Saturday 26th August
A moveable feast
Not wanting to bore my gentle readers into a yawning stupor, I’ve refrained from writing up every little foray into the Blok. But whilst no individual evening has been newsworthy, the summation of the week most certainly is.
The big news is that Top Gun has at last broken the ‘twelve o’clock’ barrier - on three consecutive visits since the Saturday night that I wrote up in my last post, the place has been whirling on at a rare old pace well into the early hours of the morning. This has been accompanied by a decline in both the quality and the quantity of the My Bar denizens, both guys and girls.
The reason for this seismic shift is not difficult to find. My Bar has been shooting itself in both feet with its music for a long time now, with the result that fewer and fewer guys venture in before 11.30 or later. It’s effectively lost the early evening social traffic, whilst D’s Place and the neighbouring watering holes have been doing very nicely.
One night at about 10.30 the DJ’s wind up the volume to such an intensity that I stand up and shout at them to turn the bloody noise down. There are two guys in the bar and maybe half a dozen of the more mature Sweet Young Things - the place doesn’t start to really fill up until after midnight, and misses the momentum completely.
I cross the road to Top Gun to find a lively crowd and a really good band with that rare phenomenon, a singer who can actually sing. The music is a tuneful mix of golden oldies, perennial favourites and new songs - something for everyone. The place is alive and humming. I go back to My Bar, and what a contrast. There’s a bleakness about the place, a loss of any real ambience, and still that interminable, repetitive, aphasic jungle drumming. No-one is dancing - how can you dance to rubbish like this? - and more guys are drifting out than are drifting in.
As the clock pushes half twelve I decide enough is enough and break camp to cross the road. Standing looking rather forlorn in the doorway is my old friend Ray, clearly in a pondering mood. I tell him that I’m clearing out because of the racket, and he nods sagely. “Me too,” he says, “I’m off to Top Gun.” So there, in a nutshell, you have it. The push of My Bar and the pull of Top Gun have turned the balance of the street.
The following night I decide to pop into One Tree to chat up the delicious waitresses and see what food’s on offer. The choice comes down to shawerma or curry, so it’s a glass of ale and mein host’s interpretation of a shawerma.
Now in my many years of working in and around the Middle East I virtually lived on shawermas. As a quick, cheap, tasty and nourishing snack nothing can beat a freshly cobbled shawerma. Slices of hot meat with a pouring of soured milk and a mix of freshly diced salad wrapped up in a newly-baked pita make a delicious meal while you’re on the hoof.
One Tree’s variation on this noble theme is actually rather good. A piece of fresh pita bread holds a good helping of nicely seasoned lamb slices on a bed of fresh salad, with the mandatory stack of chips to accompany it. There are three dressings: a hot spicy mix, a tangy garlic sauce, and a bland, rather nondescript tartare offering. A nice touch is a little pile of very tasty bits of sautéed vegetables.
Great, I think as I tuck in and wash it down with gusty draughts of ale. But the sting comes with the bill. The shawerma clocks in at 65,000 rupes plus plus, which makes the total for food and drink just a tad under 100k. Now the food is good, it’s nicely cooked and well served, but it’s decidedly expensive for what it is - simple pub grub that doesn’t require complex or lengthy preparation by a master chef.
Sadly, very sadly after the mouthwatering build up I’ve been giving the place, it won’t be an eatery for the Reveller. They’ve priced themselves way out of the market for me - and, I reckon, for the great majority of us who have to live here on a local rupiah salary.
I wish One Tree well, and will certainly be popping in for an evening drink. But I’ll be doing my eating in My Bar or Top Gun, where a big bowl of sop buntut with all the trimmings makes a delicious evening snack at a lightweight 40k plus plus. And if I’m in need of ballast, it’s still got to be My Bar’s very nice (and similarly priced) lasagne to satisfy the inner man.