Argh. We've found hidden 'twixt th' crossroads o' Xietu and Tianyaoqiao a "Pirate Restaurant." And it be brought to Shanghai by none other than those shit slingers Modern Toilet, whom we told you about a few years prior.

Before a grotto form'd o' chicken wire, papier mache, and texturiz'd stucco Jack Sparrow stands at the ready, sword unsheathed. Say the password true and he'll reward you with one gold doubloon, which grants you entry through the doors. Drop it into the slot with care, ya' scurvy dawg. 'Tis the only way in.



And th' doors slide open to this...



'Tis a secret pirate hideout, compleat with a grand banquet hall.



Overhead they've installed a tiller...



...and a battery o' cannon.



There also be a plank, should you need to keelhaul any mutinying sons of motherless whores.



Thar even be a place in which to stow your booty...




You and your crew can take safe haven and wet your whistle with a flagon o' Vedett white or a "Fruit Beer," which, much to me chagrin, ended up bein' a bottle o' peach-flavored Rio.

Argh, but not a dram o' rhum be in th' entire house.

Meanwhile, you can revel in old sea shanties like 50 Cent's "Wanksta" or that jaunty number by Will.i.am and Britney Spears "Scream & Shout".

Pirate Restaurant has a galley too. Here be the menu roll'd tight so you can hide it safely from some slick handed thief.




Here be some of the vittles. They be cookin' lot's o critters from the deep, many the kind that burrow n' feed in yer guts should yer ship be sunken to the bottom o' Davy Jones's Locker. Look here...



Prawns in a yellow, flavorless slop o' Siamese curry. The prawns be still full from their final meal before shufflin' off this mortal coil and into our bellies.

Or behold:



Ye grilled kraken o' questionable freshness! 'Tis said it's merely a myth of the high seas. But I swear it by my mother, god rest her soul. I be tellin' ya I saw it with me own eyes!

Landlubbers have plenty o' choices too at Pirate Restaurant. There be this...



It's named on th' menu as "Complex". 'Tis a lie. 'Tis not so complex, just a bucket o' hooks stuck with assort'd morsels, not one o' them worth a farthing: Chicken wings, fish balls, cheap bacon made from meat glue, and beef.

If ya like yer meat as tough to chew as the leather of me shoe, might I suggest th' ribs o' pork as well.



And straight from th' shores o' Mexico they be servin' "Mexican Corn Flakes," what th' Chinese have long called "吃不停的玉米片." It loosely translates into our tongue as "Ye dreaded nachos which no man can stop eating."



Aye. They remind me of my days as a cabin boy on a corsair. I hadn't yet gotten me sea legs, and I spent many a day slumped over the gunwale pukin' up bits like this.

But aye, th' pineapple rice, topped wit' shredded egg...



'Tis probably th' only thing that went into our gullets that didn't have us worryin' about a rumblin' and a leakin' in th' poopdeck th' next day.

And for all this, plan on throwing down a lot o' pieces of eight. We were three, and when we left our purse was 771 doubloons lighter, which be more than enough for some whorin' in the' port o' Manhattan. At best this restaurant is a brief respite on land after from robbing and pillaging at sea but nothing more.

For a listin' o' the Pirate Restaurant click here.