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Recently, I went to a place that I had been meaning to go to for quite some time.
The place is called ‘Tsubaki-an’, a Japanese restaurant located just off Boat Quay (Circular Road). I have been to many Japanese restaurants, sushi bars, Japanese BBQs…. But I have never been quite so pleasantly surprised by the spirit of hospitality.

This place is run by Japanese who are from `Kyoto`, the old capital of Japan back in 7th or 8th century. So the food on the menu is Western Japanese (as in from the west of Japan) ‘Obanzai’.

I reached there at about 9pm on Saturday night, the place was quite small, fairly busy still, there were a few tables as well as a bar seats. There was another half of the place, it must have been the function room.

There was only one waitress who was juggling everything around on the floor at the time. She was a bit stressed but she cleared up the only free table & we were seated 5 minutes later. (By the way all the staff there are Japanese.) I had to wait for some time for her to come back to me after I decided the appetizer to go along with my Asahi beer. Finally she came and asked for my order and I ordered one jug of Asahi draught. After about ten minutes, she came up to me and said “This is complimentary, as we made you wait for so long and I am very sorry”. Then and she gave me an extra mug of Asahi draught!!

I wondered what made me a chef. My ability to cook or my undying need to eat. I always believed the latter suited me better.

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.

“Keep it short!” He said. Well in a bid to make a short article make sense I reduced the size of the font. If size didn’t matter, this article would be in huge fonts-836667 pages long and in bold print. Why bold? I don’t know. It neither increased the length nor the size of the article, but bold just made sense- to avoid indulging in length, size and colour lets just assume the darker the better-period.

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.

Last Monday I was in a popular nightspot in Clarke Quay & I saw certain events that shook me even an a person experienced in the industry.

There was an RnB band on the stage which was quite not too good indeed. But it started to sound much better as the drinks started taking it effect. That day I was able to witness something that quite caught my interest.

Watching from one of the booths, I saw an argument at the bar. Two Caucasian “gentlemen” started to smoke in the club not knowing about Singapore’s anti smoking laws. When the bartender confronted them, the visibly irritated guys were adamant. Later they were escorted by the security to the front where I believe they had a smoke

You are in the hustle & bustle of Clarke Quay. Walking past the guys in kilts from Highlander Whisky bar, you now see guys in Cowboy hats, shit man, costume party!

The Cowboy Hatted Pseudo Cubans are from Cuba Libre. By the looks of it just another place in Clarke Quay, wood all over, kinda cool. You look at the menu, it looks not too expensive. You start thinking Mojitos!

You go inside. There are band instruments inside. You are informed they play from Tuesdays till Saturdays. You sit down at a table inside but close to the exterior, looking up at the tops of the shophouse fronted outlets on the other side.

Looking around you see barstools made of bongo drums, the feature wall has this really neat image of a cuban woman with a massive cigar in her mouth. You start feeling at home already. The music, classic latin stuff, or should I say the more famous of latin tunes are all here. You start vibing already.