I stumbled through Clarke Quay one night-mildly intoxicated. Tripped over the pavement outside ‘One Nite Stand’ and wondered if food was still being served? Got a really good look at the menu and with the assistance of a sober server did I realize that the kitchen was closed. My attempt at small talk and possibly a night of wild sex came crashing when I realized it was a guy I was talking to and not some voluptuous vixen my mind wanted me to believe he was. And there goes my thoughts of me being ‘mildly intoxicated’.

I desperately needed food. If I at the very least knew that my night held promises of mind blowing copulation, I would have skipped supper, and quite possibly breakfast and lunch. But something about that 3 am that day told me I was in for a very quiet night- morning and afternoon included.

I realized that I had to sacrifice my gold-plated ‘chef-tongue’ and eat like the rest of the locals-Got into a cab I did!

Just before Orchard Towers came rambling out, I managed to squeeze out ‘Lau Pa Sat’. Heaved a huge sigh of relief and buckled my seatbelt.

The place was jostling. It was probably the craziest crowd I have ever seen at a single food center my entire life. And after further investigations, I can safely say, the pricing of the food that were available that night would have made the Shangri La sound cheap. Had my 5 dollar chicken rice and 6.50 worth of rojak and (brace yourself) 18 dollars worth of satay all 9 skewers of them been any good I would not be penning my agony to you right now.

The food was shit but, I guess it did the job. Well I don’t really see much of a point in whining about it a week after being raped, but now I know where not to go.

So the lesson being is either get laid or find the nearest 7-11. You can’t really go wrong! Am getting laid now, so… Bugger off! Cheers.

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Alright mate, I am getting to it-Food!

Well the Japs were finally playing Portugal in the much anticipated bottom of the table clash in the Rugby World Cup. Besides my raw fish eating friends and Jose Mourinho’s supporters, whom I don’t blame for losing all faith in soccer after a Smirnoff influenced board meeting caused his all too sudden departure, this match obviously bore no consequence to anyone-anywhere. This match only allowed the rest of the rugby fans around the world and players in France to catch up on the sleep they have been losing studying and watching the Kiwi’s and the toons that wore the emblem of the ‘Three Lions’ on their chest.

Being an alcoholic with a serious food problem, I decided to indulge in two of the deadliest sins, sloth and gluttony in my favourite sports bars- ‘Bungy Bar’. The conveniently located sports bar in Clarke Quay offers players and fanatics of the ‘gentlemen’s game’ a peppy and drunken respite from all other forms of life-family, societal and liver functionality included.( don’t blame us consumers it’s the bloody cheap beer and fantastic food that draws the likes of me to the south poles like north’s. Bloody Bungy! )

A menu that comprised of Aussie steak sandwiches, BB beef burgers, Seafood Marinaras’, Surf and Turfs’ and Nacho’s sounds bloody “extraordinary”. But sautéed Garlic Prawns, Bacon wrapped Enoki mushrooms, Marinated Feta cheese with Lemon and Oregano, Blue cheese steak sandwich and Honey Mustard chicken makes me wonder if Le Bungy Bouchon was a more appropriate name, and that’s not even including a tux and gown dress code.

A sports bar televising rugby, gourmet food, cheap beer and cheaper women. A dream come true. I always thought life was never fair. Cheers. Burp!

“Get me another VB on draft mate! And tell those girls to stop screaming everytime I get a beer!”

“It’s the G-Max mate!”

“Yea, whateva! I will max their ‘G’ after a couple of rounds-and I don’t charge. Burp!”

Bungy Bar is located in Clarke Quay, near the G-Max Reverse Bungies.

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