Another one bites the dust

The latest ‘victim’ in this town’s misdirected attempt to combat anti-social behaviour is an iconic Melbourne pub out Collingwood way, The Tote. Once just one of hundreds of venues around the city and suburbs providing a platform for aspiring musos and bands, in recent times The Tote has stood almost alone in its support of emerging talent.

It is being forced out of business because it serves alcohol. Shock. Horror. Think of the children.

The legislators in this town think that, because a massive soul-less concrete bunker that can accommodate five thousand party people at a time can’t seem to control the few mindless idiots who can’t handle their drink (and their drugs) that every single other venue that also serves alcohol should pay the price, too.

We need more police to clean up the mess created by a few. We need money to train and pay them. We will use the venue licence fee to do this. The licence fee is not enough to do this. We will make the licence fee higher and higher until the totals match. Problem solved.

Such a simplistic view would be laughable if it weren’t so real. Changes to the Liquor Licensing laws meant that even the smallest, safest venues with a late liquor license had to do things like;

• Install CCTV equipment
• Hire a minimum of 2 security 30 minutes before and until 30 minutes after live entertainment
• Cop an increase in License Fee of up to 500%

For a venue like The Tote which provided a free night each week to give up-and-coming bands a chance, an increase in running costs is pretty difficult to absorb. You can’t just hope that your patronage magically quadruples and those patrons also pay double for all their drinks – you just have to cop it, or close down. Sadly for the Tote, the latter was the only sound business decision.

I don’t get out to pubs to see bands as much as I did when I was young and untethered but I remember the feel and the vibe and the sense of community that watching a future rock band get their start and in later years saying ‘I knew them before they were big!’ every town needs these places so that we have something other than a TAB/SportsBar/soul-less booze cavern to spend some time and money in.

Hopefully common sense will prevail before the powers-that-be wake up and realise that the solution is in the hands of the venue operators. Don’t let the dickheads in and, if they do sneak in with the humans, cut them off before they cause trouble. But don’t force the good operators to pay for the greed of the others.

Cheers,
Prof. Pilsner

A Bloke and his kid walk into a pub

Had a nice story passed on to me by the Brother-In-Law which beautifully illustrates that mystical bond between a father and his son, that special, magical nexus that links the generations and creates a better world.

Oh, and it’s about beer, too.

A couple of friends – for purposes of protecting their identities, let’s call them Dave and Jo – had stopped off at a pub in Inverloch on the way back from a family holiday with their two kids. The three year old boy, let’s call him Sam, raced into the Public Bar ahead of the family so as to scope the joint and identify the location of the playground.

As the family caught up with the forward scout, Dave was greeted with a loud and excited announcement from his son.

“Dad! Awesome news!!”
“What is it, Sam?”
“They’ve got Horse Beer!!”

Dave caught up with the lad and sheepishly wove his way through the amused regulars and made his way to the bar.

“I ‘spose you’d like a Horse Beer, then mate?” said the smiling publican.

As the Brother-in-Law said to me, Horse Beer – or CUB’s Carlton Draught – is probably a beer that should not necessarily be dismissed out of hand. In fact, as mainstream, medium bodied beers go, a pot of Carlton Draught, rotated correctly, properly stored, well poured and thoughtfully presented to a thirsty man on a hot day is not the worst thing that could happen to you.

I hope that Sam’s enthusiasm for his Father’s simple pleasures continues to develop and that his parents encourage his sense of joy and wonder. And maybe down the track I will recount further tales like this involving ‘Goat Beers’, ‘Yak’ beers, ‘Ned Kelly’ beers or even ‘That beer with the Boobies on it’ beers.

Cheers,
Prof. Pilsner

What makes a great pub?

To finish off the school holidays I took the two older Pilsners ‘into town’ as my Nana would have said, for a visit to the State Library – yeah I know, pretty edumacational and not at all very beery – but sometimes you just go with something different. And something indoors if it is a rather chilly Melbourne morning.

After a tour and some activities we headed off in search of lunch –here’s where beer comes into it – and found ourselves inside Melbourne Central shopping complex. And I mean complex. The joint is a fair old rabbit warren if you’re not familiar with it. There’s only one place that didn’t look like a cheesy generic fast food outlet so that made the choice a bit easier. From the outside it just looks like one of those built-from-a-kit ‘Plastic McPaddy’s Original Pretend Irish Pub Co” kind of places but I could see beer taps and in we went.

As we sat waiting for lunch my mind wandered; what is it that makes a great pub? Because, while I couldn’t answer that, I COULD decide what DOESN’T make a great pub. And a lot of it I was looking at right now.

A stage area is fine. Having a velvet rope circling it – not. Especially when it doesn’t look like its had a run for a while and is currently a holding pen for a raffle prize. And the prize is a scooter.

Ye olde weighing machine – not. Who goes to a pub and then wants to weigh themselves? Is it a challenge to piss heads to get lagered up and see who can put on the most weight? Or who can drink the most and then LOSE the most weight the quickest?

Windows all around – good. Windows all around a pub that is completely INDOORS – not. I love to window sit and drink while I watch the passing parade, but grandma lugging shopping bags and a thousand teenagers queuing to buy movie tickets ... nuh.

And one of my favourites after years in the hospitality business – a quick run of the fingers under the table edge revealed a gallery of other people’s chewy. That one’s not an overall killer, it’s just a sign that management is not on top of the ’one percenters’.

Standard pub menu featuring the usual suspects – acceptable. A chicken parma that Sergei Bubka couldn’t jump over – nuh. I would rather one a quarter of the size that tasted like something.

Having said all that, we three had a great time and, really, I’m probably being a bit picky. It is just an interesting exercise to try to nail down just what it is that makes a pub NOT great!

Cheers
Prof. Pilsner
P.S. The picture above is a shot of what I imagine a great pub looks like :) It's just a snap of some random pub from somewhere;)