The Eastwood expedition 

Humans are creatures of habit. Much like a flock of birds which migrates aviary year after aviary year to the same breeding grounds, their homo sapien hunters seem to be quite predictable in their patterns of flying around the nightlife nests called bars. Actually, after having the same nocturnal routine, one eventually realizes that the next-day conversation remains the same. That is, such soliloquy goes: "I went in to the same old bar, ordered the same old drink by the same old place from the same old waiters, and saw the same old people enter, and gossiped about the same old things." When the only nighttime permutations are the pairs of people who enter and exit in your own version of the Cheers bar, it’s highly suggested to try watering a new hole. 

So, armed with my trusted notebook, digital camera, and a mild fit of bar withdrawal, I ventured alone from the Old World of Makati to the New World of Eastwood in Libis, Quezon City in a renewed search of the holy cocktail grail. My Eastwood adventure began in a Brazilian-inspired restaurant and bar called Ipanema. Located on the second floor, complemented with mood lighting, recently opened, and aesthetically pleasing, this resto-bar is tall, tanned, young, and lovely. Its blue vertical signage seems to call fellow weary bar explorers, whether of the yuppie variety or the Generation letter something, to find comfort in its lounge interiors and its Brazilian food and drink transposed to the Filipino palette. I decided to match the Latin-inspired environment by indulging in a feast of New World Portuguese tapas. Glancing through the English translations in the menu, I stuffed myself with the Mariscos de Baihana (baked mussels with garlic, butter, and cheese), Linguisticas (assorted sausages), Queijo a’ Milanesa (deep-fried mozzarella and cheddar cheese), Setas al Ajilalo (garlic mushrooms), and Mandioca Frita (French fries). Of course, to push down such foreign food down my indio throat, I binged on a Portuguese cocktail sampler composed of a Capirinha de Tangerina, Bossa Nova, Ipanema, and more familiar-sounding concoctions such as a mudslide, and a B-52. 

Afterwards, I pressed forward towards one of the greatest historical monuments of the modern Western world: the Coffee and Dessert Bar. With its modern two-storey interiors, Jack’s Loft could rival the showcase apartments used in American primetime shows like The Real World and Friends. Flanked by sweet tooth stricken customers composed of families and teenage groupies, I definitely bit off more than I could chew from the Brownie á la Mode, Jack’s Strawberry Cheesecake, "I Declair" Éclair, Chocolate Decadent Cake, and Choco Fantasia. As one sugar-ridden thing deserves several more, I partook of the liquid-heaven-in-a-glass called a Cookies and Cream Shake, White Mocha Coffee, the "Fish Bowl" Ice Tea, a Cappuccino, and a Chocolate Smoothie.  

Called by the electronic drum beat and the digital version of the Aurora Borealis, I entered the last leg of my maiden exploration by descending into the Basement, a New York swing club-inspired events arena. From the dark red drapes, the towering antique chandelier, and the sunken stage, the interiors seemed to resemble the set of The Phantom of the Opera -turned-DJ/ acoustic club. Within its walls, I discovered a semi-gothic underground world into itself filled with entranced souls ranging from the salary-dependent to the allowance-strapped. An onslaught of nocturnal nourishments appeared in the form of Chicken Skin, Chicken Fingers, Nachos, and French fries, coupled with servings of Vodka Cruiser, Carlo Rossi Red Wine, Corona Beer, and Asti Spumanti. 

As I triumphantly exit these Eastern cement woods, I realize that we are indeed amidst a different kind of Crusade, not of cross and country but of cocktail glasses and everything mixed in them.

When the novelty of our night scene begins to fade, we can look for renewed divine or just vine-derived inspiration by simply leaving the comforts of our own bar bailiwicks and creating new ones. After all, in spite of being creatures of habit, we, in the end, are still in control of our nocturnal destiny – our nightlife.