Mere days after my return to the freelance hustle, I took a trip three hundred and eighty miles north to Montreal. The occasion was to celebrate the upcoming nuptials of my friend Chantal Martineau – a Quebecois writer living in New York City. Chantal put together a gut-busting 3-day itinerary centered on eating and drinking.

A few hours after four hungry women pulled up to her mother’s house in Pointe-St-Charles, we took in our first meal. It was at Joe Beef. I know, I know, everyone is talking about Joe Beef these days. Trust me, it’s worth the hype. I had purchased the Joe Beef cookbook as a Christmas gift for my boyfriend after leafing through it’s pages at Chantal’s place. Filled with humor, local background, and crazy gimmicks that seem born out of stoner creativity, Joe Beef had me salivating. The restaurant’s menu is seafood and meat-heavy, the kitchen doesn’t shy away from pure unabashed fat, and the wine list has some gems. We ended up drinking a fairly powerful, super-focused old-vines (planted in 1929) Aligote 2010 produced by Francois Mikulski that was somewhat reminiscent of De Moor’s Aligote.

We finished with the Pepiere Cuvee Granit, a nervy and structured red that was perfect with our meaty main dishes. The joy of drinking Marc Olivier in Montreal can only be described as a little like spying a long lost relative in a room full of strangers. Comforting.

Le Trois Petite Bochons is possibly the best bar a vin naturel I’ve experienced outside of Paris. Perusing the list is a natural wine fanatic’s fantasy and the food was pretty exceptional. We started off with a champagne-method sparkling wine from the Loire – La Tour Grise 2001 Saumur Brut Non-Dose.

Left on the lees for a long time, the wine offered tons of yeast autolysis, and while dry, it was round and fairly rich. After the rich bubbly, a high-acid white was in order. We followed with a wine that was one of the most memorable of the week: a Boxler 2010 Sylvaner.

Man, Boxler wines are good. These wines show such pronounced acidity, mineral and complexity. There was too much to get excited about on that list. It simply means I have to go back again…

If you want a better overview of wine bars in the city, here is Ms. Martineau’s piece recently published in Food Republic.

I’m in Mauritius learning all the Mauritian recipes I can. Here’s a recipe for some typical Creole Mauritian repast; it’s a dry curried octopus dish (there’s no gravy here just a slightly pickled/sour glaze). We call it Vindaye.

Wash and cut two pounds of octopus.

Chop half a pound of shallots, mince an entire small bulb of garlic, split 2 thai chilis in half (lengthways). Have on hand: 1 tablespoon of whole black mustard seeds, one heaped teaspoon of turmeric, 2-3 tablespoons of white wine vinegar.

Put octopus into a deep pot and cover with cold water, bring to a boil. Cover and let cook for about 30 minutes.

In a frying pan heat about 6 tablespoons of canola oil, add mustard seeds, once they start spitting, add garlic, chili, shallots, turmeric and vinegar.

Using a slotted spoon, remove octopus from the pot of water and add into the frying pan. Don’t throw any remaining octopus broth away. Add salt and stir for about 2 minutes then add the octopus broth and let the dish continue cooking on medium heat until the water dries up and the oil rises.

The shallots should be crisp and the overall dish should be both bitter and sour. Serve with a baguette and green salad.

There is a lot to love about London but trying to find a good bottle of wine at retail is enough to make you throw your hands in the air with despair and yell “bloody hell” to the gloomy skies. Purchasing wine in the UK usually means one of three things: the mass-appeal supermarket, the generic Off License, or an independent merchant that focuses on classic yet generally boring or pricey wines. If you’re trying to find a range of small-production, minimally-messed with vino, good luck. From here you’re better off taking the Chunnel, or you can go to the recently opened 259 Hackney Road.

On a recent drizzly and blustering day I clocked up miles on my Oyster card in search of something good to drink for the occasion of dinner with some of my best and oldest friends in London. Alex White, from Brawn, had tipped me off. I’d met the delightfully enthusiastic Alex when he came into Chambers Street Wines last month to check out our selection. I handed him a bottle of Ducroux 2011 Prologue – a CSW import, and arguably the best bargain natural wine I’ve had. After he raved about Ducroux on Twitter I knew I could trust him to steer me in the right direction.

The natural wine world is shrinking. Florian Tonello, part-owner of 259 Hackney Road, used to work at Terroir in San Francisco, plus he’s mates with Guilhaume Gerard and Jose Pastor. The shop sells a small selection of French wines, enough to make you drool. There were wines I knew from NYC (Laherte Frères, Puffeney, Chamonard, the P.U.R. wines brought in by Selection Massale) and many that I was unfamiliar with. Florian, along with his partner Milena, introduced me to the range of La Franche beers from a miniscule brewery in the village of La Ferte in the Jura, the Raphaël Monnier (Ratapoil) wines also from the Jura, and J. Quastana from the Touraine. I also decided to pick up a bottle of Chammonard 2010 Morgon simply because it is a deeply satisfying and classy wine. The lager from Jura (La Franche makes a range of different beers, read this piece here) delivered a light froth and bright, yet ever so slightly bitter taste, the Ratapoil Poulsard was pure vin de soif, while the J. Quastana L’insurgé (Gamay) was earthy and light, though it’s au naturel spritz would have benefitted from decanting.

259 has a stylish aesthetic that is representative of its owners (Milena studied at art school) but it is the content and Florian and Milena’s bad-ass attitude that gives this wine shop substance. For the intrepid real-wine geek, when in London, journey to 259 Hackney Road and while you’re there please pick up the Lenoir ’89 Chinon for me!

From talk of its inception, I expected Town Hall Hotel to stand apart from most boutique hotels. For a start Artsadmin (an edgy East London-based company that produces and supports contemporary artists) had been hired by Peng Loh (a young Singaporean hotelier) to curate the artwork for the space. My rabble-rousing brother, Manick Govinda, happens to work for Artsadmin and clued me in on the project about a year ago. He recently told me he loved the entire process from conception to fruition. And I’ve got to say I’m struck by the end results.

Town Hall Hotel opened in March 2010. It is housed in the old Bethnal Green Town Hall. It’s off a busy, gritty street that remains diverse despite East London’s now explosive hipster scene. Depending on what direction you’re coming from, as you walk along Cambridge Heath Road, you’ll likely pass a handful of small Asian cafes serving basic grub and a rather large car mechanics where men are still men.

I walked into the building through the restaurant entrance (you have to turn the corner onto Patriot Square for hotel access). To the right is the hotel bar and to the left is Viajante, which by the way is fully booked through to September and has a waiting list in the three digits. The bar is tastefully stylish. Manick was running late so I took a seat and perused the menu. Whoa. Wine geek alert. This was no yawn-inducing Clicquot, Moet, Henschke, Penfolds, line up. For starters, the champers is mostly grower-producer. I spied Selosse Initiale, Vilamart Grand Cellier and Lassaigne Les Vignes de Montgueuex. This place would be the bomb if it were in NYC.

I ordered Lopez de Heredia Vina Tondonia Rosado (by the glass for seven quid). Charles Jouget Cuvee Terroir was on offer among the reds btg. The wine director (who at that moment was unbeknownst to me) had my full attention and respect. Word. Even more so when I found out she’s an unconventional professional wino, an Asian woman sporting a mohawk. Word Up. Bar snacks are delectable, simple and sometimes Iberian inflected. The head bartender is a no-nonsense dour sort of English man who makes a damn good cocktail. I tried the bracingly bitter Hanky Panky (a mix of gin, Antica Vermouth and Fernet Branca).

While I waited for Manick to arrive, my attention was drawn to a large piece of text engraved into a narrow cut of sand blasted glass, which fit perfectly into a narrow alcove just above the stairway to the loo. The words were full of images. When Manick arrived he explained to me that it was the work of WalkWalkWalk – a collaboration between three artists. Smaller pieces of texts by the same artists can be discovered in unexpected spots at the hotel.

This isn’t your usual flashy Schnabel-like paintings (on view at Gramercy Park Hotel) or the traditional visuals adorning the walls at more classic hotels or, worse yet, wallpaper art. No, the artwork work at Town hall Hotel is playful, thought provoking, modern, quirky and quite brilliant. I took in my favorite piece when Manick whisked me through a little tour of the artwork and we got to the floor where artist Debbie Lawson had created wood-paneled images of saucy, intimate, sexual Victoriana, cut from the likes of London plane, sycamore, bird’s eye maple and walnut. In one instance a woman’s nipple is the natural swirl of grain in a piece of wood. I do it no justice here. You’ll have to book a room, have a glass of wine, head upstairs in a giddy mood and see for yourself.

A few days here and there is all I’ve experienced of Paris over the last few years. I’m thinking it is about time I plunge in and get a real dose of the city everyone loves to love (& hate). Not sure how I will achieve this but I hope to play the ex-pat writer in the city of lights one day. Yesterday was my final day at Tinto Fino. A sweet shop it was but vinos de España and I weren’t meant to be. Now I find myself dreaming of the possibilities. I’m free (and yes poor) again. I can keep dreaming, can’t I?

My most recent morsel of Paris was just for 3 days. My friend, May Matta, joined me for walks, talks, eating & drinking. We stayed in the pricey-posh neighborhood of St-Germain-des-Prés and tested the grounds with two local spots: Boissonnerie and Le Comptoir. Francois Chidaine, whose Montlouis and Vouvray wines I adore, recommended the former. The latter restaurant has plenty of buzz online and was suggested to me by Sharon Bowman.

We almost didn’t make it to Le Comptoir but after stumbling upon La Crèmerie (they weren’t serving lunch that day) we were encouraged to try and get a table there. It was a moment that couldn’t be planned. We spied Doug & Tina Polaner seated at the packed out spot. They kindly gave us the remains of a bottle of Lapierre Morgon, which I preceded with a glass of Renardat-Fâche Cerdon. I needed something pretty, fresh and light for the 85-degree scorcher of a day. The food made me swoon. May and I noshed on dishes of white asparagus, baked eggs with cepes with Peruvian potato chips and snails drenched in butter and parsley.

The chow at La Boissonerie was equally good as was exemplified in a first course of eel with crème fraiche and second courses of succulent rare lamb chops with lentilles du Puy and an exquisite fish dish that May ordered, topped with an orange grated root vegetable (no not carrots) I haven’t heard of – all of it sitting in a mushy cloud of potato and pistachio nut oil. Perfection. I immersed myself in Chenin. First the razor sharp and salivating Belliviere Jasniere Les Rosiers ’08, followed by a rather rich Pierre-Bise Anjou Le Haut de la Garde (2008), a sans souffre wine that seemed to have botrytized grapes in there.

A repeat performance was made at Verre Vole (I’d been in Oct last year) where I had my first taste of Domaine Prieuré-Roch Nuits “1” 2007, a Nuits St. Georges1er Cru. OMG. Winemaker Henry-Frédéric Roch, is the co-director of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti and the wine is not available in the States. It is Burgundy that’ll make you cry. Really reminded me of Pacalet – earthy, floral, hints of iodine. Just stunning.

Finally, dinner was had at quedubon in the Belleville neighborhood. The restaurant was adorable, staff was lovely and the food was honest and tasty. Had some of the best cheese here and discovered a very lovely pet-nat VdT from Montlouis called “Rose à Lies” produced by Jousset, along with an Alsatian blanc – Sylvie Spielman Riesing Reserve Bergheim 2007.  The Jousset was so good I ordered two glasses.

I nicked the title for this post from a friend who works in the industry. This is what she said when I broke news of my plans to travel to Jura and Paris. Middle Earth was a dream on the west side of the mountains that separate the French Jura from Switzerland. Sloped vines of Chardonnay, Savagnin, Pinot Noir, Ploussard and Trousseau were within arms distance of roaming cows, horses and sheep. It all seemed tangible. I could snip a bunch of Savagnin and pet a cow in the space of minutes.

Château Chalon was stunning, a mass of hill in the shadow of a terraced cliff bearing the tiny village of Chalone.

“I could almost live here,” I thought. And thought the same thing when I stood in the vineyards of Domaine de Montbourgeau, perched on a gentle hillside, a 360-degree turn revealed the five mountains that give this appellation its name.

Vigneron, Nicole Deriaux, was a treat. I’ve always thought this producer’s razor sharp Chardonnay was a steal and I was equally captivated by her oxidative Savagnin and the, hands down, best Crémant du Jura I had all week. It was dry, yeasty, lemony and bracing. I wanted to be alone at that point. I longed to sit down with her crémant and cry.

The day I left for the Jura my father was diagnosed with a brain tumor. I lived through the Jura as if I were going through the motions and yet the beauty of the region touched me. We don’t know if the tumor is cancerous. We know it is big – 9cm. The size of a small egg is pressing down on my dad’s brain and affecting his speech, his mobility and his mental grasp.

I will leave for Mauritius soon to be with my parents when the doctors operate. I will be sad, I will be strong; I’ll be the daughter they need. Life still continues, I will still drink honest wines that soothe and elate me and I will blog, but from here on, maybe with a tinge of sadness. More on producers in the Jura soon.

It is no secret that I have a taste for innards. Long before guts became trendy, I grew up munching on bone marrow (my favorite), fish eyes, tripe and I once ate some delectable sheep’s balls at the age of seven but my aunty didn’t tell me because I was scoffing them with such glee. My brother had to later reveal to me the true essence of what I was eating simply to gross me out.

There has been an offal renaissance in the UK and chef Fergus Henderson, has led the way for pure, simple, whole animal eating ever since opening his restaurant, St. John Smithfield, in the nineties. After traipsing around Shoreditch for the day, Jim and I sat in the glorious garden at the Geffrye Museum (a gem of an old Almshouse converted into a museum showcasing English interiors of the “middling” class from the 1600s onwards) and called St. John on a whim. A table happed to be open at seven. We walked through the maze to Clerkenwell, taking a trip through Smithfield Meat Market, a spot that perpetually smells like iodine and raw meat.

In the stark white dining room that is St. John we eyed the wine list, spotting wines from Eric Texier and Pierre Breton. We honed in on the Robinot Cuvee Bistrologie 2005 (a VdT Chenin Blanc), an amazing, weird, textured, cloudy and truly delicious wine and it faired well with our repast of cured beef and celeriac, butter beans and cauliflower (big meaty beans tossed in aromatic olive oil with leeks and capers) and heart (like a cross between liver and flank steak) with green beans.

We had to order Ferguson’s signature dish, bone marrow and parsley salad, which I’ve had a couple of times before and attempted to cook myself from his Nose to Tail Eating cookbook.

This particular dish brings back memories of the buttery, gelatinous goodness my parents would extract from their own plates of lamb or mutton bones and proffer to me with love when I was a wee thing.

More innards came my way at Hereford Road.

Jim and I arranged to stay in Notting Hill at Miller’s Residence for one night, courtesy of Martin Miller (owner of Martin Miller gin). Dinner reservations were a no-brainer once I’d read up on London-based food blogs and media reviews, which all raved about Hereford Road restaurant, a mere block away from our accommodations.

Upon entering Hereford Road, I noted that the décor was hideous but the menu sounded fantastic. Chef Tom Pemberton is a St. John alumni and the menu reads so faithfully from the St. John school of cooking. We ordered a plate of salty, crispy sand eels and a headcheese terrine for starters,

followed with pigeon and kidneys for mains. Now, I am not the faint-at-heart type when it comes to food but the kidneys…man those kidneys…they were FUNKY.

I had to take a deep breath before I dared stick a forkful in my mouth because the dish reeked of pee you see. I have fairly decent knowledge of biology and I’m fully aware of the kidneys functions but to have it so brazenly displayed on the plate turned my stomach a tad. Jim reckons it was my mood. He says that typically, a dish such as this would be right up my alley and he, of course, LOVED it. Admittedly, my belly wasn’t happy that day and Hereford Road may well have been bad timing on my part. I did, however, respect its unadulterated meat parts. Who else serves kidneys medium rare, unhindered by sauces and not stuffed into a pie?

I would go to Hereford Road again. And as Martin Miller remarked (he admitted he isn’t a fan of the restaurant) at least I can say I’ve been there – all I need is a t-shirt: “Been to Hereford Road: Ate kidneys.”

My mother used to shop at Brixton market a couple of times a week for Indian and Caribbean food supplies that she wasn’t able to find in Balham. Years later the same neighborhood became my nightlife outlet (The Dogstar and The Fridge for after-hours), now I visit Brixton whenever I’m in London and the memories come flooding.

I recall this cute little restaurant (if you can call it that – it had about 3 tables on premises) housed in Market Row, one of the many shopping arcades in the neighborhood that made decent pizza. The owner vacated the premises and an Italian from Naples moved in and set up shop. His name is not Franco – Franco Manca means Franco is gone…a reference to the previous owner.

Now, nestled among African fabric shops and stalls selling plantains and yucca, there is a line of Guardian-reading Brixtonites and gastronomes from all over London (and further) salivating for a bite of sourdough pizza with the most minimal of toppings. Some say it’s the best pizza in Britain.

Jim and I shared a basic mozzarella, tomato and house-cured ham pie.

I’m no pizza expert but I can say that I really enjoyed the weight and texture (not too thin and nowhere near thick) and tang of the dough. The menu consists of about six different bare-bones pizzas and you can either drink water, lemonade, a choice of one organic beer or house red or house white.

I opted for the house white, served at room temperature in a small glass tumbler. All I could muster is that it was a Cortese (probably from around Piedmont) and is sourced and bottled by Wild Caper, a cute little deli across the way in Market Row, also owned by Franco Manca proprietor and pizza man, Giuseppe Mascoli. The label indicated the lemony-tasting vino was low in sulphites and at something like £1.75 a glass it was one of the most palatable bargains I’ve had. The bottle sells at Wild Caper for about five quid and it blows the supermarket shit (at the same price) that most Britons drink out of the water.

Mr. Mascoli must have a good sense humour too. Check out the wall art. Another memory I have of growing up the the UK are the Thatcher years…but let’s not go there, shall we?

The spirited dinners at Tales take place on the same night at various restaurants in New Orleans. For the most part a guest mixologist creates a menu of drinks to work with the chef’s 3-course dinner. It costs 100 bucks per person and it’s a major deal. Jim joined me this year and we attended the Calcasieu dinner, which is the private space above Cochon. The menu was delicious and the drinks were stellar because Eben [Klemm] and Eben [Freeman] were our bartenders for the night. The first concoction [created by Freeman] was a sumptuous drink called the Cornbread Old Fashion’, which offered a distinct sweet corn taste within a body of warming bourbon. It was weird and brilliant. Freeman’s next potion was the, faintly celery-tasting Lovage Sour, a mix of Beefeater Gin, dry vermouth and the lovage herb. The drink was paired with baked stuffed gulf oyster with bacon.

Klemm gave us a lighter, aromatic cocktail in the form of Bay Brees, a blend of St. Germain and bay leaf syrup. It was as delicate as it was pretty and was served with seared jumbo shrimp with port risotto and lemon salsa verde. Klemm’s next drink, Earth, was a twist on a dark n’ stormy, made from dark rum, averna and beet juice, garnished with ginger [dehydrated] jerky. It was intensely hued and had a lovely earthy savoriness about it. Earth’s edible partner was a plate of roasted duck breast with duck boudin and figs.

To top it all off, both mixologists created nutty, postprandial cognac drinks. Klemm’s was a creamy poppy seed tipple named The Karzai (an interesting reference to Afghanistan’s poppy seed cultivation) and Freeman’s was an amaretto-like drink of cognac infused with walnuts.

TOC’s parties are mostly fabulous though some are getting cheesy now big (and not necessarily good) brands are getting involved. The best shindigs had to be Hendrick’s Burlesque party, alas I got there too late and missed the action but the drinks were good and the crowd was fun. Later that night the party moved onto Donald Link’s Herbsaint, where we sat outside with a bunch of industry folk and sipped whatever was going around.

On the last night we partook in a funeral procession from Hurrah’s into the French Quarter. The Red Headed Slut [cocktail] had kicked the bucket, or rather Simon Ford, brand ambassador for Plymouth Gin, shoved her into a coffin, declared her dead and a bunch of other bartenders rejoiced. She was a drink that shall not be missed.

The jazzed-up funeral was led by an excellent second line band, Plymouth Gin drinks were handed out along the way and our shuffle through the streets of New Orleans ended at Latrobe’s for the Bartender’s Breakfast. An event I took to literally mean a sit down affair involving a plate of eggs benedict. It turned out to be the best party I’ve been to in years. Milk and Honey,
Employees Only, Contemporary Cocktails were among the stands making cocktails. We boogied the night away and then rounded up TOC 2009 at the Old Absinthe House…

Tales of the Cocktail makes you wish you could be at two, nay make that three, places at once. With too many cool and relevant seminars, fabulous dinners, lunches, offers to meet with master distillers, brand owners, mixologists and, throw in meetings with an editor or two – it’s a dizzying affair of too much going on at the same time.

The How’s and Why’s of Cocktails was a good basic seminar led by Audrey Saunders of Pegu Club and Tony Conigliaro. Conigliaro is a bartender based in London who just opened a new cocktail bar in Islington, that I’ll be checking out when I go to London in a few weeks, called 69 Colebrook Row. Audrey and Tony made a good team, encouraging bartenders to think outside the box. Turns out Audrey is friends with Harold McGee and sometime consults with him on food science and lore when trying to create a new drink. Apparently it can take her two years of trial and error before she feels a cocktail is ready for the menu. Such was the case (though not sure if it took at long as 2 years) for her infamous Earl Grey MarTEAni, a drink she originally created for the Ritz Carlton in London.

It was particularly interesting when they talked about Europe VS US trends. Tony described the Brits as liking tall, refreshing, lighter-style drinks, while Audrey emphasized New York’s love for boozy classics and bitters. You can make that same comparison when it comes to the West Coast and the East Coast. SF drinks tend to utilize moor fruit. A visit to Death & Co, Mayahuel or PDT proves that we love our gin, whisk(e)y and tequila with bitters, herbal liqueurs, sherry and amaro, lemon or lime juice tends to be the only fruit present.

I had to make the Cognac from Vine to Shaker seminar because I have a soft spot for grape distillates and several of my favorite industry people were there, Jack Robertiello (my once editor turned friend), Jean Louis Carbonnier (he represents a number of great wine and spirits regions) and Jim Meehan from PDT. Guillame Lamy from Pierre Ferrand cognac was also on the panel. There was a lot of talk about trying to get cognac out of its bling image and into a more accessible role. Meehan talked about classic cocktails using cognac. He acknowledged that selling a cognac cocktail isn’t easy but there are a few tricks up his sleeve: list the cocktail high up on the menu, cucumbers in a mixed drink always seem to sell well, case in point is the French Maid served at PDT (muddled cucumber, mint, lime and cognac).

Angus Winchester and Simon Ford ran The World’s Best Bar Crawl seminar. It was a case of two industry Brits sharing their list of the best bars in the world. Clearly, I have a lot of traveling and drinking to do. I’ve been to the bars marked with an asterisk. Here’s the rundown.

NORTH AMERICA

PX, Vancouver
Westin, Calgary
Flatiron Lounge, NYC *
Milk & Honey, NYC *
PJ Clarkes, NYC
Old Town Bar, NYC
PDT, NYC *
Pegu Club, NYC *
King Cole Bar and Lounge, NYC
The Rainbow Room, NYC
Death & Company, NYC*
The Florida Room, Miami
Bourbon, Washington D.C.
The Gibson, Washington D.C.
Drink, Boston
Vessel, Seattle
Zig-Zag Café, Seattle
Bix, San Francisco
Bourbon and Branch, San Francisco
Tommy’s Mexican Restaurant, San Francisco
The Doheny, L.A.
The Edison, L.A. *
The Carousel Bar, New Orleans *
The Old Absinthe House, New Orleans*
Alibi, New Orleans
Bel Ami Restaurant and Lounge, Oregon
Churchill Downs, Kentucky

SOUTH AMERICA
Café Tortoni, Buenos Aires

UK
Merchant’s Hotel, Belfast
Quatch Bar, Speyside
Bramble, Edinburgh
Salvatore at Fifty, London
The Dukes Hotel, London
Quo Vadis, London
Milk & Honey, London
The Lab, London *
The Savoy Hotel, London *

EUROPE
Apoteke, Norway
Ruby, Copenhagen
Door 74, Amsterdam
Barfly’s Club, Vienna
Widder Bar, Zurich
Paparazzi Bar, Bratislava
UFO, Bratislava
Widder Bar, Zurich
Le Lion de Paris, Hamburg
Schumanns, Munich
Becketskoff, Berlin
Hemmingway Bar, Paris *
Hotel Costes, Paris
Harry’s New York Bar, Paris
Dry martini, Barcelona
Boadas, Barcelona
Nottingham Forrest, Milan

MIDDLE EAST
Burj Al Aran, Dubai

MIDDLE EAST
Burj Al Aran, Dubai

EASTERN EUROPE
Sky Bar, Moscow

ASIA
High Five, Tokyo
Tender Bar, Tokyo
Captain’s Bar, Hong Kong
China Club, Hong Kong
Raffles, Singapore
Tippling Club, Singapore
Constellation, Shanghai
Olives, Mumbai
Rick’s, Delhi

DOWN UNDER (According to Simon Ford, the Aussies have the most fantastic cocktail culture than anyone else on the planet)
Der Raum, Melbourne
Tiki Lounge & Bar, Melbourne
Bayswater Brasserie, Sydney
Matterhorn, Wellington, NZ

EURASIA
Sky Bar, Moscow

ASIA
High Five, Tokyo
Tender Bar, Tokyo
Captain’s Bar, Hong Kong
China Club, Hong Kong
Raffles, Singapore
Tippling Club, Singapore
Constellation, Shanghai
Olives, Mumbai
Rick’s, Delhi

DOWN UNDER (According to Simon Ford, the Aussies have the most fantastic cocktail culture than anyone else on the planet)
Der Raum, Melbourne
Tiki Lounge & Bar, Melbourne
Bayswater Brasserie, Sydney
Matterhorn, Wellington, NZ