Yeah, that’s right. I fucking said it. Wrote it, whatever. SoKi. I fucking hate myself.
For the uninitiated, some arseholes on Twitter decided that south King St wasn’t a good enough location descriptor, so they needed to shorten it to SoKi. Wat.
Anyway, it made me realise that if someone decided it needed a new name, there was obviously more going on down there than the last time I visited (possibly a year ago or more) and I should check it out.
In the spirit of the evening, all photos, bar one, were taken with Hipstamatic – The photo app for the fuckwit on the go.
We started our evening off at Bench Wine Bar.
I liked the setting, which is unusual for me. Normally I will get the shits with the atmosphere, crappy ‘reclaimed’ seats and ‘hip’ layout, but I liked it. The website claims it’s ‘Industrial Chic’. I wouldn’t go that far, just because all of the tables and chairs were textured metal, but it looks cool. And it’s still comfy. I like it.
And the wine wall changes colour. Coooooooooool.
My drinkin’ partner had a glass of the Two Italian Boys Sangiovese. It was like a big Sangiovese punch in the face. Gorgeous. I had the Tscharke ‘Girl Talk’, which, although retails for a rather low price, is a rather nice drop. Get on it.
The wines gave us confidence in their list. Slightly overpriced, as most wine bars are, but at least it reflected that someone in the house had some knowledge of wine and didn’t just go with what the supplier suggested the price should be. Nice work.
Bench is right next to Pizza Picasso. Seeing as they have a $15 pizza menu, along with a bunch of things that can be made by pulling it out of the fridge and putting in on a plate, I’m gonna go out on a limb and say they are in cahoots with the pizza place next door, if not owned by them. I have no idea, because I didn’t actually ask. There seemed to be an older woman hovering and waiting tables, though, which is not your stereotypical wine bar owner. I just assumed she owned both places.
We ordered the Bench Carnivore.
To be honest, for $15, it really wasn’t that great. Two bits of parma ham and two bits of cured Wagyu, that probably could have come from any old deli, isn’t that impressive. Granted, it came with a big wedge of ‘Warrnambool’ cheddar (and a choice between that and goat’s cheese), and a small serve of pickled onion salsa-type-thing (to me, it looked and tasted like chopped up cocktail onions, but I could be wrong!), with bread, but it didn’t stack up to other similar plates I’ve had. I was quite taken aback by the bread as well. Most places will offer some sort of hard bread, as, what I thought, is the tradition. Maybe I’m wrong.
We decided to move on and discovered Martini, a place famed for its breakfasts, was open to serve booze. Hells yeah.
The place is full of reclaimed, mismatched, furniture, as you would expect. The most ridiculously hipsterish thing, though? The menus.
The were hidden in DVD covers.
Anyway, considering the name of the place (or just cos we’re drunks), we ordered martinis; my drinking companion having the Deviltini (tequila, vermouth, olive brine, bitters and tabasco), myself going for a Lychee Martini (both $16).
I was pleased to find that what is usually a cloying drink actually had a bitterness to it that cut through the sugar. I don’t know if that was a credit to the vodka they used or an accident because they didn’t clean the glass properly. Whatever it was, it was marvellous. When I went to try the Deviltini, my drinking partner warned me, “Careful of the salt”. Indeed, it was rather briny. I was rather disappointed that there was very little spice, despite tabasco being listed as an ingredient. FOR SHAME.
I lied. This was the most hipsterish thing in the venue:
A fucking ukelele on the wall.
We decided one more drink and home. We were gonna choose Moose Bar, across the road from Bench, as the final stop. until we discovered they not only had Innocent Bystander Moscato at the ridiculous price of $20 for a 375mL bottle, but had ridiculously gendered cocktails:
HAHAHA NEWTOWN HAS LOTS OF LESBIANS THAT’S WHY THIS IS FUNNY.
So, we hightailed it out of there and walked down to the Union Hotel.
I hadn’t been in a VERY long time. It used to be an old man pub. Now they’re serving $13.50 jugs of Monteith’s Apple Cider. Oh, HELL YES.
We managed to spend the time having a good ol’ chat while sitting on a few glasses of cider, so it was well worth its value.
We decided that was enough for the night and jumped on the 11:09 train back to Marrickville. Money well spent. Thank you SOUTH KING STREET. YES. THAT’S HOW YOU SPELL IT AND SAY IT. SOUTH KING STREET. FUCK YOU HIPSTER FUCKS.