JJ’S
He stared contemplatively at the blank page before him. Why had he not yet written anything, he couldn’t say. Fondling the dark, polished wood of the bar top, the novelist wearily fixed the bartender with an exasperated stare, gesturing again for his glass to be filled. As he turned again to his as-yet-unwritten tome, a full-lipped woman in a tight, red dress sashayed past and into the wine room. She glanced back over her shoulder, and a smile played on her lips as she silently beckoned him to follow. He set down his notebook. The novel could wait. This was one pinot noir that he couldn’t turn down.
1/F, 1 Harbour Rd., Wan Chai, 2584-7662.
RED
The sprawling vista of the cityscape spread out before them. Although the bar was filled with diners, as far as Juan and Maria were concerned, they were the only two people in the world. Maria clasped Juan to her heaving bosom. “Juan, make me the heroine of your novel,” she breathed, “And I shall be immortalized in your works.” Juan’s eyes smoldered. “My darling, for you I would do anything,” he declared, ablaze with emotion. “Hold me,” Maria cried, and as they embraced, much to the bemusement of the waiters, their hearts beat together, united in their burning passion, as RED as the sun.
Shop 3082, Podium L/4, IFC Mall, 8 Finance St., Central, 8129-8882.
JOYCE IS NOT HERE
Svetlana looked at me with narrowed eyes. How beautiful she was, yet how cold. Like the statue of the Venus De Milo, but with arms. My heart and loins ached with desire for her. Why was she, the prima ballerina, and member of the Russian aristocracy, my lover? I, the bookish, poorly dressed failed novelist, with nothing to my name but regrets? She looked at me with a gaze that cut me to my very soul. “White wine soda. Now,” she said, with dulcet tones that almost, but not quite, masked her contempt. “Sad Hour” from 4pm-8pm, indeed.
38-44, Peel St., Central, 2851-2999.
LE RIDeau THEATRE CAFÉ
The writer stared at the scene that unfolded before him. From the moody interior of the bar, he looked upon the street scene that played out beneath him. People acted out their lives below while he observed, impartial, from the reality of the theatre café. He noted this with a wry smile. Below, the drones ran to and fro, arguing, shouting, fighting with each other. Why did it matter, he mused, for don’t we all just revert to nothingness at the end of our lives? However, this thought would have to wait. He had just noticed an absence of peanuts in his bowl, both literally and metaphorically.
1/F, Hilltop Plaza, 49 Hollwood Rd., SoHo, 2850-8833.