Yesterday I was fortunate enough to be taken to lunch at the China Club, an excellent venue to gorge oneself stupid on good Chinese food and rubber neck the room to see if there are any celebrity diners spearing dim sum with silver chopsticks.
Glancing around the dining room it was apparent that while the atmosphere was animated enough, there was no delicious rattle of ice in a glass, no expectant pop of corks emerging from bottles and no one laughing at a joke made all the more funny because they've had a few.
In short - no one was drinking.
There was not a flushed face to indicate the wearer had bolted a couple of zesty gin and tonics before lunch, moved on to the wine and were now smacking their lips in anticipation of a large cognac for dessert, instead of the steamed sweet beancurd.
Since the wheels of commerce of industry turn faster in Hong Kong than anywhere else in the world it seemed extraordinary that nobody felt the need to lubricate them, especially with the weekend looming.
Even in the politically-correct United States, well in New York at least, the martini before lunch, or sometimes instead of lunch, has made a comeback.
The British attitude to lunchtime tippling involves a ritual that starts by saying you rarely take a drink at lunch because it makes you sleepy - and then volunteering to have 'just the one.' Three hours later you are still in the pub, participating in heated debates about critical global issues like who is getting the next round in, and whether ER is better than Chicago Hope.
