Don't say I never took you anywhere. Together, we've been to some of Boston's best and worst nightspots, a seedy dance club in Italy, and now to Asia (sort of) for a famed concoction known to the natives of Harvard Square as a scorpion bowl.
Hong Kong's reputation precedes it as the best place to get these fabled scorpion bowls in the vicinity. What exactly is a scorpion bowl? Well, it's a mixture of orange juice and some mysterious red syrupy liquid that comes out of a tap served in a bowl over ice and garnished with plastic animal toys and fruit. If you have to ask, you probably shouldn't be drinking it. Consider it akin to that mystery meat that tastes so good that you don't care what part of the animal it comes from. Scorpion bowls taste good and fruity- let's leave it at that. But when it comes down to it, its bark is worse than its bite.
For $10.50 you can't complain about the novelty of sharing a bowl of liquid the size of your head with four of your closest friends, but unless you're five feet tall and 80 pounds, it probably won't floor you like it's supposed to. If you're after a stronger drink, try the scorpion bowl or another clever cocktail at Yee's Village in Davis, but be warned that at Yee's you sacrifice atmosphere and clientele for... shall we say efficiency?
The aftershock of Hong Kong's scorpion bowls is much more serious than its immediate results, which is just plain unfortunate. One seasoned imbiber awoke with a headache that said to her, "What did you do last night?" and a conscience that replied, "Not that much, actually."
Nonetheless, it's still fun to drink from a bowl of pink liquid through long straws. Just be careful where you point those things when you're fishing among the ice cubes for your toys, as one careless scavenger nearly took my eye out, and we all know that it's fun and games until...
The toys, though they seem superfluous, provide a fun souvenir to bring home as well as an easy way out for the less creative conversation starters.
"Can we have your animals?"
Until this point, we had been unaware that there were animals in our beverage. A look past the subject, over his shoulder, revealed a table of snickering engineer-types crowded around a constructed orgy of neon plastic animals.
"Um, I don't think so." We feared for the safety of our little toy-friends.
"Oh. Where are you from?"
"Um, I don't think so." We feared for our own safety.
The first floor of Hong Kong is a relatively generic restaurant, and there's nothing fabulous to be said for the food. Stairs to the left of the entrance, however, lead to the second floor and bar area where the Asian theme is abandoned (except for an interesting looking video game, some kind of golf, I think). There are conveniently small tables with bar stools that might have been designed specifically with the communal aspect of the scorpion bowl in mind. If you can successfully navigate your sloshing bowl from the bar to a table, you and your friends can crowd around it and sip through the straw while gazing into each other's eyes, which by this point are probably popping from the pressure of trying to suck that fruity liquid faster than anyone else.
On the third floor, and yes, there is a third floor, though the stairs look more like employee access, the empty dance floor is a testament to the weakness of the scorpion bowls. It can't be a testament to the level of excitement on the second floor, can it? Still, it's not often that you find a dance floor with decent music, perfect lighting and... plenty of space. The three of us enthusiastically and single-handedly increased the number of dancers to three. One of us was mysteriously more enthusiastic than the others, enough so that not only did she earn the attention (and admiration) of the 15 people milling about the sidelines, but she also attracted the attention of the Hong Kong staff and earned herself a spotlight. The mystery was solved when we returned home to find an empty bottle of Malibu on the counter, but nonetheless, we were proud of our private dancer.
Shortly after our foray onto the floor, three ambitious if not disillusioned gentlemen waltzed over, serving as an example of just how diverse the crowd could be. One, dressed in a black hoodie pulled up over his head and baggy cargo pants, did the rave dance thing that I can never get right. He was a bit out of place at Hong Kong, but was the only one of his crew who put his heart into his efforts, and thus the recipient of our proverbial blue ribbon. His friend in a button down shirt did something clever if not a bit bizarre that we still haven't figured out, and the third one did the well-executed if not overly enthusiastic left-right bounce, my favorite, your favorite, the middle school classic hop.
The biggest drawback to the third floor is the limited bar, which looks more like a converted utility closet and does not have cherries, the best part of the scorpion bowls. We're too upset about the lack of fruit, and the unwillingness of the cute bartender to humor our requests for fruit, to continue with this paragraph.
Returning to the second floor and bar area, the state of affairs has somewhat degenerated. One excited executive in his late twenties sporting a blue oxford and a dark suit unbuttoned his collar, loosened his tie, and mounted a barstool to observe the scene. He seems like a lone wolf surveying his territory, ears pricked and eyes sharp. His eyes land on his prey. And somewhere in this mix is an older woman wearing red Ann Taylor pants and only one sandal - she's injured! Easy prey! One question for these fellows - what are they doing in business attire on a Saturday? Please say this is not what the future holds for us... acknowledging the problem is the first step to solving it, or avoiding it as the case may be.
