Ottawa is a charming city, but I must challenge my friends north of the border to come up with a better Mai Tai than Cathay House. Or just a Mai Tai at all. Come on Canada!

The storefront looked promising; gaudy oriental-style lettering with a big dragon sign. Inside there were paper screens between sections of the room. But upon entering, the place looked more like a travel agent's office. Large photos of oriental destinations and faces hung about, and the bar was bright and pristine, as if it were an unused prop. The bottles of booze were on display, and I sat at the bar and began to scan them for some exotic brand name.

The owner came, and I asked for a Mai Tai. He got a puzzled, disappointed look and also gazed at his bottles. "Do you know what a Mai Tai is?" I asked. He nodded, but said he could not make one, because he didn't have all the ingredients. I'd never heard such a thing (or had I?) but I was too tired to pursue the matter. I had a bottle of Chinese beer instead, and read the menu. On the cover, under the name and the dragon logo was a prominent drawing of carry-out containers and the pronouncement "We use tin foil containers" which seemed to be their prominent message.

I chuckled out loud, and with nothing else to look at but the bottles on the mirrored shelf, I sipped the lousy beer and resumed my booze inventory. Then I had a revelation. There was no rum! This otherwise well- stocked bar had not a drop of rum to offer.

Another revelation: this was indeed not the first time I had heard from a bartender that they couldn't make a Mai Tai. Once before, in the Denver area (I think it was at County Line Barbecue) I had been told that there was no rum. "What do you have?" I had asked. "Beer and whiskey," I was told.

Now, I can live with that. But I'd rather not think that there are two vast Mai Tai deserts, the West, and the North, on this continent. Any oases, please?

Taste:
Atmosphere:
Date Visited: April 1999
Reviewed By: David Bartell