So we went to check out the fierce cocktails of the master mixologists at MO Bar. It isn’t every weekend that you get three of the top mixologists on the planet making drinks for you. “Drinks“ like cosmo caviar, absinth gummy bears, bubblegum martinis and canto-caipirinhas (cachaça, kumquat, lychee and soy caramel—kind of like the sticky, savory sweet soy sauce on Japanese dango mochi). Our vacillating Managing Editor must be sick of all this MM talk. Well, it was either molecular mixologists or rappin’ rockstar Quan in this column, whom we’ve already pimped ALL over this issue. Not that I don’t love you, Quan—were I to lower myself to become a creepy, unctuous groupie, I would be yours forever, body and soul... (OK, maybe not yours, I would totally be Gaga’s for all eternity.)

ANYway, as soon as I hung my green Givenchy underneath MO’s bar, the daddy of molecular mixology, Eben Freeman, welcomingly offered me his dehydrated powdered rum and Coke served in a demitasse spoon. It hit me like a ton of bricks, with such a concentrated burst of flavor that I couldn’t taste the Margarita marshmallow afterwards. My bad. I should have marshmallowed first.
Chef Eric Johnson of Union J and our spankin’ fresh new food columnist Amy Ma had been having a few drinks at the bar already, and had started the friendly Piscean jousting. Yes, we discovered that all three of us were Pisces and we bonded. By drinking copious amounts of spirits, of course, including countless rounds of deconstructed Tequila Sunrises (of pomelo and a sweet, red, pomegranate lollipop) from Linden Pride of hallowed Sydney institution, Spice Temple, as well as the super-smooth Tea-quila Highball, a velvety blend of silver tequila, Verbena tea, agave syrup and very NYC elderflower cordial, from NYC speakeasy PDT's Jim Meehan.

Rob, who was the mixologists’ slave-driver manager on their Asian tour, encouraged us to go to Halo for drinks afterwards. Slick, type-A Rob, had on his head a most gorgeously handsome hat (I rarely comment on the cheap fedoras that sit on people’s heads nowadays, but really, his hat from San Fran was a thing of beauty). And he was even more flitterati than I was. I mean, he flirted with well-heeled young women, he flirted with eccentric cougars, he flirted with Amy Ma. And then he flirted with ME. I didn’t feel special after that.
At Halo, I had initially asked for a vodka coke as a little pick-me-up, but apparently, it was not a respectable drink in front of molecular mixologists. So Amy and Rob got us all espresso martinis. Like, four espresso martinis per person. Eben caught me yawning. “Nightlife? Really?” he doubted as he offered me his Coke in powdered form (I mean the Molecular Mixology shit—it’s LEGAL). I carefully sprinkled a pinch onto the back of my hand and licked it. I felt special after that. Especially when DJ Giedrius honored my request of Gaga right away. Amy Ma’s gently badass husband decided to “Just Dance“ as well, and we battled. Tie.

Later, at Volar (Rob made us go), I must say, out of ALL the RIP MJ mixes I’ve heard all night, Yeodie’s kicked ass: Billie Jean mashed with Britney’s “Gimme More“ laced with sick scratching. Eric J just kept smiling, and Eben decided to dance, and we battled. His dance was molecular. I lost.

Email me at jpong@asia-city.com.hk