The plan was to take my
dad to some of our favourite haunts from when I was here last, when I
once lived, worked and paid taxes in this here fine country,
Australia. Our being my bro Dom and I. The journey would begin with
us walking down Crown St all the way to our first destination and
probably my all time favourite pub in Sydney, 'The East Sydney
Hotel'.
The next port of call
was to walk into Wooloomooloo to another one of my faves, 'The Old
Fitzroy', a great little pub with a classic style canteen diner
upstairs and an attached theatre. From there the adventure would take
us into Kings Cross.
For as long as I can
remember, the East Sydney had been advertised for sale. Not any more,
I was assured it hadn't been sold and had simply been taken off the
market. The same owners that had had it for years were still in
charge and it was apparently the same old pub. Hopefully any way, it
would be a great shame if that fantastic institution were to change.
Easily my favourite pub in Sydney, I prayed to the old Gods and the
new that it was still the same not only for my sake but so my dad
could see a truly brilliant pub.
It was Easter Sunday so
there may have been some kind of change to the opening hours or some
silly restrictions being imposed by old folks in government not
wanting to offend or change with the times. In times of old, once
upon a time there used to be a Sunday market held and that was
followed by live music in the pub, great festivities all day for any
member of the family.
As we descended Crown
St, music was blaring. Maybe it was from the East Sydney, or maybe
not. The closer we got, the louder it became. A good sign. As we
walked into the pub, there it was. A full line up, blasting out some
sweet, mellow, soulful and catchy 'trad jazz'. We were treated to a
show of young and old performing beautiful music to accompany such an
afternoon and start what would hopefully and later in life before a
memorable experience. We were instantly transported to an underground
and smoky café in a Parisian backstreet in the 1920's. What a way to
end the day and start the evening. We hadn't even touched a drop yet
and were already on an high.
It was great to see
that the selection of booze had increased since my last visit. They
always seemed to 'be on it' in terms of decent beers. So with this
craft beer boom, it was good to see they were still 'on it'.
I assumed
responsibility for the first round so took my place at the bar and
readied myself to get served. I ordered three different beers;
Coopers Sparkling for my dad, that was what we'd been drinking at the
apartment. Me and my bro took it in turns to taste and swap the other
two. Both from Modus Operandi, a brewery out of Mona Vale, roughly
the start of Sydney's Northern Beaches. One was a Pale and the other
an IPA. The Pale was lighter, more fragrant with a floral bouquet,
the IPA was slightly darker with a malty body, more bitterness with
less fruit on the palate. I ended up with the IPA as Dom preferred
the Pale. My dad made a friend in some old Australian geezer he'd
named Brian even though his name was Shane. Maybe a sign of things to
come.
From the East Sydney,
the walk to the Old Fitz takes you past a famous or what should be
the famous sign for Wooloomooloo. Four individual signs placed closed
together and in a row. A sheep, a toilet, a cow and then another
toilet. Sheep, loo, cow, loo. A comical visual clue and another
clever play on words coming from the witty humour of the Australian.
What do you get from sheep? Wool, plus the loo. What noise do cows
make? Moo, plus the other loo. Wool + Loo + Moo + Loo = Wooloomooloo!
Forget concrete
jungles, the slang term often used to describe cities with a cast
number of huge concrete apartments and offices. The underpass by the
Wooloomooloo police station was an cardboard city. An intricate
network of cardboard huts, homes and hundreds of sleeping bags. I'm
sure there is upwards of a hundred homeless folk seeking refuge under
the big and long road bridge.
Never have I been
disturbed or a better of word, 'assaulted' by them but it is an eerie
place and quite dangerous looking place to be.
A few minutes walk past
this cardboard city and on the right hand side stands The Old Fitz.
Another pub that has always seemed to be 'on it' on the beer front.
Not a thing had
changed, like the East Sydney it was exactly as I remembered it.
A large selection of
bottles occupying two big fridges behind the bar. Lots of beers on a
couple of tap clusters. The decision was a difficult one. My dad was
being a bit annoying constantly asking for a 'dark beer' as the
lighter ones have no flavour. Something I may need to educate him but
cannot be bothered at the moment. Also he lives up to the stereotype
that all British people when in Australia or USA complain that the
beer is “too cold” and “too fizzy”. There is some truth to
this but for the whole point lets just say it is completely ludicrous
unless you really want to start picking hairs and getting into the
real and factual history of beers for the best part I will just bite
my tongue and remain in silence. Dom and myself went for 'Young
Henry's' 'Real Ale'. An Australian take on a traditional English
bitter, quite close one too, both in flavour and appearance. It would
probably be classed as either a special bitter or best bitter, a
complex malty body and with a hop character that just about separates
it from its overseas cousin. Young Henry's is a micro brewery in
Newtown, Sydney, somewhere that I'm keen to visit. My dad was still
farting around with what he wanted, he ended up having a brown ale
that I can't remember.
We stayed there for a
couple and took a gamble with heading to the cross. Most pubs were
shutting at about 10pm and that time was quickly coming. We opted to
leave before they called last orders and see what happened and where
we might end up.
On the way to the
Cross. We ducked into a small underground pub/bar. I think it was
called 'The Old Growler', we made it just in time for last orders.
Again Dom and I had 'Real Ale' and my dad made the same jokes he's
made to every single barman who has been willing enough to serve him.
I think he may have had a Stout or Porter there.
Walking through Kings
Cross, Sydney not London, and seeing that nothing had changed at all
or much I couldn't quite tell. It was a bit disappointing really, it
was a bit crap before and is still pretty crap now. We ended up in a
places called 'Bourbon' a big bar with a late licence and an official
looking bouncer who scanned all of our ID's before we could enter the
place.
Upon our entering the
place, I made it straight to the bar as I wanted a beer to not only
quench my thirst but to prevent me from losing my mind after a
drinking session with my dad. Things got a bit worse when he started
a rant about people smoking in front of several smokers whilst in the
gaming room of the bar. A gaming room is where the 'Pokies' are kept
and used, pokies are basically fancy and a lot more complex slot
machines.
I left to relax in
another part of the bar after wasting $5 on one of the machines.
I was joined by Dom and
my dad and we left.
On the walk back to our
apartment we passed the 'Darlo Bar'. A pub I used to like but
infrequently visited due to it being that little bit out of the way
to my regular haunts. We were all quite desperate for pissing so went
in. I also fancied a beer, Dom the same but my dad had other things
on his mind. He was after a coffee, in the most infuriating way
possible he asked the bar maid for a coffee. The sweet little cutie
behind the bar gave him a great look of disgust. He then proceeded to
order a XO Cafe Patron. A coffee flavoured tequila drink that due to
its explosion and being catapulted to the masses a few years back now
holds a hefty price tag. Dom and I had a beer but before we were even
handed them my dad had shot his Cafe Patron back in one. Not even a
toast or anything, we thought that maybe he'd sip it as we drank but
no, all gone in one fell swoop like a Gull diving down to pinch some
poor old gits ice cream right out of his hand. We had another beer,
my dad a whisky but with the same result. Down in one, in a matter of
micro seconds. I was quite frustrated and angry so stayed downstairs
while Dom took him on a tour. I was later told that his outburst in
the gaming room was nothing to how he behaved on the roof, the
smoking area of the Darlo Bar. All I can say is I'm glad I wasn't
there to witness it.
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