From the taxi to The Taphouse

A Date with the Diva (Part Three)

The story so far;

Mrs Lager dropped us off at The Lord Nelson where Dr Lager and I found a nice corner table next to the door (the perfect spot for People Watchers) and hooked into a couple of very nice offerings. A Pale and a Quayle (Summer Ale) alongside a nice traditional pub steak sandwich. Note for next time; if you ask for a beer you’ll get a pint. Remember this when ‘pacing’ yourself.


Walked from Lord Nelson in general direction of Sydney Harbour. Found Opera House. Found The Studio. Found Studio Bar. Found two pots of Opera House Organic Pale Ale. Tasted just like Redoak’s Pale. It is.

Found the other bar just inside. Grabbed two Sundown Lagers compliments of The Beer Diva.

Enjoyed Beer Diva show very much. Found Bus Stop. Got into Taxi. Had a lovely time with Bus man and Taxi Girl. Let out in Oxford Street. Walked quickly to Local Taphouse Darlinghurst.

So to our first visit to The Local, Sydney-style. You remember that scene early on in Beverley Hills Cop when Eddie Murphy is walking down Rodeo Drive and doubles over laughing at the passing fashions? That was Dr Lager and I as we approached the Taphouse. As the friendly doorman spotted us, I put on my ‘I am behaving’ face and said G’Day. He spied my Beer Diva showbag which made me remember that I was carrying my Beer Diva showbag. I offered him a look and said, “It’s just full of beer and beer glasses mate”.

I realised that was not the correct thing to say and began to explain that I’d just been to the Opera House drinking lots of different beers – that wasn’t good, either. As we began to make mental plans to continue the night elsewhere I stumbled over the secret password. “Let me explain. We were at the Opera House for the Beer Diva’s ...”

“In you go!” he cut me off, stepping aside and showing us the way. Thank you, Doorman and thank you, Kirrily.

The first sensation as I entered the downstairs bar was that I was ‘at home’. The unmistakeable Taphouse ‘feel’ that comes from a combination of the decor, lighting, flow and its noisy hum, but also from that very palpable but indescribable ‘something’ – the pub version of what the Japanese call ‘Umami’ – a mysterious ‘deliciousness’ that permeates the place. It’s a welcoming warmth that settles on you from the minute you arrive.

I know this sounds like I’m angling for a free drink (which I would never be so rude as to knock back were it offered) but you just know you’re in The Taphouse. Let me explain. We made our way through the crush to the upstairs bar, which was even busier, and settled against a wall with a starting pot of Matilda Bay Alpha Pale Ale. The bar was packed with punters representing a fairly widespread demographic including plenty of Sydney Swans supporters fresh from their win over Brisbane at the SCG.

Hundreds of others were scattered around the various nooks and crannies peculiar to the Sydney layout and yet others kept coming up and down the stairs beside us while others weaved through the crowd with full pints yet everybody moved to accommodate the other, staff threading effortlessly through the throng as they collected empty glasses, moved chairs and reset tables. And everyone was smiling – even the Brisbane supporters.

It’s the sign of a well managed and skilfully operated pub that the staff and punters are all so obviously enjoying themselves. A Murray’s Punch & Judy had us smiling profusely as one of the barmen told us to help ourselves to a comfy chair in the dining area as he removed the DINING ONLY sign. Nice touch, that. And very comfy chairs we discovered as we lowered ourselves down slowly, becoming aware as we were of the fact that we are getting old and had walked quite a bit further than we have for some years.

We decide on a palate cleanser of Budvar to complete the night and as I sipped, I tried to nail just exactly what it is that makes these places feel so different to so many other pubs. It’s not just the beers, although that’s a ‘gimme’ and it’s not just the decorative touches or the night view of the surrounding suburbs from the windows – it’s something else again.

And it’s also a combination of all the elements which is then sewn together by the ‘feel’ that the staff disseminate as they to-and-fro and pour beers and clean as they go and stop to adjust a table or move a chair in. It’s all the ‘g’days’ and ‘how ya goin’s’ as they pause to pick up an empty glass and the way they make you feel as though they actually enjoy the fact that so many people have chosen to drink in their place.

Even if some of them have taken the long way ‘round via The Lord Nelson, the Opera House, raucous taxi rides and giggling treks down unfamiliar paths with a paper bag full of beer, glasses and discount vouchers.

It just seems that The Local really gets what it is to create a place where people who like good craft beer can get their ‘fix’ but still make it accessible to the average punter who might just be inclined to stay long enough to become one of those others. Hopefully it inspires others to take pubs out of the pokie-mire that many seem to be stuck in, or the brightly lit, stainless steel drink dispenser barns that are always giving beer a bad name.

Cheers
Prof. Pilsner

From the Opera House to the Taphouse

A date with The Diva (Part Two)




One of the best things about flying interstate is not having a car. This means you don’t have to even think about how much, or what, you can drink. It doesn’t matter where you want to go or how long you want to stay.

Provided, of course, you happen to have a mate in the city at the other end of your journey to get you around and, more importantly, get you back. Even if that bloke has only been in said town for about a month and hasn’t even really been into the heart of the city much at all. You can’t have everything.


And so it was that we found ourselves on the Sydney Opera House forecourt well rested and very well refreshed after the show. We had already eaten well, having spent the first hour or so of our evening in stately repose at The Lord Nelson (one of approximately seventeen pubs in and around Sydney claiming to be the city’s oldest, it would seem) but this didn’t stop Dr Lager from seeking out something cheap and greasy at Circular Quay. Matt Moran’s Aria restaurant seemed a bit busy so we set off for an all-night kebab stand instead. Besides, we were less interested in three chef hats and more interested in three more pots.

Finding nothing we headed to the bus stop where we proceeded to look like a couple of illiterate foreigners as we attempted to decipher the fifty different timetables. We wanted to finish the night with some good beer. We didn’t want to accidently end up Punchbowl or Parramatta. And while we’re at it, if Sydney has a suburb called ‘Punchbowl’ does it also have six adjoining suburbs all called ‘Cup on a Hook’?

And what’s the best thing for a couple of ‘well refreshed’ blokes lost in a public transport maze? Why, another couple of ‘well refreshed’ people who DO know their way around, of course. He was quick to assist us – which was even more noteworthy as he was simultaneously trying to assist his female companion to stand upright. She was yelling loudly for a taxi and he was insistent on taking the bus.

It’s a funny thing, but sometimes you just connect with strangers and, coupled with a reasonable quantity of ‘good cheer’ in the system, you find yourself striking up conversations that you just wouldn’t have in the cold, hard light of day with people you would normally not even notice. The theatre continued, with the girl further putting her case for jumping into this taxi, while the bloke cleverly countered with well constructed and thoughtful counter-arguments like; “No, that’s a street sweeper, not a taxi.”

We joined in by noting that the bus was roomier, knew where it was going and was less likely to smell like the kebab shop we were unable to locate earlier. She became more adamant that a taxi was the go for speed and efficiency – although those were not the words she used. I don’t think. I pointed out that the taxi was just about the destination, whereas the bus was all about ‘the journey’. Dr Lager pointed out that the bus was a metaphor for community and society’s struggle to seek meaning on a freeway of universal connectivity in order to find an egalitarian solution to the human condition. I couldn’t argue with that as I had absolutely no idea what he meant.

I swear you’ve never seen a funnier sight than this philosophical discourse being played out just a short drunken stagger from Sydney’s premier venue for culture, performance and thought. As we continued giggling and prepared our next wittily constructed argument a taxi pulled up, at which point ‘Busman’ realising that ‘Taxi Girl’ was not about to get any cleverer with her next retort raises one hand, grabs the girl with the other and bundles her into the cab! Well, this was unexpected and Dr Lager and I were not about to let this betrayal slide without comment.

“Busman! You sell-out! You used to be about ‘the journey’, man, the jouuurrney!! Don’t give in to the corporate machine! Don’t let them take your soul! We believed in you, man. Don’t judge your life by the dollars on a meter!! We believed in you!! We’ve never wanted to get on a bus more than we do right now!! What’s to be of us? What do we do?!? Can we not believe in anything ever again?!?”

As the taxi pulled away our spirits fell, our beliefs shattered. The cab stopped at the traffic lights ten metres away and ‘Busman’ opened the taxi door. “Do you blokes want a ride?”

“Shit yeah!!” Couldn’t get us in the cab quick enough!

They were on their way to Bondi Junction and we were on our way to anywhere even close to the local Taphouse in Darlinghurst. The cabbie turned and asked which direction that was, roughly. Four arms held pointed fingers in four different directions and the game was on again! It was at this point that ‘Busman’, having settled his partner down and convincing her of the merits of a good night’s sleep, came to the realisation that she was now up for a continuation of her night out at ‘this locally tappy-house place, thank you driver’.


In yet another instance of Beer Karma, it was revealed that they had started their night in The Lord Nelson as well, although they had left before we had arrived and had also visited one or two other fine establishments serving brewed alcoholic beverages in between that time and when our two paths eventually crossed.

‘Busman’ pointed out that Darlinghurst was a short walk to the right of the next intersection and the taxi obligingly stopped the cab diagonally across the centre of three outbound lanes to let us out. As quickly as the adventure had begun, it was over (although it took the three of us, with some help from the cabbie, to stop ‘Taxi Girl’ from getting out as well) and we lobbed a twenty to ‘Busman’ – as much a ‘thank you for the show’ as it was a contribution to the fare.

We set off in what we hoped was the right direction to the Taphouse. I still have no idea where we were but for those who know Sydney it was in a part of town that seems to discriminate and exclude like nowhere else in Australia I have ever seen. I tell you, in every pub and bar we walked past; there was not a single, solitary woman to be seen? I mean, really, how can you run a place in this day and age and NOT let girls in? What kind of pubs were these? And was this little bottleshop a franchise of St Kilda's Dick Whittington drive thru, The Dick Liquor?

This travel blog photo's source is TravelPod page: Oxford street, Sydney, Australia

We set off down the next road past a funny looking hardware shop called ‘The Tool Shed’, stopping briefly to look at the various fashions displayed in shopfronts and on past ‘The Flesh Pot’ . Dr Lager asked if I could see myself in any of those outfits, to which I replied;

“If I wanted to get around in gear with holes in the arse, I wouldn’t let Mrs Pilsner throw out my old, worn out undies”. We rounded another corner (I think) and saw the glow of the lights coming from The Taphouse doorway.

But that’s another, other story.

Cheers,
Prof. Pilsner

The Beer Diva @ The Sydney Opera House

"Beer is Proof that God wants us to be Happy"

A Date with The Diva

Every now and then the planets align and circumstances combine to provide an opportunity to do something different, something a little crazy and something ... spur of the moment.

So when I received a subscriber e-mail from Kirrily Waldhorn, The Beer Diva, requesting a registration of interest for an upcoming show at The Sydney Opera House, Mrs Pilsner said, “Why don’t you go?” As best mate and co-founding Beer Bloke, Dr Lager had recently moved to Sydney I figured it was as good an excuse as any to pay him and the family a visit so I said; “What the Hey?!” and tapped in my details.

I mean, really, how often do you get an invite to go to the Sydney Opera House and drink beer?

The Beer Diva’s show, ‘Beer is Proof that God wants us to be Happy’ is so much more than just drinking beer. Although, to be fair, it’s a pretty good part of it. Anyone who has attended a Beer Diva beer dinner, beer and cheese experience or beer tasting will be familiar with the basic concept. The audience, seated at floor-level tables in a cabaret style layout is taken on a journey of beery revelation, beginning with a brief and entertaining history of beer, through beer pouring rites and glassware care and even some fun facts and figures segments which beautifully defend beer and seek to bust the myths that surround it.

The show is set out in five acts, each act starring a different beer style. The style is explained from an historical viewpoint and in a cultural context and – now here’s the good bit – fuelled by the thoughtfully arranged beers on each table which the audience enjoys in concert with the host. A Beer Captain is appointed at each table and charged with ensuring the beers are poured well and distributed to the rest of the table.

I won’t go into detail about each style here, I’m assuming you know a little about different beer styles and your imagination can fill in the gaps, but I have to briefly make mention of the opening beer. As we arrived we were seated at our tables which were already set with the night’s supply of beer. A wit, a pilsner, a lambic, an amber ale and a porter sat teasingly in the centre of the round table, beckoning us. I reckon I had the order sussed out fairly immediately but I kept second-guessing myself on the place of the limbic – as a sweet/sour finisher? As a mid session palate cleanser? A curve ball thrown in somewhere else?

We began with the Lindemans Kriek. Genius! Not only did it break the ice by getting everyone at every table talking amongst themselves, but it swiftly crushed any preconceptions about what beer CAN taste like! No mainstream lager, this! No bitter and fizzy session BBQ swill! Is this even beer?!? To select this beer as the opener was a masterstroke that set the scene for the rest of the evening and kept us waiting expectantly for the next surprise.

Our table was made up of two other groups, a pair of couples and another couple and there was plenty of beer to go around. But, as I always say, there is ALWAYS room for improvement. Dr Lager and I had spotted a guy at the table in front of us sitting on his own. After the second beer we decided that he must not have been waiting for friends and offered him a spot at our table. Afterall, you can’t drink beer on your own in this sort of setting. He graciously accepted our hospitality. “Not so fast, mate,” we interrupted as he grabbed his coat and made for our table. “You’d better bring those beers with you, eh?” “You might also want to grab those chockies, beer glasses and showbags as well, Champ” chimed Dr Lager.

And so it was that our night really got going.

Each act revealed the next beer and more engaging live music and cleverly produced animation projected onto the huge screen above the stage gave the audience a humorous take on various beer subjects as well as giving The Beer Diva a chance to take a breath and a change of wardrobe. In fact, it was not until the third act and beer arrived that I reckon the last of the crowd realised that each style was accompanied by a ‘matching’ evening dress – I don’t mean each new dress had a different beer spilled over it, but that the colour of each outfit matched the colour of the beer – and though I don’t know fashion, I know she carried them well. I thought to myself that it was fortunate for Kirrily that she hadn’t chosen to showcase Corona as it’s so flavourless and thin the matching dress would have to be pretty short and see-through.

The Beer Diva’s engaging nature and humble stage presence combine to ensure that the night remained informal and relaxed, a steady yet ambling rhythm keeping the evening moving while neither rushing nor dragging it out. Her ability to paint the picture, while ‘keeping it real’ meant that everyone from novice to know-it-all was entertained and engaged.

She may, however, want to re-think the part where a male member of the audience (“Mr Muscles”) is summoned to the stage to assist with a beer pouring! The chances of this bit going pear-shaped as a result of the consumption of the aforementioned beers is a constant threat and Kirrily may need to ‘plant a stooge’ in future performances. Kirrily, you have my number! (Having said that, we bumped into Saturday nights’ “Mr Muscles” after the show in Circular Quay and he was still ‘livin’ it large’ on his new-found fame!)

It is a credit to Kirrily that she was able to engage the audience – many of whom had little idea what quite to expect – and make history, culture and philosophy live. And all through beer!




For those familiar with the origins of the Beer Diva and, specifically, her ‘beer epiphany’ the night concluded with a porter and chocolate matching. I tell you, you’ve never heard so many oohs! and ahhs! and “that’s not bads!” fill a room at one time.

The night drew together the realms of beer and art, of entertainment and education and music and laughter – plenty of that. A big off-Broadway style musical finale closed the evening and vocalist Leah Thomas’ high notes had us reaching for our Speiglau’s lest she shatter them.

Dr Lager and I set off and found ourselves in a taxi heading to the Darlinghurst Local Taphouse.

But that’s another story!

Cheers
Prof. Pilsner

A big thanks to Kirrily for an exclusive 'audience' with the star after the show ...and for generously sending me these photos. I was being very good and not taking pics during the show like we were asked!

And, for those curious, Alex, the bloke we dragged off the table for one was in town from Canberra and came to the show because it was "the only show that happened to be starting when I got to the box office!" Gotta love that!

Subterfuge & Sydney Surprises

You all know how I feel about beer. I never take it too seriously and any personal feelings I have about particular beers I tend to keep to myself.

You also know that I often comment on just how often beer jumps out and surprises me. This weekend, beer threw up a ripper.

Dr Lager and his family emigrated – to Sydney – in January this year and after a few adjustments have settled into the Harbour City quite well. New schools and a new neighbourhood have been sourced and bedded down and a new routine established. Mrs Lager, however, was to turn ... a certain age that women don’t talk about ... you know the one? ... HMM HMM ... more than thirty less than fifty? ... minimum Cougar eligibility age?

Anyway, it was decided by Mrs Pilsner, in concert with Dr Lager that Mrs Pilsner and the middle Pilsner would sneak into Sydney on the weekend and surprise Mrs Lager for birthday. Lovely. Cut to the arrival. Lots of “OH MY GOD!!”s, lots of “I CAN”T BELIEVE MY PILSNERS ARE HERE!!” and lots and lots of tears. So what. What has that got to do with beer, I hear you say. Be quiet for a minute, will ya and just savour the Kodak Moment, ya un-culture-ma-lated bastards.

Cut to the bit where they have had a lovely dinner at the pub, the kids have had a ball and they have all come home to bed. Except for Mrs Pilsner and Mrs Lager who stayed up chatting, giggling like a couple of giddy schoolgirls and drinking bubbles like the city of Champagne had just closed for good. Having run out of bubbles (having bought some more on the way home from dinner, mind) they ventured to the fridge region controlled by the Beer Republic of Dr Lager.

“We ran out of bubbles so we had to drink a beer,” said Mrs Pilsner casually on her return.
“Really?” I replied. “And what beery offerings from Dr Lager’s fridge did you help yourself to?”

“I had a Fat Yak,” she said, as if she drank beer at all. “I actually really liked it!”

So there you go. Make of this what you will. Either Fat Yak is the perfect late night refresher even for people who DON’T drink beer, or Fat Yak is only drinkable by non-beer drinkers after a heavy night on the bubbles and you’re so desperate that ANYTHING WILL DO.

In the interests of protecting beer’s reputation, I’m going with the former.

Cheers
Prof. Pilsner

Beer Blokes and Community Service

Over the last four years this blog, while sticking to its original objectives, has changed. In some cases this has been the result of new knowledge or work and family challenges or just because I have matured a bit along the way (?!)
While I have always tried to steer away from doing beer reviews, as such, I have always been a voice for emerging trends, beer culture shifts and a bit of historical highlight and light-hearted entertainment. Beer Blokes now moves to provide a new Community Service.
You see, the ‘other half’, the ‘silent partner’ the ‘mystery man’ – Dr Lager (who? I hear you mutter) has moved on. To Sydney. He and the Lager family have upped stumps and settled into The Emerald City for at least the next few years. We have known each other since under-5s basketball and started home brewing together four years back and our kids have grown up together and all that sort of stuff.
So Beer Blokes is now charged with the responsibility of providing the Lagers – and Mrs Lager in particular – with up to date beer news and family snippets as she adjusts to a new city, new schools and new challenges while Dr Lager swans around the state being a high-powered in-charge-of-lots-of-things kind of bloke.
In return, I’m sure Mrs Lager will keep me informed of beer trends and any pressing issues that need addressing. For example, in her last e-mail, she mentioned the number of backpackers wandering Bondi Beach with long necks of Foster’s Lager. I mean, where the f@#% are they even getting them from?!?
In another piece of news, she also informed me that the family was asked to move from the beach by lifeguards who informed them that they had camped on some broken glass. They removed the towel to find Coronas. So now we know where that crop comes from as well.
More soon. And, Tim, I expect you to come up with some ‘places of interest’ around your home town to share with the Dr and his clan. As a hint, his ‘places of interest’ usually serve beer in some form or another.
Cheers