Nightlife is a fat Turducken

I attended Asia City’s Christmas dinner party, to consume all the food and booze there. Normally we do our fun Xmas parties, with the annual Asia City Wacky Awards, on our lovely balcony (does fit all three floors of staff because the balcony is quite ginormous). But alas, it was raining freakishly that night, so tables were moved in, lights were dimmed and candles were lit, making our third floor office look like an intimate private kitchen. For our Secret Santa session, our charismatic country manager Greg dressed up as a svelte Santa in elegant European Saint Nicholas couture. Editorial thinks he should have dressed up as a Krampus (Wiki it). Then our omnipotent publisher changed into period costume and assumed his alter ego as the Georgian Dealer. He then proceeded to make us all tell chronicles of charity, and tales from our sordid past. Mine was a story set in Paris, and involved three Moroccans. Somehow, that boring old yarn has been spreading like wildfire. Whatever. I have a video of the Georgian Dealer dancing. There were some pretty crazy shapes being thrown.

I had a little sneak peak at the new FINDS in Luxe the next evening, perfect for one of the coldest days in the city. They have stylish chairs made in Scandinavia, some upholstered with colorful florals from Missoni. And I’m told that the couches will soon be covered with fabric from Paul Smith. Chef Jaako served me some Glögg (Icelandic and Swedish), or Gløgg (Danish and Norwegian), or should I say Glögi (since chef is Finnish), that deliciously spicy Scandinavian mulled wine. He advised me to spoon in some more raisins and blanched almonds. Fabulous. It was like an alcoholic cereal. We were there for a dinner paired with cool climate wines (ich liebe the Riesling) from Sidewood Estate on the Adelaide Hills.

The next day, after a dim sum dinner party with some local foodies, food bloggers and chefs (plus the amusing Amy Ma), we went to check out the new bar of Phat Dan (of Yumla fame), the Blck Brd (try saying that without pronouncing the vowels) on the sixth floor of 8 Lyndhurst Terrace. It’s rough with exposed brick and debonair with a wallpaper design so sexy (vintage Victorian but with muted color palette) that I could lick it. And I can safely predict that this contemporary freehouse bar, gallery and roof garden will become the new hangout of old Yumla regulars—most of whom have become parents, so all-night benders at the former joint are no longer appropriate given their new roles and responsibilities in life. Werq it, you sexy daddies and mommies.

The next day was yet another Xmas dinner party at Via 28 on Lower Peel, an enigmatic sparkling black box right by Chez Patrick. It looks like a private club, but it’s actually a neat Italian resto that’s also open for lunch, so do check it out. The appetizers are out of this world. My friend Derek had booked the whole venue for our annual Glammy Awards (which I won, of course). Then we hiked up Peel in our heels to Déjà Vu—my old favorite boutique bar now has another new alfresco area. Then I was dragged to Hed Kandi Hard Candy at Hyde whilst quite intoxicated. Oh, Hed Kandi’s house is always oodles of fun!

My Christmas dinner parties are not stopping, so haters: yes, I am now a fat drunken turducken. Happy holidays!