Saturday morning greeted me with winds that managed to penetrate the skin and rattle my bones. This Melbourne weather was living up to it’s reputation. The only answer was a warming bowl of pho, hoping it would do what my familiar cardigan could not. It never fails, the ultimate comfort food, especially if your idea of comfort is non-descript pieces of meat and noodles in a steaming bowl. The vendor dishing out the warmth was Twenty Pho Seven, a round the clock joint close to accommodation HQ.
The sheer amount of food consumed in the previous 24 hours meant that a standard beef pho was more than enough. However it was holidays so an entree of beef wrapped in betel leaf also had its number called. I’d never tried betel leaf but had heard about it’s mouth numbing qualities so I was eager to see whether it was all Vietnamese marketing?
Truth be told there was no numbness of my tongue, merely chunks of meat held together with sticks. It passed the time until the pho arrived.
Pho is a favourite and this was not the greatest (but far from the worst) I have experienced. I reminded myself it was cold outside, the company was good and I was in Melbourne after all.
It was only Day 3 and the group of 16 had splintered into various sub groups. Some were up and about, others nursing hangovers and regret from the night previous. This was always on the cards so I decided to revert to solo traveller mode and start walking and see where the winds would take me. The winds were that strong I honestly thought the wind would treat me like a disused Twisties packet. An hour later I end up in the bohemian suburb of Fitzroy. Streets peppered with bars, recycled clothes stores, vinyl pop-ups, cafes, delicatessens and the odd book store. A wander through the fiction at a bookstore before I went into Naked For Satan. A three storey bar which boasts a decent rooftop perfect for taking advantage of the sun that had appeared for the first time today.
And the view wasn’t too shabby either.
Naked For Satan is famous for its pincho, small snacks on toothpicks for the budget conscious drunk. Me, I’d had my share of meat on sticks at breakfast and I tried them on my last visit to Melbourne. Good but no need to resample.
My drink drained, I walked outside about to continue my journey when a madman jumps from a tram and tries to crash tackle me. This madman is one of our travelling companions and has dragged some of the others along for the fun. Unlike me they hadn’t been to Naked For Satan and were keen to see what the talk was about. It felt like I hadn’t been here for minutes. Another cheeky drink on the rooftop bar which was now fallen victim to scattered showers.
One drink in, a committee was formed. The consensus was that we had outstayed our welcome and there were other options down Brunswick Street that required our attention. My research had said Bimbo Deluxe, only a block away, was worth a visit. Known for it’s quirkiness and $4 nightly pizzas, this should be a rite of passage for any visitor. The exterior mirrored some of the locals, run down and covered with graffiti but it oozed a roguish charm. The baby atop the entrance must have some significance?
Pizzas were $9 ($4 after sunset) and they were exactly what my palate was craving. I opted to start with the uncovential Bananarama – banana, mascarpone and icing sugar.
The drinking options were like a council worker, limited but got the job done (eventually). There was beer, wine or cider. Between us we tried a variety of other pizzas. Some with chicken, pulled pork, cured meats and even the vegetarian option.
After ploughing through seven pizzas as a group we did some rough sums and realised that the two rounds of drinks and the plethora of dough was less than the drink bill from the day before. So we celebrated with another round!
It was at this time when a group of students carrying enough equipment to power a TV station appeared outside in the alleyway. A couple of us ran outside to see if we could get an audition.
Turns out they were doing a documentary on street art and needed some vox pops from Joe Public. My friend, Lou, gave his soliloquy much to my amusement. Apparently the rest of our party missed the fun due to me clogging their view.
The girls left for post production, we put our “tags” on the building and headed into town for a siesta prior to the night’s festivities.
Footnote: Found out (whilst searching the net for a better exterior photo than my shabby attempt) that a fire went through Bimbo Deluxe a couple of days after our visit. Hopefully they can save the ole gal as I would go back there in a heartbeat (providing it is still beating following our pizza intake).
The night started with a fleeting visit to the shiny lights of Crown Casino. Anytime you walk out of there with the same amount of money as you entered it is a moral victory. My friends turned their $50 into $100 courtesy of Lady Luck and the Chocolate Wheel. If they paid out winnings in actually chocolate I would have emptied my pockets and taken a punt.
The new found wealth soon landed up in the register at the Boilermaker House. The kind of place that looks equal parts hunting lodge, library and smokey home office. Music was upbeat, the drinks were cold but I felt slightly out of place due to the absence of tattoos on my limbs and product in my hair. Once again the lighting was designed for people with a head like mine.
The night had raced to 9.30pm when some others in the wider group found us. Talk quickly turned to food with a few keen to sample the BBQ pork and Peking Duck at the adjoining Chinese place.
Dumplings, duck, BBQ pork, sweet and sour pork, rice, fried rice all factored into this equation.
This place brings back memories of the old style Chinese restaurants that have a menu the size of a phonebook, every combination of meat and vegetable imaginable, fluro coloured sauces and communication mishaps.
As the MSG kicks in, talk turns to the last few days. As I am the only one of the 16 strong mob not staying in Collins Street I miss the odd detail or two. When I hear that some unsavory things were said within our group in the early hours of Saturday morning I remember the saying “a drunken man says what a sober man feels.” People, learn how to handle your liquor. A shitty close to what was a sensational day. I walk home stewing like a Sunday night casserole. Sweet and sour memories eh?
