Last time I was here, it was going by a different name; Quins Bar. It was still a riot. That last time, I remember, a friend broke both his leg and his heart at 1am. [A story for a different platform].
Riding on the popularity of its former self, now it’s transformed into a colossal sports bar, with two levels and massive TV screens all shouting sports at the same time.
If you were blindfolded you'd still know you are at Orchid from the sweet smell of meat and the thudding music.
Recently - OK, it was last Saturday - we sat upstairs, gathered around a bottle of whisky. There was a football match on one screen that was getting the crowd’s knickers in a twist and a rugby match on the other. Someone ordered kuku choma [barbequed chicken]. Someone else said with pain in their eyes, “I think I forgot my cigarettes in the cab.” “Oh, it’s just cigarettes you forgot in the cab,” I said, “not a child.”
It’s a typical sports bar with a gung-ho spirit. The music is at first loud but you kind of get used to it as you get used to the swelling crowd that at some point seems to rock like a ship in choppy waters. Warning; Orchid seems like the kind of place you go with the intention of having two drinks and then home but you end up getting home at 2am.
I couldn’t see the whole bar; it felt massive in scale. The upstairs seating was clearly a favourite. The downstairs bar is long and extravagant. At some point, I joined my friend outside where he was smoking. I asked, “Is that Sportsman?” which seemed to irritate him. He’d just turned 40 and he was frustrated that he was growing old and he hadn’t done so much. [Roll eyes].
Service was swift and the fantastic kuku choma seemed to have been grilled by the slow-burning coals of hell. I was having a grand old time until a friend lured me to Uhuru Gardens where we joined another rocking ship of humanity watching Fally Ipupa. That went well as well; my phone wasn’t stolen this time.
