Back in our early months in Delhi Hubby and I used to occasionally go to a bar called Punjabi by Nature in Basant Lok. We weren’t there so often that we could be mistaken for Norm of Cheers fame, but one or three times a month, we could be found on the 2nd floor of Punjabi enjoying a couple of mint chutney dusted papad and a drink or two. It wasn’t the best bar in town, but it did have a really good happy hour: two for the price of one until 8 o’clock. And they let you place drink orders at 7:59 to get you through the night. They were good people.
Some of you may remember that back in December I blogged about the odd thing that happened in early in the month when Hubby and I stopped in with our friend the Prez. As we wandered off the elevator and toward our usual bar of comfy couches, the waiter came up and greeted us warmly. He then offered to bring me my usual, “Sex on the Beach for Madame?” I honestly didn’t think we were there that much.
Fast-forward several months. Letter and the Duke (who are now cutely and happily engaged!) have introduced us to The Vodka Bar, Aura. Our first trip there, Letter and I discovered the yummiest drink known to man: the Pink Cucumber. Or, as we liked to call it, The Spa Drink. They swore there was alcohol in there but I’m not sure I ever believed them.
Again, we weren’t there so often that we had names engraved in a table but Hubby and I had been known to wander over the bar and have a couple of drinks and dim sum followed by dinner at the Chinese restaurant in the same hotel. A yummy way to spend an evening any way you slice it.
About a month or so before we left, the Delhi Gang (Hubby and I, Letter, Duke, Jewels, the Baronet, the Prez, Birdie, and a few others) found ourselves the Vodka Bar for reasons that I’m certain were along the lines of “it’s a Thursday.” Anyways, Hubby and I were, oddly enough, not the first to arrive for a change and as we sat down the waiter handed Hubby a drink menu and then turned to me, “A Pink Cucumber again Madame?’ Ok, so that is the drink I wanted. But that was hardly the point! I wasn’t there so much that they should know my drink. Was I?
It was a little known fact amongst our friends in Delhi that Hubby and I developed a taste for Sunday brunch around February of this year. See, what you, my Dearest Friends and Devoted Readers, may not have been cognizant of was that we loved sneaking off around 12:30ish on a Sunday and heading off to one of the 5-stars for the All You Can Drink Champagne brunch. We would then eat, drink, and them come home to pass-out content in the knowledge that we had used our weekend time well. You did know? And here I thought our Sunday binges were such a well-kept secret.
Our favorite of these, and honestly the best deal in town, was the brunch at the Metropolitan Niko: all you can eat sushi and tempura with not half bad sparkling wine thrown in for a mere 1500 Rupees. (If you didn’t want to drink it was 1300Rps. So why not drink?!) We even took BBS there when honored us with a visit in April. Good times.
Our final visit there, Jewels and her Hubby, the Baronet, joined us in one of the private dining rooms. As we seated ourselves the waiter saw us and smiled. He then brought over the ice filled wine bucket and opened a bottle of bubbly for us. It was like he knew. When we questioned him on it he said he remembered because whenever we were there we always the first in our group and always wanted to start drinking when we arrived. Oh. Well in that case…
Which brings us to last night here in Nairobi. The Prison Campus is full serve: tennis courts, a swimming pool… a bar. While I’ve passed by the first two on my way the canteen for lunch, I’ve actually visited the latter on purpose. Go figure, huh? Now, Hubby and I aren’t there everyday. Every Friday they have a BBQ night and we’ll maybe show up one other time during the week just to make sure that the bartender is doing his job. Turns out he is.
As Hubby and I walked into the Bar last night, Patrick smiled and waved. I then claimed seats for us while Hubby went to place our order. As luck would have it, he needn’t have bothered: sitting on the bar top were two glasses and a bottle of Black Ice for me, and Tusker for Hubby. Patrick remembered our drinks. I rationalized it by assuming that the campus isn’t really that big and that Patrick has a really good memory.
So what’s the deal? Am I drunk? Or am I just so wonderful and memorable that waiters all over the world recognize me after only one or two visits? (Please let it be number two!)