If people think all I am is a fabulous creature of the night who goes to parties and fashion shows and then writes about my messcapades in a weekly column... Well, last month I had to give birth to an extra 68 pages for our new “hkstylebook.“ Man, talk about hard labor. Big thanks to all the sweeties who contributed. And you lucky ones in Central will no doubt have found my baby inside this issue of HK Mag. Feast your eyes.
There’s something about being a desk-bound corporate serf all week that gets you prone to extra inebriation when the weekend rolls along. Last Friday, we went to Bit Point. I don’t think I’ve ever set foot there before. I usually don’t patronize that particular part of LKF... I just walk through it if I absolutely have to, and pretend not to see anybody. But I didn’t care that night. All I wanted was more alcohol, after a whole lotta sake and Sapporo from Sushi Kuu and a delicious assortment of free shots from FINDS already. The proprietress was my friend’s kai tse (godsister in the Confucian sense, not Christian) so we went in. And the gracious fairy godsister kept materializing everything on our table. Apologies to the three lovely and casually dressed Czechs—I believe our group just kind of overtook your booth. We slithered over completely intoxicated and just threw our bags down, à la The Devil Wears Prada. Sorry for being all up in yo’ territory.
A plate of German sausages of all shapes and sizes arrived, together with the creamiest, most unctuous mashed potatoes. I think I gorged without any regard for table manners or the no-carbs-after-nine rule. And then the champagne came. I was so smashed I didn’t even check what kind it was. Taittinger I think. I remember picking decorated stemware though. Pretty!
By that time the Czechs had abandoned their original booth and moved over to a side-table. I don’t blame them—they were probably having a serious discussion of atheism or the structural integrity of Prague, or perhaps the musical diversity of Moravian folk. And my group was playing earsplittingly embarrassing drinking games in Cantonese. With champagne, like arrivistes. The shame. I’m surprised they didn’t bitchslap us. True bohemians, I salute you all, even though I don’t remember any of your Slavic names.
To my horror, in my hott mess state (yes, double tee), I participated in a rowdy round, or three. I do admit that I sometimes involve myself with drinking games, but only within the confines of a private karaoke room. When some bitch has taken my mic and I can’t sing. Luckily a plate of glorious pork knuckles came and I forgot about the hideously disgraceful drinking games and went back to the food. I believe stuffing your face with German fare looks more restrained than shrieking Cantonese drinking games in the company of western people.
