Are These Your Keys?
Last night I went to the best small bar I have ever been to in my life. Feather Boa sits behind large velour curtains. It used to be an antique shop and has been converted into one of the coolest places in Hong Kong.
Of course the knockers call it wanky, pretentious and all the other derogatory names under the sun but chances are they have not even got through the door thanks to the wonderful door policy that favours people who do not keel over at the possible shock of how expensive and exclusive the bar looks.
The place is a downright fire hazard and possibly would not be allowed to operate in New Zealand. There is only one entry and exit point and last night, as I am told every night it is packed to the rafters.
I try to explain the size of the bar by comparing it to a New Zealand bar. But there is no comparison. The area would struggle to be 1000 square foot, of which the bar area and seating takes up a third.
Apart from the hired male models that are obviously paid to be in the bar, the best part of the bar is of course the drinks. Large mouthwatering calorie laden cocktails with chocolate dripping from the rim. The volume of the drinks is perhaps 3 times the standard cocktail serve.
Most people have one or two, I drank four, subsequent to previously tucking away several hours of drinking at the cringe making venue Boca, around the road. My male (yes we actually are "just" friend) friend likes the Boca waitresses so we had a trade-off of venues.
So skip past the fact I state again that this is the best bar in the world and any critic who thinks $HKD75+10% service is expensive for a cocktail three times the standard size, should go down to your friendly New Zealand local and ask how much their anorexic anti-delicious drinks cost and choke on your tight arse.
After visits to several other establishments, I put on the automatic homing device that I wear in my shoes for nights like this. Get home, extreme hangover resulted and I checked out the ceramics of the toilet bowl.
On recovery I wished to go out to take all my cleaning to the laundromat. I can't find the friggin keys. I go right through the apartment, fortunately this does not take long. I have to go out without locking up as Mr Laundromat closes at 6pm on Saturday.
I am stopped by building security whose night shift did their job.
Are these your keys?
Another night out in the big city - potential for, but no resulting long term damage.
Best I now go run off the remaining calories in the 95% humidity.
Of course the knockers call it wanky, pretentious and all the other derogatory names under the sun but chances are they have not even got through the door thanks to the wonderful door policy that favours people who do not keel over at the possible shock of how expensive and exclusive the bar looks.
The place is a downright fire hazard and possibly would not be allowed to operate in New Zealand. There is only one entry and exit point and last night, as I am told every night it is packed to the rafters.
I try to explain the size of the bar by comparing it to a New Zealand bar. But there is no comparison. The area would struggle to be 1000 square foot, of which the bar area and seating takes up a third.
Apart from the hired male models that are obviously paid to be in the bar, the best part of the bar is of course the drinks. Large mouthwatering calorie laden cocktails with chocolate dripping from the rim. The volume of the drinks is perhaps 3 times the standard cocktail serve.
Most people have one or two, I drank four, subsequent to previously tucking away several hours of drinking at the cringe making venue Boca, around the road. My male (yes we actually are "just" friend) friend likes the Boca waitresses so we had a trade-off of venues.
So skip past the fact I state again that this is the best bar in the world and any critic who thinks $HKD75+10% service is expensive for a cocktail three times the standard size, should go down to your friendly New Zealand local and ask how much their anorexic anti-delicious drinks cost and choke on your tight arse.
After visits to several other establishments, I put on the automatic homing device that I wear in my shoes for nights like this. Get home, extreme hangover resulted and I checked out the ceramics of the toilet bowl.
On recovery I wished to go out to take all my cleaning to the laundromat. I can't find the friggin keys. I go right through the apartment, fortunately this does not take long. I have to go out without locking up as Mr Laundromat closes at 6pm on Saturday.
I am stopped by building security whose night shift did their job.
Are these your keys?
Another night out in the big city - potential for, but no resulting long term damage.
Best I now go run off the remaining calories in the 95% humidity.
posted by Cactus Kate at 11:11 PM
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