Beijing Boyce

Here is yet another reader story submitted in response to my tale of almost being lit on fire while “enjoying” a Flaming Lamborghini.

“A friend of mine was celebrating her birthday last year at [X bar in Beijing], upstairs on the deck. I ordered her a Flaming Lamborghini, which I’ve enjoyed in the past in a single glass. This version was like yours, a three-level pyramid of glasses on a steel board, where flaming alcohol is supposed to trickle down from the top glass to the lower ones, like a waterfall.

“The pyramid was lit, and alcohol started flowing. I thought this was very cool until some glasses exploded from the heat, and the table caught fire. Although we did manage to put the fire out relatively quickly, the birthday girl wasn’t very amused. Just proves the old saying: don’t play with fire… especially not liquid on fire.

(From Beijing Boyce XVIII, first emailed on June 8, 2006)

Two issues ago, I wrote somewhat humorously about the dangers I faced while being treated to a Flaming Lamborghini in a Beijing bar. To be clear, serving lit substances to patrons who are drunk, and usually showing off, is a cocktail for disaster (not to mention that it vaporizes perfectly good alcohol). Several readers proved my point, including one who submitted the following story:

“One winter’s evening a while back, I was in [a Tianjin bar] which drew a good crowd nightly to watch its bartender juggling and fire acts. This particular evening the bar added a special trick – the Flaming Champagne Glass Pyramid – which they set up on top of the bar.

“Lights dimmed, lighter ready, the bartender did his pour from his bottles of nitro (or whatever they were using that night) and the glass pyramid was lit into bright flames as the crowd went “Oooh” and “Ahhh.”

“As the bartender poured, and the cascading liquid flamed up, the manager added his own touch: he took a deep breath and blew at the middle of the flaming pyramid. Instantly a torch of flames shot straight out a good six feet or so. (If you have ever seen a World War Two movie with infantrymen using flame throwers, this is EXACTLY what it looked like.)

“Unfortunately, a customer happened to be standing in front of the act about five feet away. The flames completely engulfed his head and neck, and he now became the Torch Man. He was stunned for a second. Then he began to use his hands in a futile attempt to slap out the burning vapors. All of the locals standing around him just stared and the place went silent. What were they thinking – that this was part of the act?

“By this time (half an eternity or maybe ten seconds later), as singed hair and flesh smell started permeating the air, and realizing that no one standing near this poor chap was lifting a finger to help, I grabbed my half empty pint of Tsingdao, ran from the other side of the bar, and dumped it over the guy’s head. The flames receded somewhat, and as my eyes scanned the nearest tables for another pint to pour over the guy, another patron jumped into the act and beat out the remaining flames.

“Without going into all the graphic details, the bloke was standing there in shock, with face and hair singed and melted, and the staff during this whole episode (30 seconds?) did absolutely nothing. He was finally bundled off in a car to the local hospital, and the eventual news was that he did recover from severe burns.

“Moral of the story? Bring your own fire extinguisher to the ball, or if your friend wants to show you the latest 151 trick with a Bic, decline politely as you run for the nearest exit. At the very least, always keep a pint handy.

(From Beijing Boyce XVII, first emailed on May 27, 2006)

The Crowne Plaza Hotel (Wangfujing) launched its lobby bar late last month with a party that saw the multi-hued cocktails and Veuve Cliquot flow. The waitresses sported wild hairdos, the dry ice smoked, the jazz musicians pecked out tunes and the decor had hints of Centro. The hotel’s managers circulated, picking up more than ample praise, prompting me to note that the cocktails could be better. New food and beverage manager Jeroen Jolij, a newcomer to Beijing, looked me straight in the eye and, to my surprise, did none of the following: 1) shrug his shoulders, 2) insincerely say “sorry,” 3) blame it on fellow employees, 4) give me an “if you don’t like it, go somewhere else” look, or 5) mush a strawberry into my face. Instead, he escorted me to the bar, introduced me to a man named Finn Huang, and asked me to order. “Vodka martini with a twist” said I, and a few minutes later, with a perfect string of lemon peel, a tasty three-ounce drink appeared courtesy of Finn. (Note: Even M-Dawg, no fan of martinis, excitedly remarked, “THAT looks like a real cocktail!”.) Well, we all get lucky, so I asked Finn to have another go, this time with gin. Once again, another magically intoxicating drink appeared. That’s the good news. Now, the bad: Finn was only in Beijing for the night, as his regular gig is Three on the Bund in Shanghai. The silver lining: any bar with the sense to hire a quality bartender, even for one night, has potential. (Note: Afterwards, I headed to nearby Garden of Delights and had a delicious Mojito Martini and a Long Island. Good stuff.)

(From Beijing Boyce XVI, first emailed on May 11, 2006)

Due to the weather, this Japanese restaurant and sometimes live jazz venue was hot enough to inspire a sweat, but not to convince management to turn on the air conditioners, meaning Agent Red Wolf and I did our research in stuffy surroundings. The place has above-average drinks, with the Long Island refreshing and the dirty Martini stirred at the table and garnished with a black olive (it wasn’t particularly dirty, but went down fine). I’ll follow up with a few more visits, although that unfortunately means wading again through those Sanlitun lady bar touts (”looka looka!“).

(From Beijing Boyce XVI, first emailed on May 11, 2006)

I recently helped lead a pub crawl (see below), and as a reward for not losing any patrons or misdirecting any buses to Inner Mongolia, Agent Red Wolf ordered me a Flaming Lamborghini at Browns. Frankly, this beverage is in the same category as nonalcoholic beer, Chivas and green tea, and anything M-Dawg drinks (see the Grand Marnier and Soda incident; Beijing Boyce V).

But the intention was noble, so I settled back as manager Glenn and supervisor Jackie arranged a pyramid of glasses, startled drizzling alcohol over it, and then - whoosh - set the thing alight. I don’t like fire; even less, I don’t like sticking my face near fire; even less than less, I don’t like sticking my face near fire beside two guys who work in a bar that I might have criticized once (or perhaps twice).Use the straw,” said Glenn. I stuck my face forward, tried to get at the liquid among the flames, and then retreated, having swallowed half a melted straw.

You have to do it faster,” he added, no stranger to stating the obvious. Meanwhile, the alcohol Jackie continued pouring onto the bonfire of glasses splashed onto the table, which — whoosh — also caught fire.

With a large crowd behind, I was wedged against the table and thus helpless as flames raced across it and toward an area of my body I consider quite personal. Time seemed to slow; the music seemed to garble; I had a “my life flashed before my eyes” moment. I remembered other near-death experiences in Beijing: that grilled meat platter at Schindler’s, that horrid martini at Palms, my attempt to cross a street that very morning. I also had a lingering thought: might I make money writing a screenplay about becoming a eunuch, by flame, in modern-day Beijing?

This, of course, all happened in a split second. Suddenly, Glenn swooped in and pushed back the flames with a cloth, to which the flames responded by rushing forth again, to which Glenn responded by again swooping, and so on, until I realized the problem: JACKIE WAS STILL POURING ALCOHOL ON THE FIRE!

I put an end to that. I grabbed the two shot glasses and drained the contents, little realizing they were close to boiling hot. Not pleasant, but then again, swollen lips are preferable to becoming a charred tribute to careless Flaming Lamborginiing. At least, I thought it was careless, until I had the following conversation with Glenn, a few days later:

“That was really wild the other night. You guys almost lit me on fire.”“Almost doesn’t count.”

“Yes, but it was pretty close.”

“Perhaps not close enough.”

“It was close enough for me!”

“Did I ever tell you about an annoying patron I used to know named Flaming Fred?”"What do you mean ‘used to know’!?”

Okay, I made that last part up. But, then again, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear Glenn say it. By the way, try the burgers at Browns. They’re cooked, over fire, one that’s far away from the patrons. (Note: Certain details have been dramatized or deleted, including the changing of a pair of underwear, in order to make this story flow.)

(From Beijing Boyce XV, first emailed on April 21, 2006)

Whether in a five-star hotel lounge or a dingy bar on Sanlitun South, few people are as objective when evaluating a cocktail as is Agent Red Wolf (RW). She can block out any surrounding chaos and focus solely on the quality of a given beverage. Simply put, when lip meets glass, not even the shiniest object can distract her. Here are her top five Mojitos, with the establishment’s name (in alphabetical order), followed by the drink price (as closely as can be remembered), number of visits, and comments (if any).

Beer Mania: ~35 kuai; 2 visits; “This is closer to a tailor-made drink; you should only have the Mojito at Beer Mania if Marc [the manager] is making them.”

Centro: ~70 kuai+15%; 10+ visits; “Centro and Redmoon consistently make a high-quality Mojito.”

Garden of Delights: ~70 kuai; 1 visit; “The mint was fresh and the rum was good, though I asked for more soda water, as their Mojito was too sweet for me.”

Redmoon: ~70 kuai+15%; 6-7 visits.

Suzy Wong: ~40 kuai; dozens of visits; “A lot of guys here are poseurs [yes, she picked up this word from me], but this place has good drinks.”

RW also recalled some Mojito memories from Beijing past.

First Cafe: 50 kuai; last year during the “GE [George and Echo] era;” (now, says RW, the Mojito at First Cafe “is not even in the top 20″).

Havana : 40 kuai; more than two years ago.

Latinos: 40 kuai; until recently.

For more details on RW’s rankings, email agent_redwolf@yahoo.com (”No poseurs,” she says).

(From Beijing Boyce XIV, first emailed on April 6, 2006)

Ex-First Cafe, ex-Midnight bartending buffs George (GZ) and Echo (EC) are now free at nights to indulge in the intoxicating concoctions they customarily create for others, so we met at my pad last Saturday for creative cocktail-making with three people who have helped this e-newsletter - Agent Red Wolf, M-Dawg and Pony.

Eat before drink, I always say, so we started with M-Dawg and Pony’s Waldorf-style salad, Red Wolf’s famous three-cup chicken, and my BB pasta, accompanied by Catai Cabernet Sauvignon 2004. This is a decent and affordable local wine made by an Italian-Chinese venture, distributed by Summergate, recommended to me by several people, and sold at 48 kuai a bottle by, among others, Jenny Lou’s (last Saturday it was buy two, get one free; thanks to Summergate’s Linda for her help).

Our light repast complete, EC got the martinis started by mixing Stolichnaya vodka, hot chili pepper brine, and the body (including the seeds) of one pepper, which was pleasantly translucent as a garnish. This drink begat grimaces and coughing fits from M-Dawg and Red Wolf, an “okay” from Pony and GZ, and a big thumb ups from EC and me. We tried two derivatives: one with a splash of tequila and a second with both tequila and three drops of Tobasco. These were tasty all. (Note: M-Dawg suggested the name, “Acid Reflux.”)

GZ then got busy with: a grape Cosmopolitan, which had a strong citrus nose, but taste identity issues (is it grape, is it orange, is it groinge?); a lychee liqueur, Taiwan peach schnapps and vodka mix M-Dawg called “The Monkey King,” though he noted it lacked a banana garnish (I respected the integrity of its name by sweetening it up with maple syrup, which comes from trees, where monkeys spend most of their time); and a dependable lychee liqueur, grape juice and vodka.

Next, we turned to fun garnishes. The first martini, by EC, had three shots of vodka and three blue cheese-stuffed olives. It tasted like a plain old dry martini, so EC tried to marry the brie and alcohol, with cloudy and chunky results (pass). (Meanwhile, GZ made a “Maple Collins,” which included lemon, soda, gin and maple syrup. This was extremely refreshing and was immediately added to my list of drinks to sip while relaxing in a hammock on a hot, sunny day.)

I jumped into the fray with a martini garnished with sun-dried tomato and an anchovy. “It’s got a little oil slick on top,” said M-Dawg. “It smells like fish,” said EC and Pony. Visual and olfactory factors aside, this drink initially tasted like a dry martini and then slowly, and unfortunately, absorbed the anchovy flavor. I made a martini with three smoked salmon-stuffed olives, with similar results.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, Red Wolf scribbled in my notes: “Good Lord, why hath thou forsaken me? When will these people leave me in peace?” (Uh, did I miss something while I was in the bathroom?), followed by, “11:37 PM, seven-pepper martini invented.” That drink was mine and was a powerful concoction, reminiscent of that Szechuan dish with popcorn-sized bites of chicken hidden among hundreds of red chili peppers.

(Note: At this point, Agent Red Wolf did some multi-tasking, both fixing my fridge, which had mysteriously risen to 13 degrees from 5, and making a seven-pepper Bloody Mary described by Pony as “like an old spicy hot pot.”)

We were now in the home stretch, our final cocktail containing vodka, three drops of Canadian Club, grape juice, Thai lime juice and maple syrup. I dubbed it “George 318” and we all collapsed on the sofas. A long trail of glasses, ice and squeezed lemons lay behind as, exhausted, we looked out past Worker’s Stadium at Beijing’s skyline. After a 30-minute breather, we decided one more concoction was in order. With that, Agent Red Wolf raided my fridge, gathered up the produce and made some hearty vegetable soup.

(From Beijing Boyce XIII, first emailed on March 24, 2006)