to the usual temple visit, we ascend the stupa’s sloping plinth and roam its whitewashed dome. Tendrils of diaphanous prayer flags stream from a steeple-like structure where the Buddha’s unblinking eyes stare out. No nirvana for you…
Tibetan-style prayer flags embellish the whitewashed dome of Bouda Stupa, a Buddhist temple. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)
The dome is delightfully free of guard rails or chiding from security. There is, however, a stern ‘No TikTok’ sign, perhaps in response to the youth’s newly flexed power. The booted-out Prime Minister, K.P. Sharma Oli, was replaced in a resounding election victory in March by 35-year-old Balendra Shah of the Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP) – a former rapper and mayor of Kathmandu. The RSP’s manifesto indicates tourism is a priority, and that Nepal’s cultural identity in areas such as gastronomy will be strengthened.
Vibrant souvenir shops and cafes around Boudha Stupa. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)
A more confronting stop awaits at Pashupatinath Temple. Today is Bala Chaturdashi, a Hindu festival where thousands of devotees gather to honour their dead ancestors. Vendors hauling foam mattresses do a lucrative trade as people set up for a night of vigil. This includes burning the bodies of recently deceased relatives on bamboo pyres in the Bagmati River, which flows into the sacred Ganges.
A woman at annual Hindu festival Bala Chaturdashi, in Kathmandu. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)
Wrapped in a shroud, the bodies are positioned with their heads facing north to the Himalayas where Lord Shiva resides. They’re covered with flowers and straw and set alight by male family members.
Hours later, the ashes are swept into the river where devotees will take a holy dip the next day. As much as Monica assures us it’s not voyeuristic to watch, I struggle to do so. “Here you see the reality of life because everyone ends up there,” she says, gesturing to the river.
Life unfiltered in the Terai region
Tharu woman and master weaver Parbati Chaudhary in Bhada Village. (Credit: Bheem Thapa)
The reality of life needs processing time, which the western Terai region delivers in spades. The Terai is largely separated from India by the Karnali River and Bardiya National Park, where elephants, rhinos and the elusive Bengal tiger roam.
Once a nomadic tribe, the Indigenous Tharu people are now the largest ethnic group here. “They didn’t know their daily life was interesting for international travellers but they’re starting to understand now,” says CHN founder Shiva.
Take a Jeep safari through Bardiya National Park. (Credit: Bheem Thapa)
We fly Buddha Air to Dhangadhi airport and drive five hours to stay in Tharu homes. The journey to Bhada village is a blur of roadside fruit stalls, traffic-stopping sacred cows and fields sown with wheat, rice, mustard, spinach, cauliflower and potatoes. Nepal’s agriculture feeds only Nepal.
Marigolds are an important part of Hindu rituals. (Credit: Simon Urwin)
“The only thing we export is young people,” says our guide Bikal. As the light dims and we plunge evermore rural, mysterious mounds of compacted hay – some house-sized – loom like the creatures from Where The Wild Things Are. Even our trusty driver gets flummoxed by a dirt road that abruptly ends and we find ourselves hurtling across a paddock.
On arrival, some are ferried to mud-walled cottages greened by gourd creepers, with thatched roofs and rustic-chic mosquito nets. Myself and two others are ushered to the home of corner store owner, mechanic and mushroom farmer Man Kumar Chilaruwa and his wife Rajkumari.
A warm welcome at a community homestay. (Credit: Simon Urwin)
They escort us to a bunker-esque back building with steel doors and a folding security gate, behind which is gleaming linoleum, dolphin-printed tiles and a shower cavity that must be gingerly stepped through to reach the toilet.
The ceiling lights emit a rainbow of colours (the bathroom light gets stuck in, frankly, a quite frightening red). We’re nevertheless touched that our hosts invested in all this bling when the average salary is around $275 a month.
In the coming days, we participate in Tharu traditions such as making moonshine, dancing, weaving straw handicrafts and gold-panning. We’re fed well with staples of rice, mustard greens, lentil pancakes, daal, curried chicken and tomato chutney served on antibacterial saal leaves.
Dig in. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)
Sonara community homestay president Indradevi Tharu tells us river snails are often served, and the boiled and pickled flesh of rats hunted in the rice fields. “Perhaps next time?” we say and all have a laugh.
The power of community homestays
Barda community homestay owners Parbati Chaudhary and Ram Krishni Devi Chaudhary. (Credit: Simon Urwin)
Immersing Western visitors in foreign cultural practices is not new. But with the Tharu, I never get that uneasy sensation that I’m being performed for. Despite being the only tourists, there’s no ‘othering’; just warm, composed and ultra-dignified welcomes. Like we’ve always been here.
“I love to have travellers in my village so I can see the world,” says local woman Parbati Chaudhary. “Why would I travel the world when the world comes to me?”
The graceful acceptance the Tharu offer, as well as the slow pace, works miracles on my frazzled nervous system. One day I even take a nap on a vacant homestay bed.
An authentic stay in the Sonara community. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)
Roosters strut and goats bray as we sit on the ground in al fresco kitchens, rolling rice flour into cylinders steamed to make dhikri (dumplings). When water is needed, we fetch it using a hand-operated pump as a family of ducks strolls by, side-eying us like curious neighbours.
Animal lovers will delight in Tharu villages. Kind and resourceful inventions are everywhere, such as snacking stations where two posts lean together, with leafy boughs dangling on rope for baby goats to forage from.
CHN’s CEO, Aayusha Prasain, nods knowingly when one in our group says she cried when she left her host, Shayam Chaudhary, in Bhada. Shayam’s 17-year-old son, Prashant, had translated, which deepened the connection.
“Community tourism turns travel into a relationship, not a transaction,” says Aayusha. “It places decision-making power in the hands of local communities, especially women and youth.” Since 2018, CHN has hosted more than 4000 travellers from 52 countries in 408 households, and estimates women’s participation has increased by 381 per cent.
Elephant watch. (Credit: Simon Urwin)
In the Bardiya community, where vexing human-animal conflict has been a balancing act for decades due to elephants raiding crops, long-time homestay operator Salik Ram Chaudhary says young people keep the older ones on their toes.
Gathering greens. (Credit: Bheem Thapa)
“We can’t keep homestays stagnant,” he says. “We have to upgrade our service and redefine our product or young people won’t see it as an attractive business. If we can keep evolving with this travelling trend we’re confident the youths will stay and continue it.”
Back in Kathmandu, Monica explains that after the deaths of young protestors in September, a determination had spread to not let their sacrifice be in vain. “We want to keep holding the government accountable,” she says. “We don’t know what situation we’re facing, but we’re ready to face it.”
Interested in Nepal but prefer to experience it in total comfort? Read our guide to luxury travel in Nepal.
