Sweet Beans, Fruits, and Vibrant Syrups: The Allure of Singaporean Ice Kachang

Under the blazing Singapore sun, the air is thick with humidity, but I remain unbothered. I'm in the cool shade of ABC Brickworks, one of the city’s historic hawker centers, eagerly awaiting my turn at the Jin Jin Dessert stall. Soon, I’ll be delighting in the refreshing chill of ice kachang.

As the queue inches forward, I observe local office workers—women in skirts and heels, men in neatly pressed shirts—returning to their tables with towering mounds of shaved ice, layered with beans (the term 'kachang' means 'bean' in Malay) and drenched in fruits, jellies, and eye-catching syrups.

In this scorching island nation, located just one degree north of the equator, a variety of chilled and frozen desserts are available. However, ice kachang—originating in the mid-20th century—holds a cherished spot in the hearts of Singaporeans, young and old alike.

My initial encounter with it wasn’t love at first sight. Before moving to Singapore full-time, I visited frequently and often passed by the colorful stalls selling this treat, but I never stopped. I assumed it would be overly sweet and had a personal ban on fluorescent foods at the time.

In 2016, a friend finally persuaded me to try it. Feeling hot, hungry, and parched, ice kachang turned out to be a delightful surprise. With my first bite, a rush of flavors danced across my palate. The dessert was light, refreshingly cool, and sweet, but not nearly as cloying as I had imagined. It felt almost therapeutic: the mix of ice and sugar rehydrated me and gave me a much-needed energy boost—exactly what an overheated traveler required.

Even now, I enjoy watching the process of assembling ice kachang, and my visit to ABC Brickworks is no exception. As I approach the front of the line, I observe Ewan Tang, co-owner of the Jin Jin stall, in action. He begins by adding a scoop of sweetened adzuki beans and a scoop of jelly-like attap chee (palm seeds) into a bowl. Next, he places the bowl under a machine that transforms a solid block of ice into a fluffy pile of shaved ice. The excitement—and the colors—start here. Tang pours on condensed milk along with the syrup of the diner’s choice (options range from rose to sarsaparilla to pandan leaf) and finishes with the preferred toppings, which could include sweet corn, peanuts, durian, jackfruit, mango, or the jellied coconut called nata de coco, and so much more.

While there is a classic “recipe” for ice kachang—gula melaka (palm sugar) syrup, beans, and condensed milk—the variations are practically limitless these days. When it’s finally my turn to order, I opt for strawberry syrup and nata de coco, my favorite combination. I then join the office workers at the bright yellow tables scattered throughout the hawker center. Eating quickly, I use a wide soup spoon to scoop up the ice before it melts. Some people prefer to leave a little at the bottom; I, on the other hand, drain the bowl like it's the last of the milk from my cereal. I lean back and reflect: six years and countless bowls later, ice kachang still manages to refresh and satisfy.

On another humid evening, I meet Shermay Lee, a chef, award-winning cookbook author, and expert on Singaporean heritage cuisine. Lee is the niece of Singapore’s founding father, Lee Kuan Yew, and she now oversees her own product line, Shermay’s Singapore Fine Food. We sip tea at a friend’s house as she recounts the rather unclear history of ice kachang.

Shaved ice isn’t unique to this region. Historians suggest that during the mid-19th century, ships began transporting naturally occurring ice to places like Hawai‘i, where people would carefully shave blocks of ice by hand. The introduction of freezers in the 1940s changed everything, according to Lee. In Singapore and Malaysia—formerly a single country—clever street vendors utilized these machines to create large ice blocks, which they then transformed into fluffy powder using hand-cranked shavers. The ice was shaped into a compact sphere known as an ice ball, drenched in syrup, and served as a snack meant to be enjoyed with the hands.

As the nation evolved (Singapore gained its independence in 1965), the ice ball evolved into the ice kachang we know today: a tower of shaved ice best enjoyed with a spoon. Nowadays, Lee notes, there’s a trend among ice kachang hawkers to compete with extravagant flavor combinations. (Singaporeans and Malaysians share a friendly yet intense rivalry over who crafts the best ice kachang.)

"In a way, the transition from ice ball to ice kachang mirrors the advancements of the post-World War II era," Lee explains. "[We shifted] from eating it with our hands on the streets of old Singapore to enjoying it in the comfort of a hawker center with tables and stools, all under a roof and a fan."

Lee explains that the situation remained largely unchanged until the early 2000s. As younger Singaporeans began pursuing careers outside the food sector and even relocating off the island, ice kachang—and the multigenerational hawker stalls that served it—faced decline. In response, the government initiated programs and grants in 2011 to encourage youth to learn the craft. They also collaborated with hawker stall owners on succession planning. In December 2020, UNESCO recognized hawker culture as part of its list of Intangible Cultural Heritage traditions.

During one of Singapore's many COVID-19 lockdowns, hawker centers were closed to dine-in customers. While some stall owners adapted by offering delivery, this wasn’t an option for those selling ice kachang. Nonetheless, the news felt uplifting—a reminder of hawker centers' significance in Singapore’s culinary landscape.

As I part ways with Lee, I reflect on her insights and the past few years. Thanks to government initiatives and the recent easing of COVID-19 restrictions, most stalls have reopened and are bustling once again. On my way home, I pass a hawker center so vibrant and brightly lit that it resembles a beacon. Inside, people gather around tables, laughing and chatting, many dipping their spoons into those colorful towers—symbols of identity and place. It feels like a true revelation.