Restaurant Review: Bacchus
Saturday, April 30th, 2005In response to a friend’s invitation to have dinner at Bacchus:
“Bacchus? That’s the place with the dead-animal-head bar, right? Frankly, that kind of place makes me want to knock back double bourbons until I stop caring about how my bad behaviour is spoiling the ambience for the other patrons. Places like that really bring out the Hunter S. Thompson in me. I dress badly - I go home and change first to make sure. I roll Drum cigarettes on the white tablecloth while pestering the sommelier about the vintage of the Labatt’s Blue (”What do you mean you don’t have Labatt’s Blue?!?! Christ!”). I give the piano player a series of five dollar bills and insist that he play “She’s Always a Woman” again and again and again. I sing along. I cry, then I order more shots of bourbon. (”Did you get any Labatt’s Blue yet? Christ!”) I strike up a conversation with the people at the next table. They’re from Japan, so I talk to them in my own personal variant of Japanese. They are polite. This strikes me as funny. I order more bourbon. I order some for them. I tell them they should try Labatt’s Blue.”






