[My Weekender] with Justin Fischer

Justin Fischer is the new dining editor at SmartShanghai.com and was thus contractually compelled to tell us about his weekend.

Ah! The season is upon us once again. Okay, maybe not 'us'... just me and a handful of other people in Shanghai in my line of work. Yes that's right: it's blagging season. Every year around this time, my mailbox runneth over with invitations to anniversary parties, preview dinners, and launches. So many launches. Launches of liquor brands, launches of restaurants and bars, re-launches of failing restaurants and bars where they think changing the color of the table cloths constitutes a "fresh new look." For the next six weeks I'll subsist primarily on a diet of canapes and champagne. By the end of it all, my apartment will be a clutter of bags of stuff covered in logos, free bottles of booze, press packets and business cards. My feet will be stained an inky red from all of the hongbaos on my floor. So to kick off the season I'm heading to the grand opening of Morton's Steakhouse for a three hour red meat rampage.

Then, the freeloading continues. I cross the river to the Cool Docks. City Weekend Dining Editor Geoff Ng has promised me a stash of free drink vouchers at the City Weekend's 10th anniversary party. Don't even think about trying to get out of this one, Geoff.

After that, a quick nightcap at Constellation 3. I live within stumbling distance and Mike the bar chief mixes a wicked Sazerac. I tell myself I'll only have one. I always tell myself that... I'm a liar.

I wake up the next morning. My head hurts I've got a long day of apartment hunting ahead of me. I head to the gym to sweat out the Sazerac residue. After that I head to Wagas. I don't even look at the menu when I order because every sandwich there tastes the same. I chase it with an Americano and meet with my property agent. Every apartment he shows me is perfect -- perfect in that they each offer one massive, gaping flaw. One has some kind of improvised kitchen sink/squatter toilet combo. Another has a bed frame made entirely of toothpicks and staples. Another comes equipped with a chain-smoking octogenarian who watches the Beijing Opera channel at high volume all day. I try to negotiate with the fangdong, but he stands firm.

"No. He stays," he says, "but I can get you a flat screen TV if you like."

Sigh. I need a beer. I head to Kaiba for a high gravity brew. Everybody complains that they’re so expensive. I say they're efficient. One beer there equals two or three normal beers. After that, dinner at Lan Xin on Jinxian Lu. After that, with my belly full, I'm good and ready for a smoked Bourbon Old Fashioned in a glass the size of a fish bowl at the The Alchemist. It just opened this week so you need to check it out. Two Old Fashioneds. I'm stewed. And at my age, hangovers last close to 36 hours. Time to get some rest. I still haven't found that apartment.

Sunday. What. The. Fuck. It's supposed to be lazy DVD day and I'm on a meet and greet tour with more of Shanghai's slumlords. Finally, late in the afternoon, I find a place that I can call home. It's always the last place you look, isn't it? That leaves one more item on my list to check off. Raveonettes at Mao Livehouse. And.... Scene.