A Small Piece of Hollywood

My tummy hasn't rumbled this much since the last time I had to do any kind of public speaking to a large audience which for the life of me I have no idea when. I'd often wonder to myself that if I ever went back to my old place of work, if my boss would remember me. A little background here was that I used to be a barman at one of those bars in Sydney that has stood the test of time and won't change to suit the modern crowds. No fancy pretentious nonsense, it is a pub of true values. Set in an old Tooth's Brewery Hotel in Surry Hills, Hotel Hollywood or the Hollywood Hotel is an established and great venue, pub, bar, cocktail bar, night club, meeting spot, chill out location, anything you so desire, it has all of it.

It had been nearly three and a half years since I'd last walked through the door. Who was working there that might remember me, would Doris be sitting at her usual chair drinking wine and conversing with people at the bar, furthermore, would Marc be there, the long running manager of the place. I swear he must now be one of the longest single serving managers of any Sydney pub. So many staff have come and gone under his watch, few of those went on to open up bars of their own. The prime example being the manager and/or owner of 'Hazy Rose', a cute little cocktail bar situated upstairs in one of the many beautiful little terraces in Darlinghurst. There have been many occasions that I have been in there ending the night on one of my least, probably my least favourite drink, Fernet Branca.

Back to Hollywood. Continuously owned for many decades by actress, singer, show person, Doris Goddard, Hotel Hollywood or just The Hollywood for short, even though it only save son a syllable. It has seen so many fads come and go. The biggest when I was working there was this Mexican style idea. Places serving burritos and tacos and too many different Margheritas to be bothered to list, cheap Latino beer and Tequila shots. Places catering for the young trendy art crowd. In the time I was working there I could see the lack of longevity in such a fad. There is only so much cheap beer and Tequila one can drink. More still as those places increased in popularity the trendy folk who once made them great, or greater than they were or should have been, started to flee and seek their pleasures elsewhere. All the while the Hollywood stood proud, never waning to the pressure of the socialites and 'Hipsters'. Anybody was welcome, is welcome and forever shall be welcome. We'd often get a dinner crowd in before their food, after their food and quite often when a particular Mexican themed establishment next door got a bit too much, they would return to end the night in style. There is only so much drunk children vomiting, screaming, shouting, stumbling around and almost getting into several fights that most people can handle. Quite often there would be broken glasses on the street, vomit all over the pavement and passed out drunken fools in any dark corner that wasn't or for their sake, hopefully wasn't covered in vomit, piss or shit. Which is quite difficult in Surry Hills as most dark crevices are festering with filth.

Even now, when said establishment next to the Hollywood remains open, it's time has passed. The phrase 'Bridges and Tunnels' has been used several times by different people to explain who and what still frequent such places all over the city. All the time, the Hollywood remains the same. The same wooden bar, the same mirror ball, the same funky and dreadfully cheesy carpet that has become such a focal point of the place. It is actually know for having what must be one of the least tasteful carpets I have ever seen but still for some reason have found a place in my heart and time to love. Everything about the pub remains almost exactly as it was when I left. I have a theory that some of the houses in Pompei have changed more than the Hollywood, no amount of lava and police and heritage type intervention can stop the change of time. The only thing of note that has changed or what I could see was that there were now more beer taps, always a good thing. Also thes sinks in the gents loo had been replaced.

As soon as I neared the pub, my heart beat raced, I thought about every possible eventuality. Would it be open? Who would be working there? Was Marc still about? Was Doris still around?

The moment the tips of toes on my right foot crossed the threshold between indoors and outdoors I heard it. “Gambino” shouted at the top of his lungs. It was Marc behind the bar. My paranoia of not being remembered couldn't have been further from reality. Not only had he remembered me, he remembered my name. Maybe I was being a little bit over the top or anxious about something like that. I mean it's not that hard remembering a name or face or both but I though that maybe it would, after all, three and a half years was a little while.

I was greeted with hug and a Coopers. A very unexpected welcome. I was overjoyed, elated, it really made my evening. In fact I spent the rest of the evening and night there. Talking about this and that. Staff past and present, the pub in general, future plans of the pub, Doris and her recent 82^nd birthday celebrations, her helper etc... there was so much to catch up on. Marc was asking about myself, what I'd done after leaving, where I worked, where I'd been, all that stuff. We filled in the blanks on over three years of history. It isn't much, not much had happened but it was enough to have what felt like I'd drunken the bar dry and some. People came and went, several groups having a quiet drink on what I think was a Monday night, or it could have been Tuesday. One group of drunk wankers turned up and it was their arrival which led to an early closure. There were all drunk, behaving like little school children on their first trip away from their parents. Even though they had been warned and reminded several times about drinking on the street, they still saw fit to abuse it and take their glasses out onto the pavement. The side doors were closed, leaving only the front door as a point of entrance and exit. The other chilled out groups soon left, leaving only the drunk mass. I actually recognised a couple of them from way back when. Marc and I knew how shit and annoying they were and would have been so when he only served them a single round and refused anything else, they acted up and quickly left. Leaving in their wake several spilled drinks, empty and half full glass around the pub. I was glad to see the back of them and helped, a bit, with the clean up.

We had a few more drinks after the front door had been bolted shut, it was earlier than normal but with such a crowd lurking about the pre midnight air, anything could have happened. I stayed for a couple more drinks then made my way out and to the apartment. I was plastered, I didn't realised I'd drunken so much. I promised to return and have done a couple of times since but Marc wasn't around on those occasions. Hopefully I will get the chance to say goodbye once again before I leave.

Hollywood's Facebook page

hotel hollywood

A review in Australian Time Out Magazine

hotel hollywood

Meeting an Old Friend

Before I came out to Australia, I notified a mate of mine in the hope that we would meet up for a drink and catch up on the time since we've been apart. After all, I hadn't seen him since I left Australia a few years ago. Born to English parents, educated and most of his life spent in Australia. Coincidently he moved to the same town that me parents live many years ago. I met him whilst he was working at a popular Portuguese restaurant chain. He was an acquaintance of another of my friends and we subsequently became mates. We have been mates since and it just so happened that when I was out in Australia, he had moved back home. We actually ended up living in the same Sydney suburb of Leichardt.

Unfortunately, he was in away the whole time I was due to be over. He left roughly the day I arrived and flew back on the day I was supposed to be leaving. I say supposed as I extended my stay for another week and so had time to meet up for a drink. I informed him of the exciting news and arranged to meet up on one of the next couple of days. He had to change his plans as he'd forgotten he had prior arrangements. Prior arrangements that he'd mixed up with the following week. He had tickets to go and see the live 'Noel Fielding' show at some theatre in the city. Mr Fielding is one of the creators of a funny and strangely surreal British comedy show called 'The Mighty Boosh' which seems to be massive in Australia. Dan, my mate got the weeks mixed up. I can only assume and can quite clearly picture him and his girlfriend going all the way to the theatre, going up to the counter to hand over the tickets and enter, only to be told that they have the wrong ticket. The look of embarrassment on their faces would be worth a picture. Maybe it didn't go that way at all and the realised the error before they journeyed into the city. Knowing Dan though, it was most likely the former.

I don't know what I did in the end that night, I imagine it involved some drinking but it doesn't matter, what matters is that we rearranged to meet the following night.

It was a Thursday night, at the Dove and Olive that means it is $9.90 burger night. What would a bargain burger be like, a minuscule patty that shouldn't even be classed as a patty, a tiny meatball flattened to a small and flat disc of bland meat on a stale bun with browning lettuce and solidified mayo. The thought of that was offensive, nearly ten bucks for a mini piece of turd, I hoped and prayed my imagination had deceived me. Told a big lie, leading me to believe in disappointment, possibly forgoing any true and real life disappointment. Perhaps a benefit of being pessimistic in this case. I don't know.

P-Slatez was supposed to meet us, as was Dan who had recently relayed to me that his mother and a friend of hers would also be join us after their pilates class. Dom and I arrived earlier than the rest to secure ourselves adequate seating for a large group. There was not, only the bar along the front window with a few small seats was free. We ordered some beers and like a deer munching on some lush green grass in a meadow, kept one eye open for predators although in our case the reality of being preyed upon was little to none and we were simply spying on groups of drunk 'post work' drinkers hoping for a group to leave and some better seats becoming available. We weren't so lucky. I went on a scouting mission to see what I could find. Upstairs was out of bounds due to some private function or whatever it was. Indoors was really packed but slowly clearing. I spotted a table and some free stools in the back smoking area. As I moved over towards them I saw that a tucked away corner just in front of the doors that lead you outside had become available. It was cramped and dark and quite warm, all the noise bouncing around inside the pub from overly loud drunk media workers made its way into the corner where the sound bounced around so much that its overall volume increased by over more than two decibels.

After placing the order of three burgers, one for Dom, P-Slatez and myself, we made our way outside. It was the best option, cooler, less noise and there was space. All that to the confusion of the server who looked lost and puzzled. We'd somehow ventured into the Bermuda Triangle and had disappeared. I saw his struggle and felt sympathetic to his cause. I went over and offered some assistance explaining what had happened and where we were now seated.

How my mind had played a terribly wonderful trick on me. Leading me to believe I would receive a horrid little plate of food with stale chips, gloopy sauces and a shit little burger. A cunning manoeuvre. The burger was small, as small as I'd expected but hoped for something slightly larger. Size did not matter, this burger was bigger than it looked and in all physical sense was. It was meaty, very meaty and flavoursome and juicy. Crisp lettuce, all the usual garnishes and a side of crunchy little chips/fries. Oh how it was a shame that the whole thing went down so quickly. I do always feel disappointed in myself for not allowing such a delight to grace the earth for more than a few mouthfuls or deliciousness. The sweet onion bbq sauce was an ideal condiment and only eased the destruction and disappearance of said fries.

Not that I was too happy or impressed with Hop Dog Beerworks, their 'Redhopulous Maximum' was a truly incredible Red IPA. That was what I had at first and wanted more of, and asked for but when one doesn't buy the round, one can never guarantee the outcome of the drink purchases. The next couple I had was I think the house beer, a lager of sorts. Pleasant and perfectly drinkable but not what I'd asked for or wanted but as I was being given free top ups from Dan's jug I would not complain.

It was great catching up and being told in quite impressive detail most of the events that had transpired over the last three years. He had come a long way form working in a call centre and living with an utter bunch of c***s. I was happy for him. He was with a girl and very happy about it and their relationship. She sounded lovely and he quite rightly deserves a good girl. That sounds really crap but he is one of the most genuine and polite gents I know, it always a shame to hear him being fucked around by idiots. At one stage I'd hoped that we would move in together but it never materialised, now I live in England and he is across the world here in Australia. Maybe if he ever moves to London that might happen, at least the probability of it would more than quadruple.

It was really nice chatting to Dan's mum and her friend. Conversations going around the table about all kinds of topics. Learning much about the Sydney suburb of Balmain, how it was once a total dump full of abandoned warehouses and was so run down it sounded like it would have had many similarities to Detroit. Now it is a very posh and fancy place, or at least most of it or the places I have been and seen are. It was interesting to talk to Megan, Dan's mums friend. She had much to say and it seems Dom and I have much to learn. Time was getting on and people started to make their way home. Dom's round so we finished on the rightful drink, Redhopulous Maximus. Then we left and shortly retired to bed.

However expensive the beers at Dove and Olive may be, it is still a fantastic pub and like its big brother The KB Hotel, they have an extensive and forever changing selection of beers that will keep even the biggest beer geek on his/her toes, for a short time at least. The food is excellent and with the daily deals, good value too.

doveandolive

hopdog

A Big Piece of Tasmania

So, I seem to have got some stories jumbled up out of any chronological order. Unintentionally of course.

The third day in a row of this blasted storm. Actually, in all honesty it hasn't done much to annoy me or change anything that I wanted to do. When it rains, you dress accordingly or face the fact that you're going to get wet. In this case very wet.

Some work men are doing repairs or improvements on the apartment block where Dom and Nina live. This means that on a regular basis the fire alarm goes off in the whole building. Kind of a drill, it is no cause for alarm. However due to the nature of the system in the building, if the alarm is triggered, the fire brigade are immediately notified. The first time it went off was day 1 of the storm. With all the rain, confusing and traffic as a result of the weather, it took the first fire engine over half an hour to arrive. According to the work men, the fire brigade are the only people able to reset the alarm. Until they punch in a code, it goes on and on. The alarm blaring and a voice coming over the P.A. System. “Please proceed to the nearest exit and evacuate in an orderly manner”. At full volume and the last time it went off it was about 8am. Too early for an alarm to be going off when I don't have a job to go to or reason to be awake.

The annoyance of the alarm did give me reason to get out of bed, sort my things out and head out for the morning. I popped down to one of many local coffee shops, one that I'd visited several times before. 'The Paramount' for short. The rain had subsided a little but as soon as I made it out the front door the heavens opened. Walking about three blocks from the apartment building to the café caused me to get soaked. It was as if some sinister bastard had decided he was going to throw buckets of water at me as I walked. It wasn't rain but a constant and flowing wall of water. I read a book, over about an hour had a couple cups of coffee and hoped that the alarm situation had been rectified. When I neared the building I didn't see any fire engines in the open or concealed. A good sign. Opening the door and stepping through into silence. I rushed upstairs to get showered and ready for the day. The rain had stopped and the fire alarm was no longer sounding.

I made it out and decided on a rough route I was going to take, visiting a couple of pubs along the way into Darlinghurst, a neighbouring suburb of Surry Hills.

There was a food place on Oxford St that I wanted to see. All I knew was that it was called 'Mr Crackles' and they served pork scratchings. I paid about $5 for a big paper cup or crackling. Crispy seasoned pork rind. The first few bites were lovely. After a piece the size of present day smartphone I decided it wasn't a good idea. It was salty, over the top salty, almost, actually it was unbearable. I finished the lot but felt like shit. I love pork scratchings or crackling, any kind of pork fat or rind. This was horrible. It tasted like that really pungent smell you get from burning hair or flesh, the smell that gets right up your nose and clings to the back of your throat. Only rather than only your nose being invaded by such a horrific beast, your tongue, throat, mouth, everywhere was. I could feel my stomach trying to repel it but my determination to swallow it and finish it kept it down. I managed but it wasn't sitting well and I really didn't feel good about it.

Eating the crackling, I walked down Crown St towards the pub I was aiming for, on the corner of Crown and Cathedral. Not only was it a bad decision to eat them, walking down one of the steepest hills around made it so much worse. Once I was finished I felt worse than a cheerleader after being pounded by the whole Football team. My stomach was turning, all I could taste was that rancid filth. I needed a beer and a glass of water desperately.

The East Sydney Hotel was my saviour. The rain had completely stopped now filling all with optimism that it might end up being a good day, the sky was clearing so why wouldn't it. I walked in and enquired about plug sockets, I had some writing to catch up on and my laptop battery was almost flat. The other day when I went to the café above Berklow on Oxford St, my battery ran out and I couldn't find any power points so was left with a dead laptop and lots of writing to do.

I made a little seating area out of a couple of stools and a chair, plugged my laptop in and got on with business.

I ordered a schooner of a Red IPA by Modus Operandi, a brewery based in Mona Vale, Sydney. It was 7.8% so came with a warning. The barmaid asked if I was driving as the beer was so strong. I assured her I wasn't and took my seat.

I plugged my laptop in and began. I made myself comfortable out of a curious arrangement. A stool as my table and another stool as a desk, I sat on an old fashioned wicker chair. I can't remember the last time I made a fort or something quite like this. It was better than any fort I'd made previously out of chairs, cushions and blankets. I got quite a lot done, and in the process of charging my laptop and writing, I also charged my phone.

As I was focused on my writing, a guy walked in. He didn't look dodgy and by the way he greeted the barmaid with a “hello darling, how are you?” I didn't think anything of it. He then started to become what I would deem unfit for the earth, but a little less extreme, he was not fit for the pub, he wasn't the sort of clientèle that would be beneficial in any way. Not quite a slam but he put a five dollar bill on the bar and asked the barmaid, “get me whatever beer with that”, not that $5 is overly cheap for a beer. It isn't that realistic unless you are in some kind of club or a big pub with lots and lots of pokies. He was disappointed, you could see and hear it in his voice. In an angry tone he continued by saying “you've lost a good customer”, sorry but a good customer. Pull the other one mate. Any way, he left with rudeness in his tone and manner. An absolute prick!

I went back to my beer and writing. I was nearly done with my beer so made my way to the bar. I ordered another of the same. It wasn't cheap at just under $10 for a schooner but I was willing to pay that for it, it was a good beer in a fantastic pub and helping me with my work. As I sat, drinking and writing, I watched the rest of the afternoon pass by. I was finished about as much writing I could be bothered to do, slowly drip by drip finished off my beer. I had to get back to the flat to let my brother in as I had his set of keys. I was hoping to meet him wherever but going back gave me a chance to put my laptop away and chill for a minute while he got ready. We were going to a restaurant called 'Una's' an Austrian (I think) themed restaurant specialising in probably the best schnitzel in Sydney.

On the way to Una's, we stopped into the Darlo Bar again. We both had Young Henry's 'Real Ale' again. Dom's phone rang so he took the call, I went inside to get the beers, he stayed outside on the phone. It was a long call, so long in fact that I almost had to stop drinking my beer so I didn't finish it before he finally made it inside. We drank them quickly and left to go to the restaurant. With it being BYO we went via a bottle shop to get some wine. Before we selected the wine we had a browse at the beer selection. The selection was insane. I didn't think I'd see so many decent and random craft beers at a bottle shop that specialised in fine wines. It was puzzling but fantastic at the same time. Twenty minutes wasn't long enough to look them all over. In fact we popped back in after we'd eaten, but that later.

We didn't get any wine so crossed the road and went inside to sit down, order and eat our food.

I'd been looking forward to my next visit to Una's. It's one of the only times I ever order veal. Not because of animal welfare or anything, I just don't seem to see it often and when I do there are usually other things on the menu I'd rather eat. Veal it was tonight though and boy was I excited. We got the usual. Veal schnitzel for me, chicken for Dom and Nina with a side of creamed spinach to share. We all had Gypsy which is covered in a rich and mildly spicy tomato sauce. Like always, a slaw came out straight away. Careful not to eat it all before our food came out, we had the occasional fork full then held some restraint. When we placed our order, we ordered some beer. The one we ordered was out, our second choice was also out. The waitress came out with another one off the list, it was the only one they had left. It was a Spelt Wheat beer from '2 Metres Tall' a brewery from Tasmania that by the looks of it tend to make stranger than normal beers. A lot of them being wild fermented or sour styles.

The beer was really good. A slightly sharp wheat beer, like with spelt flour, it had a naturally sour tang. This one had been aged and I would imagine some strain of bacteria, most probably Brettanomyces had found its way into the tank. Somewhere I read that the sourness would develop over time. As with the slaw, it was hard to not drink all the beer before the food came out but the food wasn't long and we were tucking in as soon as it hit the table. I devoured mine in a very short period of time and so my brain was tricked into still making me feel hungry. The beer beautifully cut through the grease and fat from the Tasmania sized piece of fried meat. However unhealthy, it was an amazing and divinely tasty dinner. If only schnitzels were healthy, I would eat one every day for the rest of my life.

If only I had more time and money, I'd love to work my way though all the Two Metre Tall beers.

unas

Farmhouse Ales and Ciders from a farm.

2mt

Famished or just Hungry

The Museum of Contemporary Art (MCA) was somewhere I wanted to visit but hadn't gotten around to yet. I had a few things to do in the city including escorting my parents and grandma onto the Manly Ferry, and the from Circular Quay to wherever they wanted to go.

I'd gone in the day before but had some things to do in Newtown and meeting a friend for lunch, too many time constraints meant that I couldn't take time to see the gallery then.

Like always, everybody took a lot longer than necessary to get ready.

We were finally out and on the ferry to the city before 11.30am which meant we had the whole afternoon ahead of us.

The family seemed to need or want to follow me, so I led them to the office of Cathay Pacific. I was trying to change the date of the return leg of my flight, so I could stay in Australia for another week and have a little holiday of my own. I managed to locate the building and what floor it was on. When I got to the doors, I was stuck. Feeling like a child in an old fashioned school playground game I stood there for a moment trying to figure out what my next move would be. It was then that an official looking chap appeared at my shoulder and asked me what I was doing. I told him and he explained to me that I needed to either change my booking online, which I couldn't do as the check in process had already started. My other option was to call and speak to somebody and hopefully sort it over the phone.

Disheartened by my failure, I went down the lift with my head down facing deep beneath the earth below me. My family were at a nearby sculpture that resembled a pile of stacked dice. I told them what happened and we parted ways. I went off in the direction of the MCA, they went towards the Opera House for another attempt at photographing it, the bridge and the rest of the harbour.

It had been a long time since I was last at the gallery so was shocked to see such a huge number of the same pieces from before. I gather that the permanent collection should mean permanent as in forever but quite often it doesn't, maybe it did here. Some of the old ones are really good and some of the new ones were also great but there is one in particular I cannot stand. I never have and never will. A life size, saggy bottomed and crudely made Spiderman figure. That on its own is bad enough but for some reason there is a smaller than life-size man's head morphing out of the wall with an elogated neck, staring directly into Spidermans, childishly hand painted face. It is utterly hideous, just the thought of it is enough to make me almost vomit. It was one of the mainly publicised pieces after the MCA reopened after a refurbishment a few years ago. It is only my opinion but I find that piece disgusting and wish I'd never seen it.

After checking out the rest of the gallery and shop, refraining from destroying that Spiderman thing or spilling rancid bile all over the place, I bought a couple of small gifts in the shop and walked up the seemingly never-ending staircase to the 4^th floor Sculpture Terrace and Café.

What was to be one of the last sunny days of my family's visit to Australia was a glorious one. Clear blue skies as far as the eye could see, until you scanned the panorama and caught a glimpse of a huge and unflattering cruise ship, obscuring the normally picturesque and beautiful view of the harbour with the Opera House and Harbour Bridge in full view. I imagine a vessel like that is quite attractive to the old aged pensioner who spends a lot of time hopping on and off cruise ships all over the world.

Hearing several large honks, calling back the remaining few passengers to the ship before it set sail, it soon slowly backed away from the Overseas Passenger Terminal and started its departure away from Sydney, for a while hopefully, never to return I thought.

I messaged my mum to get them all to come up and check out the view of the harbour as the sun began to set but I received no response so left it that my messages had not been delivered and they would not be joining me. I stayed up there watching as the sun quickly set on a warm autumnal evening. The location was perfect, I participated in some solo activities like reading, writing and watching crowds of foreign tourists come and go, along with some locals having an early evening supper or catching up over a glass or two of wine. I had a cup of coffee and a pot of tea and in the mean time decided I would go to North Sydney to meet my brother who was at some work function.

Bumping into my parents on my way to Wynyard Station, I informed them of my plan. They were in search of food. Given the time of the day and where they were it would have been a difficult task to find anywhere reasonable and not busy. I left them to their struggle and had one of my own, it took me nearly ten bloody minutes to find the station. I couldn't see any signs for it or anything. I finally found it, boarded the train and was in North Sydney in no time at all.

My parents notified me that they had gone back to Manly as the city was busy and frustrating and as it was getting late and dark they wanted to be nearer to where we were staying.

The 'Rag & Famish Hotel' was about a five minute walk up the hill from North Sydney Station, on the corner of Miller and Berry. Ideally situated for the bankers and other suite (or should that be wankers and other shits) among North Sydney's high rise offices.

I arrived before my brother, it was really busy so got myself a beer and found a couple of seats near the front door. Being a Thursday I didn't expect and hoped that these drunkards would leave soon, not stick around and behave like drunken twats and make nuisances of themselves.

I was about an inch from the bottom of my beer when Dom arrived, walking through the door to where I sat. I was hungry, he was a little tipsy from boozing all afternoon at the work function and not too hungry as he claimed to have eaten lots of different meats. Walking towards the pub I saw a sign up high above the awning about 'buy one, get one free steaks', the decision for what to eat was already made up in my mind. It wasn't for the pub but for the restaurant upstairs, I was still very much interested.

We had a couple of beers, over which we were to make a decision or it was up to me to persuade Dom that I wanted in on these steaks.

Steak it was and soon I hoped, I was... f***ing hungry. I tend to eat barely anything if anything at all during the day, so when it comes to dinner I am really hungry. I would say starving but I've always been told it's wrong to use such a word as there are people in the world who have no food and are truly starving, being hungry even for a whole day is nothing in comparison.

We'd been drinking 'Hangman's Pale' and Aussie Pale Ale. We went upstairs to get a table and start the process of ordering food, eating food and becoming satisfied by eating food.

When we got to the entrance of the restaurant we were greeted by the most beautiful creature I did ever lay eyes on. I could happily have stared at her all day instead of Sydney Harbour. I don't know if it was me being a drunken buffoon or I was stunned by her presence but it was quite an oddly awkward experience asking for a table for two and then going to the table. To keep her anonymous all I will say is that she had bleached blond hair and some piercings. Not that anybody even reads this, I don't want it to be at all embarrassing for her and even for me or others who were part of this story. I went off downstairs to grab a couple more beers to see us through dinner. When I returned upstairs Dom was by the bar on the phone and hadn't sat down yet. As soon as he'd finished we went to our freshly set table and sat down. There was something quite surreal about the whole restaurant experience. It looked kind of like it was a fancy restaurant, the one you'd normally expect to dress up to visit but then at the same time there was something very casual about it. A white guy who looked quite annoying with dreadlocks and an attractive girl on his arm. Rather than focusing on ordering and eating, they were more interested in sucking each others faces off which is wholly inappropriate in a restaurant. That led me to believe it was more casual than formal.

The management or whoever is responsible for hiring staff pick them very well. The girls are gorgeous and the guys, the guys are non existent. That night anyway. Not only were all of them as gorgeous as the last and next, their service was spot on too. I was very impressed with it all. If I lived and/or worked nearby I would become a regular and make the Rag & Famish Hotel my local.

It might sound rude of me but I struggled to keep from looking at the waitress. Sadly she only showed us to our table and we were waited by a couple of different and equally as stunning waitresses. It was such a pleasant experience, even with our order being cocked up. Wether it was my fault for not actually ordering any steamed snow peas or they forgot I don't know. The situation was quickly resolved once I got their attention. I mean, how are you supposed to call the waitresses over, a) do you stick you hand up and look like an immature little school boy, b) do you make some kind of noise or gesture hoping to attract their attention, or c) do you patiently wait for them to glance over at you where you make some kind of signal and they come over and then you explain the problem. I opted for c. With the other two options you either look like a silly little bugger or like an absolute twat who deserves to have spit in their food.

Perhaps I over think the whole thing but I couldn't do anything else to keep my mind off the waitress.

The worst thing about the whole story is that I never did anything to make my overly conceived thoughts clear. After all, I'm on holiday from England, I don't know the next time I'll be in Australia etc...

I thought they'd mixed up our order but I was wrong. Dom just happened to have the fattest piece of rib eye steak I have ever seen. It was about an inch thick at its thinnest. I had rump which wasn't as thick but overall was a larger chunk of meat. Once the steamed peas came out, we were left to enjoy our food, every last bite. It was a good steak, they were both brilliant steaks. The whole meal was good. However bizarre the experience felt it was a good one.

After we ate, we returned to the downstairs bar where it had cleared considerably since we'd gone up for some food. It was still quite busy but nothing in comparison to before. There was a guy playing music in the corner, I don't know if he was playing originals or acoustic covers. He seemed to be playing for the remainder of the night.

The idea of going for a couple of drinks ended up with us being there nearly until close. It felt that way but I can't be sure, I quite drunk and hadn't kept track of time. At one point I left Dom at an outside table on his own. When I got back from the loo, he was surrounded by a bunch of drunk rowdy men and women. I later found out after talking to a few of them that they are his colleagues, the ones he'd been drinking with and eating meat with all afternoon.

Dom moved onto wine and I moved onto Young Henry's 'Natural Lager', a cloudy, unfiltered and additive free lager. A lager brewed the proper way with bags of flavour and ever so light and refreshing that I could have sunk a whole keg, or half or maybe a few more pints than I did.

Braving the Tropical Monsoon

Deciding to stay on in Australia for another week was not hampered by bad weather. The worst wet weather New South Wales has seen for more than a decade does nothing to put me off exploring and getting into stuff, you see. It will take more than a few inches of rain to stop me.

Ill prepared for such miserable weather, I found the most suitable attire for walking around the city and got ready to go out.

A friend of mine recently wrote a comment on Facebook about rain and shoes etc... I agreed to an extent but... but I think if only walking short distances the best thing you can put on your feet would be something like wellies or gum boots as they're called here in Australia. They can often be very uncomfortable, clunky and a bit too awkward for everyday wear. The next best thing means baring your feet and slipping on some 'flip flops' or thongs as they are so wrongly called here. The option to wear thongs means your feet get wet, soaked in fact and your thongs get wet. I will state this before I get any further on the subject. It is early Autumn and the temperature has not yet plummeted to single figures and actually is still quite warm sitting around the late teens and even early twenties. For that reason it makes more sense to bare your feet rather than donning thick socks and gum boots allowing your feet to suffocate and sweat and get wet anyway.

Bare wet and saturated flesh takes only minutes to dry once out of the wet and/or damp conditions the rain leaves behind. The plastic material most thongs are made from dries almost instantaneously. Once your feet have dried you can do what you bloody want with them. If you have a change of shoes for a work place say, you could even opt to take a towel and dry your feet even faster. Then put said change of shoes on.

I made the mistake of wearing trainers on the Monday, the first day of this blasted three day storm that has battered most of New South Wales. Within minute my shoes had absorbed as mush water as possible, nearly absorbent as a natural sponge or some fancy new nappy or something, my shoes were more than double the original weight and were getting colder by the minute causing my feet to rapidly swell and bobble and get increasingly uncomfortable. I had gotten to far from my temporary home so there was no turning back. My feet and shoes would have to be soaked and cold for the remainder of the time I was out. I was meeting my parents at Circular Quay, coming from Surry Hills. I walked down Goulburn St to George St where I boarded a bus directly to Circular Quay. It took less than ten minutes to get there but with rain so wet, I was dripping, actually no, pouring by the time I boarded the bus. In the back of my mind was the constant throbbing of my conscious telling me I should have worn thongs. Stupid me, I was wet and if this rain continues I probably won't get a chance to wear my trainers again. Which is a big shame as I like them and they're really comfortable. I made a mistake and would not make the same one twice.

From that moment on I wore my thongs if going for a walk. Granted they are not the most comfortable piece of footwear but the pros in this instance do more than outweigh the cons. My feet dry quickly and no mess is left behind by dripping shoes or soggy socks. One tiny problem which I have to address is that once your feet are wet, little bits of grit flick up onto your feet and get caught between them and the straps of the thongs. This can and does often cause irritation as the grit almost turns to sandpaper and in some unfortunate cases leads to your feet getting cut up. It is in no way as bad as the feeling of having wet feet in thongs on a sandy beach, that is f***ing awful. I think that roughly sums up why thongs are good in the rain, especially if worn on shorter distances.

I took a gamble by wearing shoes, when I bought them I paid for some spray stuff that is supposed to coat them in a layer of fancy waterproof material. Similar to a brand like Scotchguard but from Clarks. It has worked for me in the past so why wouldn't it work for me here and now. Although the rain in Sydney over the last few days was worse than any rain I'd ever seen spraying London. The only reason I was to wear shoes was because I had a big coat that was good at keeping me dry, it wasn't waterproof, it was made out of this really thick canvas type material that got wet but somehow kept you dry. It would have looked or I would have if I'd worn the chosen outfit with thongs. I don't care too much about my appearance but that would have looked extreme, I do not want to come across as some weird tramp guy, even though I was freshly shaven and had showered and tied my hair back.

It worked for the time being, my shoes were covered in specs of water. Patches of my shoes had started to absorb some of the rain water and puddle muck but not enough to wet my feet... yet.

I had a coffee and fat slice of carrot cake at the 1812 Café above Berkelow Bookstore in Paddington. A place I'd hoped to catch up on some writing and chill for the majority of the morning. I managed to get one little story done which was enough for the day, I was happy I'd completed a task I'd set myself. I had a browse of the shop and even got some ideas for gifts for various people, a morning well spent. After I'd absorbing enough ideas from the shop as I could, I decided to be on my way to a pub. I had a plan for the rest of the afternoon.

As I was cooking dinner I looked at the map for any local supermarket and the closest one that was almost on the way back was the Woolworths (not to be confused with the brand that once upon a time existed in the UK) on Bourke St in Surry Hills. Directly to the right of the shop/café was a pub. A sign saying “16 TAPS” took my attention as I walked past, enough to take a few steps back for a second look. I went in. It wasn't what I was expecting for a pub in such an arty part of town. Right in front of the Art Campus of UNSW (the University of New South Wales). They had some signs on the walls about schooner art but I couldn't quite find anything of any merit. Whilst in there I had a limited release beer from Young Henry's. I can't remember the name but it was a Red IPA. A hoppy, malty drop. It was tasty enough to keep me in there for longer than I wanted. They had more craft beers and lots of ciders, the barman was friendly, the place was clean so I can't really knock it. After I finished every last drop I left.

En route to the shop, I popped into the 'Local Taphouse' for a quick one. Quick one my arse, it took me a good five minutes to chose what I wanted. With so much to choose from and with so many expensive beers I opted for the tasting paddle. At $17.50 it was a lot of money but when you take into consideration that one of the beers was $19 for a small and another was $13 for the same size, it kind of made sense. Plus with the paddle you get a hand full of crackers. The crackers are rather bland and have a lot in common with the host things you get when taking communion at church.

I selected my five beers and numbered them in order of flavour intensity finishing on a sour like I do nowadays. As the rain hadn't picked up and the short distance I'd walked from the café to pub, my feet were still dry.

When I handed the sheet over to the barman, he poured my drinks but gave them to me in colour order. Not a bad thing, only I'd spent a while arranging them in order of how intense and complex the flavours would be, or how I thought they should be. This meant I had to rearrange them which wasn't bad and took no more than a minute. Once sorted, like a proud artist or designer, I admired my accomplishment.

The first of five was an American beer. 'Bridgeport Witch Hunt' from Bridgeport Brewing. A spiced Harvest Ale which I would put into a Saison category of beer, the farmhouse style. It was like I imagined and was very enjoyable. Spicy, smooth with hints of honeyed fruit. An easy drinking beer and a perfect one to start a little tasting session. Even though I was quite hungry from not eating, I didn't feel the need to eat one or more of the crackers as the beer was flavoursome and not overpowering and was followed by a smoked beer.

'Bandit' by Killer Sprocket from Victoria, once again, another great Victorian beer. Very smokey on the nose and palate but unlike some others I've tried, it was subtle. Not at all an overpowering smoke, you could tell it was a Pale with quite a strong malt body but which was accentuated by the peated malts. It did have a complex and refreshing finish.

Half way into the tasting and things are getting darker. 'Bobby Brown', a Brown Ale by Six String Brewing Co, NSW. With a name like that, how could one not be curious. I'm not the biggest fan of Brown Ales but 'James 'Belgian' Brown' by 2 Brothers was so good I though another Aussie offering might equally be as good. It was good but had a bit too much of the bitter chocolate malt character to me. Well balanced with the hops it was a nice beer though.

The penultimate beer of my mid afternoon session was a fancy little thing from Denmark. A Barley Wine called 'Mine Is Bigger Than Yours' by world renowned brewery To Øl. Seeing the bottle on the shelf at the shop, Real Ale in Twickenham, England, I always wanted to try it but it being very expensive I left it for another time. I was ecstatic when I saw it on tap in Australia, I didn't even check the price until after I paid for the tasting paddle. It was the $19 beer. The description on the sheet of paper I had summed it up, although I would add some dried fig and prune to it, even hints of marzipan. A typical and exceptional Barley Wine, tasting like a fine and precious glass of some very fine Pedro Ximenex Sherry. With only one cracker left now, I made it last. It wasn't there to soak up the flavour and cleanse my palate as I knew the Lambic I'd chosen would happily and naturally do that, it was to help absorb some of the booze, 12.5% was a great deal on an empty stomach.

The final beer was of course a sour. If given the option, I will always end the session on a sour now, I can't think of any other way. Once your mouth is so full of rich and in my case often dark and flavourful beers, the best way to refresh oneself is to drink a sour. A couple of options to go for, I went for the fruitier of the two, I still can't go for a straight, sugarless Lambic. This offering was a Lambic style from Bacchus Brewing Co, Queensland. A 12 month barrel fermented beast, then secondary fermented with grapes, dates and figs. The fruit taking enough away from the tart and overwhelming sourness that it made an altogether delicious beer. Blindingly obvious it's a sour but cunningly and tastefully disguised by the fruit. What a beer. From several Beglian styles I've tried, the Aussies can do them well. This beer was a delight, the whole afternoon session was a delight.

Such a shame I got soaked as the heavens opened on my walk back from the shop. I was busting for a piss and the fact that the sky was pissing on me made it almost too hard to bear. I did make it back in time, for those who know me, I didn't quite wet myself.

However, my feet were a bit damp and wet in places, the creases in the shoes soaked up the water and it was absorbed by the leather and droplets finishing in patches deposited on my socks. All in all a good afternoon, it was time to cook a Moroccan inspired Chicken Tagine.Deciding to stay on in Australia for another week was not hampered by bad weather. The worst wet weather New South Wales has seen for more than a decade does nothing to put me off exploring and getting into stuff, you see. It will take more than a few inches of rain to stop me.

Ill prepared for such miserable weather, I found the most suitable attire for walking around the city and got ready to go out.

A friend of mine recently wrote a comment on Facebook about rain and shoes etc... I agreed to an extent but... but I think if only walking short distances the best thing you can put on your feet would be something like wellies or gum boots as they're called here in Australia. They can often be very uncomfortable, clunky and a bit too awkward for everyday wear. The next best thing means baring your feet and slipping on some 'flip flops' or thongs as they are so wrongly called here. The option to wear thongs means your feet get wet, soaked in fact and your thongs get wet. I will state this before I get any further on the subject. It is early Autumn and the temperature has not yet plummeted to single figures and actually is still quite warm sitting around the late teens and even early twenties. For that reason it makes more sense to bare your feet rather than donning thick socks and gum boots allowing your feet to suffocate and sweat and get wet anyway.

Bare wet and saturated flesh takes only minutes to dry once out of the wet and/or damp conditions the rain leaves behind. The plastic material most thongs are made from dries almost instantaneously. Once your feet have dried you can do what you bloody want with them. If you have a change of shoes for a work place say, you could even opt to take a towel and dry your feet even faster. Then put said change of shoes on.

I made the mistake of wearing trainers on the Monday, the first day of this blasted three day storm that has battered most of New South Wales. Within minute my shoes had absorbed as mush water as possible, nearly absorbent as a natural sponge or some fancy new nappy or something, my shoes were more than double the original weight and were getting colder by the minute causing my feet to rapidly swell and bobble and get increasingly uncomfortable. I had gotten to far from my temporary home so there was no turning back. My feet and shoes would have to be soaked and cold for the remainder of the time I was out. I was meeting my parents at Circular Quay, coming from Surry Hills. I walked down Goulburn St to George St where I boarded a bus directly to Circular Quay. It took less than ten minutes to get there but with rain so wet, I was dripping, actually no, pouring by the time I boarded the bus. In the back of my mind was the constant throbbing of my conscious telling me I should have worn thongs. Stupid me, I was wet and if this rain continues I probably won't get a chance to wear my trainers again. Which is a big shame as I like them and they're really comfortable. I made a mistake and would not make the same one twice.

From that moment on I wore my thongs if going for a walk. Granted they are not the most comfortable piece of footwear but the pros in this instance do more than outweigh the cons. My feet dry quickly and no mess is left behind by dripping shoes or soggy socks. One tiny problem which I have to address is that once your feet are wet, little bits of grit flick up onto your feet and get caught between them and the straps of the thongs. This can and does often cause irritation as the grit almost turns to sandpaper and in some unfortunate cases leads to your feet getting cut up. It is in no way as bad as the feeling of having wet feet in thongs on a sandy beach, that is f***ing awful. I think that roughly sums up why thongs are good in the rain, especially if worn on shorter distances.

I took a gamble by wearing shoes, when I bought them I paid for some spray stuff that is supposed to coat them in a layer of fancy waterproof material. Similar to a brand like Scotchguard but from Clarks. It has worked for me in the past so why wouldn't it work for me here and now. Although the rain in Sydney over the last few days was worse than any rain I'd ever seen spraying London. The only reason I was to wear shoes was because I had a big coat that was good at keeping me dry, it wasn't waterproof, it was made out of this really thick canvas type material that got wet but somehow kept you dry. It would have looked or I would have if I'd worn the chosen outfit with thongs. I don't care too much about my appearance but that would have looked extreme, I do not want to come across as some weird tramp guy, even though I was freshly shaven and had showered and tied my hair back.

It worked for the time being, my shoes were covered in specs of water. Patches of my shoes had started to absorb some of the rain water and puddle muck but not enough to wet my feet... yet.

I had a coffee and fat slice of carrot cake at the 1812 Café above Berkelow Bookstore in Paddington. A place I'd hoped to catch up on some writing and chill for the majority of the morning. I managed to get one little story done which was enough for the day, I was happy I'd completed a task I'd set myself. I had a browse of the shop and even got some ideas for gifts for various people, a morning well spent. After I'd absorbing enough ideas from the shop as I could, I decided to be on my way to a pub. I had a plan for the rest of the afternoon.

As I was cooking dinner I looked at the map for any local supermarket and the closest one that was almost on the way back was the Woolworths (not to be confused with the brand that once upon a time existed in the UK) on Bourke St in Surry Hills. Directly to the right of the shop/café was a pub. A sign saying “16 TAPS” took my attention as I walked past, enough to take a few steps back for a second look. I went in. It wasn't what I was expecting for a pub in such an arty part of town. Right in front of the Art Campus of UNSW (the University of New South Wales). They had some signs on the walls about schooner art but I couldn't quite find anything of any merit. Whilst in there I had a limited release beer from Young Henry's. I can't remember the name but it was a Red IPA. A hoppy, malty drop. It was tasty enough to keep me in there for longer than I wanted. They had more craft beers and lots of ciders, the barman was friendly, the place was clean so I can't really knock it. After I finished every last drop I left.

En route to the shop, I popped into the 'Local Taphouse' for a quick one. Quick one my arse, it took me a good five minutes to chose what I wanted. With so much to choose from and with so many expensive beers I opted for the tasting paddle. At $17.50 it was a lot of money but when you take into consideration that one of the beers was $19 for a small and another was $13 for the same size, it kind of made sense. Plus with the paddle you get a hand full of crackers. The crackers are rather bland and have a lot in common with the host things you get when taking communion at church.

I selected my five beers and numbered them in order of flavour intensity finishing on a sour like I do nowadays. As the rain hadn't picked up and the short distance I'd walked from the café to pub, my feet were still dry.

When I handed the sheet over to the barman, he poured my drinks but gave them to me in colour order. Not a bad thing, only I'd spent a while arranging them in order of how intense and complex the flavours would be, or how I thought they should be. This meant I had to rearrange them which wasn't bad and took no more than a minute. Once sorted, like a proud artist or designer, I admired my accomplishment.

The first of five was an American beer. 'Bridgeport Witch Hunt' from Bridgeport Brewing. A spiced Harvest Ale which I would put into a Saison category of beer, the farmhouse style. It was like I imagined and was very enjoyable. Spicy, smooth with hints of honeyed fruit. An easy drinking beer and a perfect one to start a little tasting session. Even though I was quite hungry from not eating, I didn't feel the need to eat one or more of the crackers as the beer was flavoursome and not overpowering and was followed by a smoked beer.

'Bandit' by Killer Sprocket from Victoria, once again, another great Victorian beer. Very smokey on the nose and palate but unlike some others I've tried, it was subtle. Not at all an overpowering smoke, you could tell it was a Pale with quite a strong malt body but which was accentuated by the peated malts. It did have a complex and refreshing finish.

Half way into the tasting and things are getting darker. 'Bobby Brown', a Brown Ale by Six String Brewing Co, NSW. With a name like that, how could one not be curious. I'm not the biggest fan of Brown Ales but 'James 'Belgian' Brown' by 2 Brothers was so good I though another Aussie offering might equally be as good. It was good but had a bit too much of the bitter chocolate malt character to me. Well balanced with the hops it was a nice beer though.

The penultimate beer of my mid afternoon session was a fancy little thing from Denmark. A Barley Wine called 'Mine Is Bigger Than Yours' by world renowned brewery To Øl. Seeing the bottle on the shelf at the shop, Real Ale in Twickenham, England, I always wanted to try it but it being very expensive I left it for another time. I was ecstatic when I saw it on tap in Australia, I didn't even check the price until after I paid for the tasting paddle. It was the $19 beer. The description on the sheet of paper I had summed it up, although I would add some dried fig and prune to it, even hints of marzipan. A typical and exceptional Barley Wine, tasting like a fine and precious glass of some very fine Pedro Ximenex Sherry. With only one cracker left now, I made it last. It wasn't there to soak up the flavour and cleanse my palate as I knew the Lambic I'd chosen would happily and naturally do that, it was to help absorb some of the booze, 12.5% was a great deal on an empty stomach.

The final beer was of course a sour. If given the option, I will always end the session on a sour now, I can't think of any other way. Once your mouth is so full of rich and in my case often dark and flavourful beers, the best way to refresh oneself is to drink a sour. A couple of options to go for, I went for the fruitier of the two, I still can't go for a straight, sugarless Lambic. This offering was a Lambic style from Bacchus Brewing Co, Queensland. A 12 month barrel fermented beast, then secondary fermented with grapes, dates and figs. The fruit taking enough away from the tart and overwhelming sourness that it made an altogether delicious beer. Blindingly obvious it's a sour but cunningly and tastefully disguised by the fruit. What a beer. From several Beglian styles I've tried, the Aussies can do them well. This beer was a delight, the whole afternoon session was a delight.

Such a shame I got soaked as the heavens opened on my walk back from the shop. I was busting for a piss and the fact that the sky was pissing on me made it almost too hard to bear. I did make it back in time, for those who know me, I didn't quite wet myself.

However, my feet were a bit damp and wet in places, the creases in the shoes soaked up the water and it was absorbed by the leather and droplets finishing in patches deposited on my socks. All in all a good afternoon, it was time to cook a Moroccan inspired Chicken Tagine.

Also know as the Local Taphouse

thelocal

sixstringbrewing

younghenrys

killersprocket

bacchusbrewing

to-ol

bridgeportbrew

P-Slatez

More than one thousand days ago, when my bro worked at a different company in the city. We, him, a colleague of his, my ex and I used to go drinking regularly. Mainly around the city, Surry Hills and the Darlinghurst area. A lot has changed in the time I have been away.

P-Slatez is now engaged to be married, soon in fact, in only a couple of months time. I was looking forward to meeting up with him and his fiancée, having some food and some good beer. With a rough time and location, Dom and I went off on our way. Nina and my folks would join us later on at a pub of our choosing.

'The Shakespeare', famed for its large portions and rather tasty $12.50 main meals was the place selected to fulfil our food hunger needs. Finding an unoccupied but reserved table, reserved from 8.30pm and it was only 7pm so we had plenty of time. We took our seats, looked at the menu just for the sake that it was there, we all knew what we wanted. Having had the steak and lamb shanks before, a bit too much red meat in recent days I thought it best if I went for the chicken burger. Or maybe a chicken Parma (a chicken schnitzel topped with cheese and bacon then covered in tomato sauce). No I, I think the big, fat, juicy chicken burger is what I'm after.

Blinded like a rabbit in headlights, I froze staring blankly at the special board which was an A4 sheet of paper with several words making up food based sentences on it. A form of 'Surf 'n' Turf' for only $17.50 how could one resist. Five dollars more than my chicken burger but with a fat piece of rump with king prawns stacked on top all the way to the clouds and smothered in bearnaise sauce, ooooooh, yum. Chips and a side salad to complement such a fulfilling dish. Digestion aided by Young Henry's 'Real Ale'.

The party that had reserved the area in which we currently sat arrived. Literally a bus load of fresh faced young boys. Formerly assumed to be a bucks (or stags) party, we changed our minds when we saw the barely of legal drinking age bald faced boys hovering over the tables next to us and eventually ours. Perhaps it was a 21^st birthday party or something, whatever it was we didn't want to be caught in the midst once it kicked off. Poor P-Slatez was forced to forgo the completion of his brontosaurus sized ribs. He had devoured most if not all the meat and a large portion of the crispy little potato chip army and some leafy greens. He was done, finished, full to the point of explosion. A tiny wafer thin mint would probably bring him to an immediate and messy end.

We took our leave and walked through the doors of an equally as busy pub, 'The Dove and Olive'. Another pub with too many taps to count and a huge beer list covering the wall behind the bar.

I was readying myself to place an order of a flight of three different beers when I saw that the guy next to me and in front of me in the queue had done just that and the barmaid serving him was struggling beyond comprehension. Almost as if she had been ordered without warning to dismantle a nuclear bomb or complete a Rubik’s cube without any previous knowledge of how. My mind was made up, I had an oddly named Pale. 'Yullis Norman', 'Aussie Ale'.

A great Pale with pronounced notes of Antipodean hops and lots and lots of tropical fruit. A lovely beer that I haven't seen before or since but am on the lookout for. We tried a few more beers, mainly sharing each others and as my folks had met us and my dad bought the first round, some of his too. A great Porter from 'Stone and Wood', the Stone and Wood 'Pacific Ale', probably the best Australian beer available in the UK and some other tasty drops that I cannot remember.

We were seated in the outside smoking area out the back which was filling by the bucket load. Cigarette smoke blowing in every direction, the combined noise of mixed conversations all over coming together creating and almost intolerable sound and a bunch of drunk Irish guys to one side and drunk Scots the other. In a short period of time they must have individually smoked a pack of cigarettes and broken at least four or five glasses. With all the noise, smoke and broken glass flying all over we left to go somewhere a little more peaceful, a serene place to see out the evening.

The next pub was a short walk through the quaint, picturesque back streets of Surry Hills. Past cute little terraced houses and tree lined streets we found where we wanted. 'The Trinity', the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost (or Spirit depending on which country or church or whatever). That days Premiership games on the TV screens, a smoking area with just enough seats for us all and a million and one beers on tap. The place was the Trinity. Sitting outside for no less than ten minutes, we were told by an impatient bouncer to move inside. The only seats available inside were around a small round table. Small groups occupying the remainder or the seats and larger tables. One group behind us sitting on a bench and long table with what must have been about ten seats. There were only three of them. Polite foreign folk who saw our struggle and as they were leaving, offered up their seats to us.

I've been drinking far too many different beers to remember all of them, even if I had written things down I think I would have still forgotten some small and possibly important little pieces of information about each. Maybe next time I try a beer I will take notes but at the time that feels far too formal and annoying.

From what I can remember, one particular beer stood out a mile with the sheer hoppiness of it alone. Frederick's 'Hop Cannon' was a very special hoppy beer. Resembling an Aussie IPA or something of the like, it was malty, rich and citrussy but the hops kept coming and coming. The more you drank the more you noticed, it was a beer that required more than one and we had many before we left. There was a double IPA that didn't come close and a Red IPA that was amazing but still fell short. The moustachioed fellow on the label was enough to try it, add that to the name and the curiosity of the 'Hop Cannon', it was an obvious winner. That was the end of what could have been a rather stressful event had we not evacuated both previous pubs in time.

doveandolive

trinitybar

shakespearehotel

stoneandwood

I don't know what Frederick's it was but here are some.

newenglandbrewing

yullis

possibly some more but I can't remember... sorry

A Boozy Adventure in Newtown

It took me nearly two weeks but I finally managed to make it to Newtown. In the good ol' days when I lived in Sydney, it became a ritual to visit a cocktail bar in Newtown every, or most Sundays. Sitting on the decking of the upstairs and outdoor section of 'Corridor', at the time one of the more quirky cocktail bars in Sydney. We'd usually be sipping on some fine gin based cocktail which tastes like Palma Violets, or a house spiced rum based Old Fashioned. Or failing that we'd have a pint of little creatures Pale Ale and some chips and home made dips. Probably the nicest pumpkin and beetroot dip, separate dips that is.

That was then, about three years ago.

This time round things were a bit different. I no longer lived in Australia and am on a short three week holiday with the family. More time constraints and all the stuff associated with family holidays. It all added up giving me less 'me time'.

I caught the bus from Surry Hills and arrived about an hour and a half before the others. They were off cruising around and shopping in the quaint Italian communities in the suburbs of Leichhardt and Haberfield.

I walked the length of King St to see how it had changed, if at all. It had a little. There seemed to be far more coffee shops and all kinds of food vendors, most of which were of the vegetarian or Asian sort. Such a brilliantly named bed linen shop had shut down, most likely succumbed to the fate of loss of trade and increased rent and rates. 'Holy Sheet' was no longer there, a real shame as they had some fine cotton towels and some of the most luxurious bed sheets you could imagine, more to the point, the name, what a name.

Out of all the places I saw, I took note of one pub. I think I remembered 'The Newtown Hotel' as being a bit of a crap pub. It looked pretty cool now, tap after tap of craft beers beckoning me in, like a Sirens call luring hordes of sailors to come crashing into rocks and sinking to their watery graves. I would not be drowning, at least I hoped I wouldn't any way. You can drown in less than half a pint of water so the thought was there and shocking, I wish I'd never thought of such an analogy.

In a state of befuddlement I slowly drew nearer and nearer to the bar. Eventually I was in front of the taps. I was about to order a Coopers Pale, a fine and classic pale that I have drunk gallon loads of, when I saw something new, something new to me. I ordered a schooner of 'Cricketers Arms, Spearhead Pale Ale', another craft beer coming from a New South Wales rival state, Victoria. I hate to admit it with a certain allegiance to NSW, but Victoria seems to be the place really riding and controlling this craft beer wave sweeping the nation like a world class surfer. A decent American style Pale Ale brewed by the Sundance Brewing Company who are now owned and operated by Asahi, the big boy in Japanese beer.

The alluring maiden behind the bar poured the beer with a smile just bright enough to shine through her lacklustre expression. I handed over the cash, took my beer and seemingly vanished into one of the dimly lit corners of the pub, camouflaging myself with the background. I had drinking to do and some writing to catch up with.

A light bodied pale with a malty backbone and tasting like it had been hopped with punchy and zingy antipodean hops. With it being an American Style Pale it is more likely hopped with hops like Cascade and the like but it was good no matter what. A perfect Pale for an accompaniment to what will most optimistically be a great afternoon.

I had a few more that day and some with my lunch which was taken on the upstairs balcony of the pub. The 'Animal' restaurant, part of the pub but not as connected as one would think it would be considering it was part of the same venue.

To help those struggling to finish their food at the dinner table, I volunteered the services of my belly. In the time of having my first, then meeting the family, we practically walked to the boundaries of Newtown and back again. I think the Sirens call was strong enough to lure us all back for more.

After filling our bellies, a plan was devised. My dad and I were to remain in Newtown, Nina would take my mum and nan to some shops in Bondi Junction. Dom would ride home on his noisy dry clutch Ducati, then Nina would take a slight detour and drop him off near or where we were on her way to Bondi Junction. A perfect plan I thought to myself. The others obviously agreed as that was the plan that went down.

In the mean time, me and my pops walked over towards Enmore in search of Young Henry's Brewery. I had a rough idea of where it was so relaxation came as we casually strolled down King St and on to Enmore Road. Without being signposted it was a bit harder to find than one might have liked but after looking at some marrow plants and sunflowers on the side of the road, a keg appeared in the periphery. I knew we'd arrived.

The brewery was much bigger than I expected, going to some in the UK and seeing how much output they had for such a small capacity, this place was insane. Larger than any micro brewery I've ever visited, I have no idea of their full capacity but it must be bloody massive.

Palette loads of malts all over the place. Kegs stacked high and with ample storage space for other stuff. They even had one of those forklift pump truck things.

The 'Real Ale' I'd tried the other day was impressive enough to tempt me to trying more of their beers. Further still and probably shameful of me to admit but in the morning I watched an SBS documentary called 'Hipsters'. The episode was about entrepreneurs that had been renamed 'Hipsterpreneurs', one place that was featured was the Young Henry's Brewery in Newtown.

That wasn't the main reason or reason at all why I wanted to check the place out. I'd been told by absolutely everybody I'd spoken to that I had to check the brewery out.

My dad being a fan of 'dark beers' went for the red velvet stout named 'Esther's Ale'. I think I remember seeing a sign saying it was made using oats, lactose and raspberry purée. I tried the 'Newtowner', a fairly mellow but flavour packed lower alcohol Pale. The beers were served in midi glasses.

If you're unfamiliar with the beer glass sizes in Sydney, you pretty much get a few to chose from with an extra one in some really wanky places. The 'Midi' is 285ml and comes in at a little over half a British pint. A 'Schooner' which is 425ml, smaller than both the 473ml U.S pint and British pint. The sizes do make sense when you think of all the hot weather you get here. Nobody likes a 'warm beer', even us Brits. You can get pints here which are the same as the 562ml British pints. Then there is this utter ludicrous size that makes no sense and like I said before, you can only get in really wanky places. The 'Schmidi'. Only seen in a few pretentious and ponsy bars, pubs and clubs around the CBD or in some busy tourist hot spots. Usually costing more than a schooner but a bit smaller, roughly half way between a midi and a schooner at about 375ml.

Correct me if I'm wrong but that pretty much sums it up for the Sydney beer glasses.

The beer was good, tasty and fresh direct from the brewery.

When I received word that my bro was on his way and only round the corner I went out to meet him, after ordering another round. I know the brewery wasn't signposted or that obvious but we managed to find it, he walked directly past.

I asked for the 'Hop Ale', a hoppier, more boozy Pale, my dad wanted to try the Newtowner. They also do a 'Natural Lager' and a 'Cloudy Cider' to name a few, plus many special limited batch brews and even Gin.

When my dad returned from the bar I was convinced that he'd made a mistake. The beer I had looked and tasted just like the Newtowner, the one that I'd just finished. He claimed he'd ordered it correctly, two Hop Ales and one Newtowner but I could swear, in fact if I had a house I would bet my house that it was the wrong way round.

It was time to find out for sure so he went up to the bar and asked the barmaid, like I thought, it was the wrong way round. Oh well, Newtowner is good enough to drink again and again so it wasn't really a problem, I only wanted to try the Hop Ale. I feel that I am beginning to know what I'm on about when it comes to beer, maybe.

The next round I got my wish and had a chance to try the Hop Ale, my dad and Dom had the stout. My dad obviously enjoyed it but Dom wasn't as impressed. I think the slight tartness from the raspberry purée had enough influence on the overall flavour that he didn't like it. Personally, I too am not a fan of fruit in my stouts. I've tried cranberry, cherry and now raspberry and not enjoyed any of them.

After trying what I wanted and reading a bit here and there in various beer magazines, I called for us to move on. We left Young Henry's and ventured a few more minutes along the Enmore Road.

The 'Duke of Edinburgh' was the place that would hopefully fulfil our booze requirements after such a lovely afternoon filling our bellies with food and beer. Hop Ale is a great beer and Newtowner makes for a fantastic sessionable Pale, and the fact that they have a beer called 'Real Ale' makes it even better. It tastes so much like a genuine English bitter especially when poured from a hand pump.

Another huge selection of craft beers. So many of the pubs I have visited look plain, crap, boring and generally a bit shit. But when you walk through the doors and approach the bar, your eyes are met with fridges full of beer, taps everywhere and surprisingly knowledgeable staff. I really was instantly judging this place along with some others on their initial appearance and that was devilishly deceptive of them. Granted, the décor and furniture in the Duke of Edinburgh was still a bit shit. With over two hands worth of tap beers to choose from, I was prepared to look past its visual flaws.

Given the choice , it was a bit silly that we all went for 'Elsie the Milk Stout' from Batch Brewery, another Newtown local I'm told, well, Marrickville to be precise.

I think that we all wanted a smooth and creamy stout after the previous 'tart' offering. We certainly appreciated the soft and slight sweetness to the 'Nitrogenated' Milk stout. My only fault of it is that it is too damn easy to drink.

On his return from the loo, Dom told us of a beer he'd been in conversation with the barman about. On his way to the toilet, he'd noticed a funky looking label on one of the taps. He asked the barman what it was and he obliged. A beer from 'Shenanigans Brewing Company' called 'Stunt Beer', I think that is what it was I may have forgotten it. It is a very special beer that is rarely ever seen on tap. For some reason the brewery or brewer decided that they would keg this one. A Porter aged in spiced rum barrels. I was feeling a bit stuffed from lunch, eating every one else's food does fill one up and that was more than three hours into the past.

Unsure of what to do, Dom procured three midis of this stuff.

I've never experienced such a beer. I can't say that I'd drink another but not because it was in any way unpleasant or anything. It was just so rich that I couldn't have finished a larger one but more than likely would be able to have more on another occasion. Given the right circumstances and if I ever see it elsewhere I will try it again. For a relatively low alcohol beer (well, I don't know if you could call 6.5% low but for that style it kind of is), it really did taste like a barrel aged Imperial Stout/Porter. The spiciness of the rum added massively to the beers richness. It had quite an abrupt hit of booze then mellowed out a little on the finish. An inspiringly complex beer that makes you question what is right and what is wrong and what it is that we can possibly do next.

The bus from Newton dropped us off at Central Station, or that is where we got off. Rather than going any further into the city we chose to walk back through the back end of Surry hills and maybe see some other pubs. We walked through and along the underpass that takes you from George St, and spits you out right on the Surry Hills side.

Stopping by a pub to urinate. We had to expertly and slyly navigate our way through a mirrored maze, past a gaming room, up and down a few sets of stairs and into the loo. Never has a prize of urinating been so rewarding. We repeated the journey and were back on the street. There was a brief and awkward moment crossing paths with an old gambling man, but sidestepping and manoeuvring through a door made easy work of him.

There was one pub we were passing on the way back and ducked in. it had recently received a big and well overdue mammoth overhaul. I wont go into detail but the place used to be a brightly shining red lantern on a street of glowing red bulbs and little red windows.

Inside was booming. Young trendy types, often labelled as 'Hipsters' spanning the walls. Glancing visions of the past flashed in and out of my consciousness. What a change. It actually looked and felt like a completely different pub.

It certainly wasn't the KB Hotel I remembered.

A little quick to the bar, I offered to pay for the round. It was probably my turn so honoured it. If I'd known it was going to cost me over $30 I may not have been so forward. I had La Sirene 'Florette' a Belgian style Pale tasting, looking and feeling very much like a Saison. A light, fruity flavoursome and refreshing beer, I really liked it. It was a long and boozy day and so cannot remember what the others drank.

Craft beer truly has transformed the face of the Sydney booze scene. It seems that soon it might be quite hard to find the not so good old fashioned boozers. That might sound a bit harsh and soppy but I'm sure they too will eventually move with the times and adopt a freer and the more tasty craft beer approach. Good beer is never a bad thing.

younghenrys

batchbrewingco

Shenanigans Brewing

lasirene

dukeofedinburghhotel

kegandbrew