On this holy holiday celebrated because God was happy someone didn't get murdered for a change, but then had an innocent critter murdered instead, there are goats and lambs all shaking in their adorable little hooves in anticipation of the festivities. It is Eid, and it is time to par-tay! The weekends here are usually quite busy. All of the morally ambiguous Saudi's come over the causeway with their temporary Russian or Filipino girlfriends to embrace the liberal culture that keeps Bahrain well paid. But couple the usual influx of money and sin with the fact that people don't have to work on Sunday? Phewwwwwww. Let's do this!
Okay, well...let's do this slowly!
There are very popular brunches all over the world. Some are on Sunday morning in the States, some in Dubai are on Thursday night. No rules, just eat and drink and be merry. Here on island, however, the biggest ones will be on Friday afternoon. This way you can get all banged up on Thursday and still make it out on Friday to get all banged up.
Science!
The brunches are plentiful, and range in price from expensive to really expensive, but on an island where people are getting paid well to put up with the heat it is a chance to kick off your sandals and pour some liquor into your face-hole for 4 or 5 hours. Our location was strategically chosen because it is way to damn expensive and my friends here don't know how to shop around for value. The food is insanely good, the beer is Fosters, but it still has alcohol in it I believe. The champagne is...okay don't drink the champagne. Seriously. My friend said it reminded her of the wine she used to make in her sink in Kuwait. I had to try it.
I feel as though she was being generous with her comparison to sandy Arabic sink wine.
The secret is throwing-the-fuck-up every time you drink it.
We call some cabs and prepare for the sorta smelly, full of hope, 8 dinar ride to Eden - also known as the Crowne Royal Plaza Hotel.
This buffet at the Crowne leaves no doubt as to the awesomeness inside from the moment you pull up front. It has the look of something I can't afford and shouldn't be allowed into, but all are welcome (with 24 dinars) to come in and share a meal. Or, more accurately, 7 meals, all in a four hour span.
Give us your huddled masses yearning to eat too much, but not your poor.
Keep walking, Mr. Broke McEmptypockets. Keep walking.
Now I could get some professional pictures of the spread at the Crowne Royal Hotel brunch, but I know you would rather see the shaky unprofessional and oft blurry images I snapped with my phone before being knocked out of the way by a Russian hooker who wants sushi more than she wants to be my special hourly friend. Whatever, Nadia. Enjoy your raw fish. I have some sanpape...I mean champagne...to drink.
Tell my family and friends I died doing what I loved...eating without them.
Not so bad, right? You pay for it and it is unfortunate that no matter how hungry you are, no matter how starved you may feel, no matter how you pace yourself or try to outsmart the buffet, it will win. It will always win. The only way you can win with the buffet is to drink so much you forgot you lost.
That's how tough this buffet is - even when you win, you lose. Some say the taste of defeat is bitter or sour. I prefer to think of it as delicious and full of the savory sweetness of baby back ribs with the aftertaste of çrepes and freshly made-to-order sushi.
This is the kind of defeat where you don't so much hang your head as hang your gut in shame.
From noon to four in the afternoon everyone is excused from looking like a pig, which are rare in this Muslim country oddly enough, by shoveling food into their face. Some enjoy the ambiance and company, some come to eat until their stomach is stretched more than the skin on Joan Rivers' face, and some just get shit-canned drunk, but to truly play this game correctly, you must do all three.
Like the guy in the Hawaiian shirt who tossed all of his cookies and cakes and steaks all over the front steps as he was leaving - then passed out in what can only be described as "staircase yoga".
I took a picture of him, but this picture of Nick Nolte actually looks more like he did than he did.
But time marches ahead. Like sand in an hour glass, inevitability becomes the very reality you reside within. It is the four o'clock hour. You don't have to go home, but you sure can't stay here.
Actually, it is a hotel. You could stay there.
You are full, have developed a healthy buzz, and like any responsible adult, you want to go out to a bar. Bars in Bahrain do not exist in and of themselves. Bars are not legally allowed to have a bar all by itself. That wouldn't be the proper Islamic way to do things. But slap that puppy in a hotel and all bets are off. That is Islamic as fuck, apparently. Bahrain is the liberal center of the Gulf, and this is why people come here. This island is an island oasis. But don't drink the water at this oasis. You'll die. Have a beer or shot instead.
And thank goodness it is what it is.
We decided to go to the 7th floor of a nearby hotel to one of my favorite bars...I mean hotel restaurants...deep in the heart of Manama. A place called Kicks.
Look how nice this place is! A truly family establishment where people come for a quiet chat and some nibbles.
Yeah, I'm sure that is exactly what it looks like for about 30 seconds after they open the doors up to the after-brunch crowds.
At 5 PM we walk in, all a little crooked, and this is the sight before our eyes:
FIVE IN THE AFTERNOON. NOT TWO IN THE MORNING. FIVE. IN THE AFTERNOON.
One trick an eatery can play on its customers is to block out all the light so they can't tell what time it is. Just like Vegas, you don't know if you have been there for an hour or three weeks. The bar was already deep into karaoke mode when we arrived. Drunken stumbling was the main mode of transportation here. It really is 5 o'clock somewhere, Jimmy. And it is at Kicks.
The thing about brunching is this: people that don't usually drink all day and all night like I do are presented the opportunity to get sloshed early, and then, because their bodies and brains are completely taken by surprise, continue on into the night.
You talk to people you normally don't talk to.
You dance with people you normally wouldn't dance with.
You take pictures of your teaching buddy, who just got thrown out of a western bar in the basement of the same hotel...well, to be accurate, we both got thrown out into the street after he crashed into the back offices, and we deftly circled around and came back in only to be thrown out again, only to circle around deftly and come back in to a staff that was defeated by our determination...as he dances a booty dance to Journey because he didn't realize Sir Mixalot's "I Like Big Butts"had just ended.
The photo has been altered to protect the identity of Chris Noer, Villa 887, Road 3671, Block 363, Riffa, Kingdom of Bahrain
All in all it was a great evening. People got the kind of drunk that makes for an awkward cab ride home because they want everyone to be silent because "they don't know what its like to deal with us people". Food was eaten, drinks were drank, and a dog pissed on my steps when a few people, and a dog, came over after the night was over.
Now I say "the night was over"- but we were home before 9, and I would bet most were asleep about 30 seconds later. Now, today, I simply wait for the lack of eye contact everyone shares as they, for lack of a better word I will use "remember", what they did the day before.
But I must go, it is almost noon and I am not trying to limp away from this holiday kick-off weekend, so...bottoms up!
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