April Diary
Blok M diary, April 2005
No, this isn’t a musical drama, it’s all about the newly-formed Falatehan Association of Businesses, better known as FAB. Five of the bars on the street - D’s Place, Sportsmans, Everest, My Bar and Oscar - have banded together to form an association with the aim of generating synergy and working together for the common good of owners and customers. If you’d like to find out more, visit their web site at falatehan.com
But the Reveller can’t help wondering why Top Gun isn’t a member of the association. Nor the Club - which, though not strictly on the street, predates the other bars and has always been looked upon as part of the local scene. So what we’ve got is an East-West Falatehan divide - with Top Gun and the Club on the wrong side of the tracks. Instead of The Magnificent Seven, we’ve only got The Magnificent Five.
Without knowing the inside story the Reveller can only comment that this omission is a great pity, an opportunity missed either by FAB or the owners of Top Gun and the Club. Either way, their absence raises eyebrows a fraction and takes a bit of the gilt off the gingerbread.
The Reveller wishes FAB every success, and looks forward to actively supporting the members in the achievement of their goals.
This, as they say in show business, is the moment you’ve all been waiting for - the Reveller’s report on the unexpected, but most welcome, Grand Reopening of Lintas Melawai.
So Lintas Melawai, like the Monty Python parrot, was not dead - it was just resting. The Reveller’s premature epitaph for its demise reminds him of Mark Twain’s telegram to the New York Journal after they’d mistakenly printed his obituary - "The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated".
Rolling up spot on nine o’clock (we Jakarta Brits still retain our ingrained punctuality), the Reveller sees a festive string of Christmas tree lights strung over the door and a welcoming glow coming from inside. Entering the building for the first time in many months is an odd sensation, but the feeling quickly wears off as he wheels right and into the bar with his good friend Jakartass. And there, already propping up the bar, is Captain Birdseye himself.
The bar has been left pretty much alone, which is no bad thing as the design and layout are OK. It’s still a good place to chill out and enjoy a drink and a chat, as the background music isn’t too loud and the ambience is very pleasant. A couple of rather twee wrought-iron tables have been added, and there’s what looks like gold lamé pebble-dash wrapped around the pillars. Gone are the rows of flyblown exotic liquor bottles that used to be its trademark, in their place a range of quality spirits that look much more functional.
After downing a few bottles of beer and the courtesy sandwich snack provided by the new management, we decide to have a look at the disco. Again, not a lot has changed - they’ve simply continued the streamlining that was already under way before the closure. The biggest change is that the right-hand bar has disappeared, as have most of the bar tops that used to surround the dance floor - making the whole place much more open-plan. But rather oddly, the visual impression this creates is that there’s actually less space with the bar gone. The old-fashioned theatre spotlights have disappeared too, replaced by those wibbly-wobbly tricoloured strobes that seem to be standard issue for discos nowadays.
Now all this might be good news for the dancers, but there’s not enough seating and too few surfaces on which to park a glass or bottle. This is important, as most of the guys don’t want to dance but to sit, drink and enjoy the show. If they hope to get the troops marching back into Lintas Melawai they’re really going to have do something about this.
There’s another dark cloud on the horizon. We point out that the twenty-one minimum age rule for customers is a bit arbitrary, as the age of majority in Indonesia - when girls may legally marry - is seventeen. We agree with the management that it’s a sensible decision to keep out the tiny tots, but warn that the guys will only be back in force if there are plenty of Sweet Young Things to entice them.
The bar staff are friendly and enthusiastic, but do need a tad more training. One of the best omens is the new management. They’re keen, on the ball, and clearly intend to take a hands-on approach to the job. They deserve a big hand for all the effort they’ve put into reopening the place, and for making the first foray in the bar’s history into advertising and marketing.
It’s heartening to see Lintas Melawai reappear on the scene under new (and more dynamic) management; but with heavy investment by Oscar and My Bar in upgrading and expanding their own premises, it’s not going to be easy to recapture market share. Let’s hope that LM’s strategic location on the edge of Blok M, and the unique advantage it has of a separate bar and disco on the ground floor, will save the day.
All in all, a cautious thumbs up from the Reveller. He’ll be popping in on those nights when My Bar is just too crowded for comfort, and reckons that quite a few others will follow suit.
While none of the other bars can beat My Bar’s extensive and exotic menu - and in particular their inimitable sop buntut and mouth-watering Indian delicacies - when it comes down to good old-fashioned belly ballast Sportsmans reigns supreme. Yes, even their famous lite-bite nachos are served up in stomach-packing quantity!
One evening, as he’s browsing through the menu, Paulus greets the Reveller and recommends that he try a new item, gnocchi. For those of you who aren’t acquainted with this delicious Italian dish, gnocchi are small potato dumplings usually served with a meat or cheese sauce. So the Reveller, who loves gnocchi and hasn’t had any for ages, beams at mein host and promptly summons up a plateful of the tasty morsels.
Now be warned. A plate of gnocchi looks deceptively meagre, a mere collation of harmless little nuggets - but they’re dense, heavy, and deliciously chewy. And very, very moreish. Get a dozen or so of these little buggers inside you and you’ll feel as though you’ve just eaten a full three-course meal! Dressed with a savoury cheese sauce, they’re a real treat for a hungry reveller.
On his next visit the Reveller feels the need for something meaty and tasty, but not his regular pepper steak. Aha, there’s gammon on the menu! Being a hardened Jakarta realist, his first question to the charming waitress is - do they actually have any? As she trots off to find out, the Reveller glances round the bar. There are plenty of customers tucking into a variety of comestibles, all obviously well content with their nosh. Waitresses flit to and fro with nimble efficiency, smiling and chatting to the diners as they go.
Back comes the word that, yes, they do have gammon, so the order goes ahead. And when it arrives, it’s a visual delight. A goodly slice of ruddy gammon rests on a base of mashed potato, with a couple of juice-oozing pineapple slices next to it and a beaming fried egg on top. And there’s a small pot of honey sauce to give the whole that little extra sweetness that goes so well with pork.
As he pushes back his empty plate and asks for the bon, the Reveller is deeply content. A discrete eructation later he bids farewell to the waitresses, and pops across the street to Top Gun to see what the cat’s dragged in.
Wandering into D’s Place one evening, the Reveller is delighted to find the downstairs bar full of cheerful punters and humming with conversation. Just like old times, he reflects, and heads for the far end of the bar to greet a friend he hasn’t seen for ages. And there are other acquaintances hanging around the pool table or lurking in the shadows.
This is D’s forte, muses the Reveller, an early evening hub for the guys to meet their mates and enjoy a jar and a chat before either heading homewards or submerging into the fleshpots. And with one of the best happy hour discounts on the Blok and that great institution, a free barrel every Wednesday night, D’s is particularly popular with the economy-driven toper.
The next night the Reveller pops in there’s a fair-sized crowd and a "spot the joker" lucky draw under way - with a rollover jackpot that makes the prize very tempting. And what’s this? The old pool table has gone, replaced by one with red baize! "A most appropriate colour for Blok M!" he thinks to himself, but as he watches a game he’s increasingly impressed not only with the speed of the ball, but the fact that it rolls in a straight line. "That’s a first for D’s Place!" says the Reveller, with fond memories of the old table that had a surface more suitable for crown green bowling than a game of pool.
Heartened that the downstairs bar is doing so well, the Reveller crosses his fingers and hopes that they’ll do something about the upstairs disco. Deep-six the VIP bar and reinstate the dance floor in its original position, put the DJ on Vallium, and there’s a fighting chance it’ll regain its lost glory. It’ll certainly regain a few lost customers.
Top Gun, like the proverbial egg, is good in parts and bad in parts. It’s good that the old place is back on its feet and drawing in ever more guys and girls, and has a great team of bar staff who know the customers and provide the traditional Blok M friendly service. It’s good, too, that it’s kept the old pool table and the ancient cues - crap they all are, but endearingly so, part and parcel of the Top Gun Experience. If the pool table were flat and level and had rails that gave an even bounce, it just wouldn’t be the same. Yes, it’s the pool player’s equivalent of a seaside crazy golf course.
But all is not sunshine. There are so few bar stools that by eight o’clock the place can be one glorified game of musical chairs. Now there’s space aplenty in Top Gun, so why on earth do they provide so few places to sit? Another big turn-off is the erratic level of the music - which is sometimes so loud as to be deafening - and the unwillingness of the bar staff to lower the volume when asked.
So one evening the Reveller hangs up his pool stick and asks for his bill after just one drink, to the consternation of the bar staff. He patiently explains that when the sound gets up, so does he. When he asks why it’s so loud, the staff limply reply that one of the guys requested it. But when it comes to identifying the villain, they can’t say who it was or even point him out.
Just as he’s leaving Top Gun he bumps into a friend who also doesn’t like too much noise (and who famously blasted the D’s Place DJ with a compressed-air foghorn one night). "You sort out the cretins in here, I’m just popping up to D’s to see who’s around", says the Reveller. Obviously relishing the task, his friend grins wickedly and pushes into Top Gun.
On his return some twenty minutes or so later the Reveller finds that the sound level is just right. "It was like this when I came in," relates his friend, "your quick departure obviously had some effect!" Settling down to a pleasant chat, we while away an hour watching the antics of the Sweet Young Things and greeting friends as they drift in.
Over recent months there’s been a slow but perceptible shift in the girl population of My Bar. Most noticeable is the influx of Indramayu girls, some of whom are Top Gun retreads but many clearly new blood. Now the Reveller is an acknowledged connoisseur of Sweet Young Things from Indramayu, and there’s no doubt that this is a premier cru intake.
But as he’s recounted on many occasions, Indramayu girls - though stunningly attractive - can all too often prove to be indifferent performers. A girl from Indramayu has much in common with the little girl in Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem: "When she was good, she was very good indeed, but when she was bad she was horrid."
Since My Bar has consolidated its position as the hangout of choice for late-night action it’s become a magnet for girls of all shapes and sizes, all origins and ages. It hasn’t yet got the wonderful (and sometimes mind-boggling) variety of Lintas Melawai in its heyday, but it’s getting there. A few Edsels and some rather stunning (and very tall) new girls have given the place an extra dimension, to the delight of the Reveller and his fellow carousers.
As the girls make My Bar their operational base they cluster into groups and mark out territory. The far end of the bar seems to be open ground for many of the ex-Lintas and Oscar girls plus some of the older Pelatehan stalwarts, whilst the Indramayu regulars have the disco floor in front of the bar top staked out as theirs. The dance-floor corner nearest the door has been dubbed Kindergarten Corner by the Reveller, as that’s where the very young fledglings gather and sit while they learn to smoke. The main bar is the haunt of the serious business girls, and woe betide any insurgents who venture too far onto their patch. The doorway is an interesting phenomenon; it seems to be a sort of holding zone for girls who haven’t yet been accepted into one of the groups, a bit like aircraft in a stack awaiting a landing slot.
So My Bar matures nicely and has become a girl watcher’s paradise. As many of the guys agree, it’s the girls and the atmosphere they help to create that makes a night so memorable and enjoyable.
Epilogue
"So many bars, so little time", muses the Reveller as he heads homewards in the unaccustomed luxury of a taxi one particularly rainy night. Making a mental memo to visit Oscar, Everest and the Club next time out, he’ll give them a write up in the May Update. As he closes the diary for April (with a little overlap into May to bring in the Lintas Melawai reopening), he reflects that the Blok is full of surprises and a never-ending source of entertainment.