A good friend is leaving Hong Kong after ten years here, to follow his dream girl back to the States. Almost everyone who knows him is shocked but not displeased with the whirlwind romance and sudden big decision. He is happier than he has ever been and she is lovely, but we shall definitely miss him in the Valley neighborhood and at the alumni association events.
They invited a group of friends to join them for drinks at a location on Wyndham Street that I had never heard of, which is not surprising since I'm quite removed from the posh nightlife scene. Our last foray into the land of beautiful people was a couple months ago when we attended Wet at the W Hotel and the strongest memory I took away was of standing in the toilet queue for almost half an hour, which gave me enough time to notice that I was the only person in line who wasn't in dry clothing, which then led me to wonder why none of the swimmers other than myself needed to use the facilities. Maybe beautiful people have superior bladders along with superior genes and don't need to queue up for the venue's seriously under-provided toilets. But the small possibility that this wasn't the case led me to refrain from getting back into the pool with all of those lovely people.
Anyway, I Googled the name of the bar and discovered that the reviews were either short statements about how fantastic it was or lengthy rants over how snobbish and rude it was. I figured that it was one of those places where the supermodel manning the door would look at your shoes and then tell you that the place was too full to let you in. I wasn't wrong. There was a very pretty woman watching the door but she wasn't tall like the one at Dragon Eye, and she told us that the place was too full. I was horrified because I had actually put on what I thought were sexy shoes and having them rejected just hurt but then she explained that they really were at capacity though if we knew someone inside she would let us in. We gave our friend's name and were admitted into the bar, leaving behind a group of crestfallen young women in stiletto heels who didn't know anyone inside.
The interior was very well done and sleek, with white leather couches that were thankfully comfortable. The drinks were very creative and tasty although I'm not sure if they were amazing enough to warrant $200 per cocktail. I was unimpressed with the tiny, silver goblet that my very expensive drink was served in and wondered to SB if I got to keep the goblet. Amusingly, when we were leaving a woman swooped over to our table and grabbed the little goblet, and I am fairly certain that she wasn't a server. And I'm also fairly certain that we weren't supposed to keep the goblet.
They invited a group of friends to join them for drinks at a location on Wyndham Street that I had never heard of, which is not surprising since I'm quite removed from the posh nightlife scene. Our last foray into the land of beautiful people was a couple months ago when we attended Wet at the W Hotel and the strongest memory I took away was of standing in the toilet queue for almost half an hour, which gave me enough time to notice that I was the only person in line who wasn't in dry clothing, which then led me to wonder why none of the swimmers other than myself needed to use the facilities. Maybe beautiful people have superior bladders along with superior genes and don't need to queue up for the venue's seriously under-provided toilets. But the small possibility that this wasn't the case led me to refrain from getting back into the pool with all of those lovely people.
Anyway, I Googled the name of the bar and discovered that the reviews were either short statements about how fantastic it was or lengthy rants over how snobbish and rude it was. I figured that it was one of those places where the supermodel manning the door would look at your shoes and then tell you that the place was too full to let you in. I wasn't wrong. There was a very pretty woman watching the door but she wasn't tall like the one at Dragon Eye, and she told us that the place was too full. I was horrified because I had actually put on what I thought were sexy shoes and having them rejected just hurt but then she explained that they really were at capacity though if we knew someone inside she would let us in. We gave our friend's name and were admitted into the bar, leaving behind a group of crestfallen young women in stiletto heels who didn't know anyone inside.
The interior was very well done and sleek, with white leather couches that were thankfully comfortable. The drinks were very creative and tasty although I'm not sure if they were amazing enough to warrant $200 per cocktail. I was unimpressed with the tiny, silver goblet that my very expensive drink was served in and wondered to SB if I got to keep the goblet. Amusingly, when we were leaving a woman swooped over to our table and grabbed the little goblet, and I am fairly certain that she wasn't a server. And I'm also fairly certain that we weren't supposed to keep the goblet.
How could anyone dare to disallow these shoes from entry?!
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