Today was my wife’s birthday, so after work I took her to El Mero Mero (the boss of bosses), a Mexican restaurant in the Chjimes complex. We got there half an hour early so I drank a Tecate and she got on the mezcal before we went into the garden for tacos. Continue reading “Singaporean Mexican Birthday Party”
This evening we had a Mexican dinner at a friend’s condo. They have a Mexican restaurant in their complex – well, a bit more like a Singaporean idea of a bodega, I guess, serving tamales and jarritos and tacos. They gave my wife a burrito as big asa her head, and I had delicious but very messy tacos, each slightly larger than my thumb, but I kept scoffing them and sinking beer and gin until it was time to retire.
Like an idiot, this was on top of an early evening birthday celebration of very strong microbrewery booze – this century’s response to homebrew is artisanally crafted IPA that blows your head off the next morning, although since there aren’t enough hipsters with beards here, it gets served to you by random aunties in aprons instead. Plus ca change, huh?
Does this life ever become normal, or is this how it will be for me from now until the end of time? Not complaining, just curious…
We had friends in town from Hong Kong, and my wife had reconnitred a suitable drinking venue in Duxton Hill, so we trooped down there this evening. I’d also just received my 360 degree camera (coincidentally from a supplier in Hong Kong) so we took that with us too, in order to record the whole drunk-fest. There’s far too much swearing and blurriness for me to share the photos here though 🙁
Continue reading “What a cava-up”
On my last night in San Francisco, I went out to a pizza restaurant with my immediate team; Delarosa is a mostly orange pizzeria near Market Street, where the only meat on pizza is pig-based, although that’s of little concern to me directly, and the crusts are just slightly thicker than I like (using Tokyo’s Pizza Strada as my gold standard). Thinking on it now, perhaps the reason they offer an orange wheat beer is to conform with their colour scheme. Even if it does come in a white and seafoam coloured can.
Continue reading “Karaoke in San Francisco”
I forsook the company Christmas party in favour of a quiet night at home, figuring that with jet lag and my cold, somebody else would enjoy the party more than me, and I could get a good night’s rest instead.
Which would have made sense if I then didn’t go out to the end-of-year Singapore Shufflers party, which consisted of a bunch of running types drinking increasingly strong booze at the hipster beer joint in Chinatown.
Note to future self: don’t drink Brazilian banana beer that’s 10% proof and completely opaque. Not even a sip. You’ll thank yourself in the morning.
Continue reading “Three pint special”
I had an …. eventful night. My wife laughed at every remonstration and refused to get off the living room floor. Eventually I gave up, propped her up with a pillow, left her Destroyer’s water bottle to sip from, and wen track to bed. And after five minutes La Serpiente woke and came in to see me, and then after an unsuccessful attempt to get her back to sleep, I ended up lying on her floor until 6:45, 15 minutes after my alarm started going off. After all that, she declined to go to parkrun with me.
Continue reading “The Day After The Night Before”
As the afternoon drew to a close, we played sevens. This is a drinking game where you sit in a circle, counting upwards in clockwise order. Every time you have a number with a 7 in it, or a multiple of 7, you clap your hands instead and the order reverses. And every time you say the wrong number, or clap when you should speak or speak when you should clap, you take a shot and the count goes back to 1. It took us two hours to get to 29. Continue reading “Sevens”