It’s a trek up to the third floor to Mint Space, on Xingsheng Lu. It is virtually deserted when we walk in, so we decide to sit down at a wooden table nearest to the door. We appear to have company though. Our table companion is a stuffed pencil, glaring back at us with droopy, accusing eyes. He also might be pointing his middle finger at us, but we just can’t be sure. Does he have four, or five fingers?
There’s swinging fluorescent lights, oddly-placed hanging foliage and an elevated stage. A young singer is belting out what we can only assume is pop music from the People’s Republic. Or South Korea. Football’s playing on a large TV next to the stage, but four black lines on the screen make it hard to see what’s really going on.
Wait. Isn’t Mint a posh club in Shanghai? The farce is apparent, and just as we’re about to make a dash, a menu gets slapped down in front of us.
Oh no. Hilarity ensues. Chinglish is enjoyable enough while it lasts, but it can leave you feeling thirsty. Only one cocktail from a list of 14 is available, and it just happens to be called the sex monster (RMB48). But there’s no ice.
Not feeling so predator-like, we ask for wine instead, but again, there’s none in stock. We do love the moniker though – ‘God cup red carmenere’ (RMB198/bottle). Perhaps it’s been christened, turned from water to wine so we can all be redeemed with a single swig.
Craft beer (RMB48) anyone? At Mint Space, it’s called protoplasm, a term used to define the colorless material comprising the living part of a cell. It’s also not available. No bottles, no cocktails, no beer. There must be something to quench, to revive us from near-lifelessness. There is, and it’s a can of coke or Wang Lao Ji (RMB10). We choose the former, which arrives warm, straw neatly tucked into the metal tab. But no glass. Or ice. And then we remember: there’s no ice.
The humor stagnates, and now we’re relying almost entirely on the comedic outcome of horribly bad translations. Thirst turns to hunger, and a look at our placemat menu reveals some BBQ snack options. Top picks of spicy ice flower screws (RMB58) and chicken dolphin string (RMB27) are not available. Alas. No hot screwing or deflowering on the horizon. The spicy sixty section reveals a couple more to consider: roasted baby food (RMB48) and iron happy sixtieth (RMB48).
If you’re not in the mood for pulp, settle for something a little more recognizable like honey chicken wings (RMB9/2 pieces). It arrives warm, in possible competition with the can of coke, and is adorned with a shriveled lemon segment. A bite, and it’s barf-worthy, paling even in comparison to the three-day old version you can buy at Family Mart.
This eerie bar is part discotheque, sports pub, canto-pop lounge and cafe. Given that it’s got almost nothing to sell but is still paying an atrocious amount for rent, we’ve come to the conclusion that Mint Space is either a covert super-lab constructed for the purpose of money-washing and manufacturing boutique amounts of illicit methamphetamine (aka Breaking Bad), or the playroom of an immature and lazy man-child who just happens to have inherited a by-the-hour hotel empire (aka Billy Madison).
Either way, Xingsheng Lu has for some time been registering tremors that our experts believe signals its fast-diminishing fashionability. With Mint Space as its most moronic add-on to date, we’d like to officially declare the street dead. Like a bad Chinglish sitcom.
Price: RMB70 (or RMB10 for warm coke)
Who’s going: hard to say
Good for: baby food, BBQ sticks, coke
Nearest metro: Liede (Exit D), 5 minutes
Daily 5pm-2am. See listing for Mint Space.
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