Drinking Marmite

I went out for drinks with friends this evening at a bar called Horse’s Mouth, hidden in the bowels of a shopping mall on Orchard Road.

They had a good selection of Japanese food, and a cocktail menu printed in tiny font on paper in a darkened restaurant, so it was only after squinting hard I realised there was a gin based cocktail with fernet branca and Marmite, of all things. Well, how could I resist?

I’m not sure I could ever drink another Porter’s Fizz, a strange brown concoction that tastes a bit like toothpaste but smells exactly like Marmite. It was fascinating enough for me to drink one tall glass of it, but after that I had to slow down and concentrate on a regular gin and tonic.

We chatted for an hour or two and I made the mistake of ordering an ice cream sandwich (the menu failed to specify that it was the gopping combination of matcha and red bean, and that really doesn’t go well with Marmite) , and then I fled home in a too fast taxi to sleep, readying myself for the rest of the end of the week.

It’s nice to get out. It’s nice to get out of it.

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