First up, I have to tell you about Nuri Sushi Factory in Parliament street. OMG! It’s this random little spot in town owned by a guy who used to be involved with the Caviar group so, sushi-wise, dude knows exactly what he’s doing but is pretty much giving it away for free. Think R43 for eight pieces of fancy pants spicy prawn tempura roll! Um, hello?!
Discovering the spot has become a bit of an ‘ish’ for me as I’m currently trying to starve myself back into the bikini zone in the middle of winter. (I’m off to St. Tropez again at the end of the mo for my little sis’ wedding. Yes, another one. She’s having three in total to the same dude ‘cos, well, she can.) But ja, I’m basically going to live and die on the treadmill now ‘cos all I want to do is shove Nuri’s sticky soy sauce and spicy mayo-covered rolletjies into my face from dusk til dawn. Oh! And the spring rolls, which aren’t on the menu, are Awesome with a capital A.
Sadly, my Friday night adventures didn’t end at Nuri. I got my arm twisted into having ‘just one drink’ at Orphanage and then everything turned into a tequila-infused blur o’ crazy. When I woke up the next day, I discovered at least THIRTY ‘selfies’ on my camera involving a taxidermied rabbit rocking a zexy rooi waistcoat.
Apparently I was introducing the little fella to everyone around me as ‘my new boyfriend, Peter.’
Could one of my friends not just stepped in and stopped me?! Nooo… clearly Leo and Ellona were also under Peter’s sick sexy spell.
Oh! And OBVIOUSLY this would be the night where I’d run into people who were all ‘Oh hey. Aren’t you that blogger girl?’ Fok!
Usually, I’d be too embarrassed to go back to this spot but, merrily, all the people there already think I’m a complete mentalist. I had my 32nd birthday at Orphanage and, as I’m rather spoiled when it comes to material things, I asked my friends to bring me loads of baby stuff to donate to a real one. I then proceeded to get disgustingly dronk, told everyone I had a big, old person’s vagina the size of a bat cave and semi-collapse on a pile of nappies and baby formula leaving the patrons around me to point fingers and skinner about the uber drunk blonde who threw the most gangster baby shower in all of Cape Town (and who’s kid will most definitely have fetal alcohol syndrome).
Anyhoo, if you happened to have run into me on Friday, here’s me apologising for all the bad rabbit jokes and for possibly forcing you to buy him a shot. And stroke his super soft tummy. And tell us how cute we look together. (But we totally do.)
Now get your ass down to Nuri Sushi Factory before it freakin’ explodes and the prices get hiked up through the roof. The getting motherless at Orphanage bit it is totally optional.