The MCC Members area at the MCG

For the Anzac day game, Collingwood v. Essendon, a friend of mine grabbed a group of us tickets in the MCC members section. Now, perhaps I should preface this review by admitting that I would have normally been sitting in my Collingwood Members seat, as I have for every other game, amidst the crazies and loudmouths. Just to put things in context.

But in the MCC members section, this was not the rowdy footy spectating I was used to! All those collared shirts! All those designer handbags! All the polite applause! And while the rest of the supporters roared, my section remained quiet, with maybe a quiet mutter of dissent here and there.

I could blame this on Essendon supporters falling quiet after the middle of the second quarter (there wasn’t much to roar about after that point). But where was Collingwood? I could see the scarves throughout my section, but where were the shouts and the yells and the rude swearing?

Maybe it’s a sign of my lack of class, but put me with the loudmouths any day, thank you very much. That way when I involuntarily stand in my seat and shout for improper disposal I’ll be joined by a chorus of others, even louder than myself.

The Gertrude Hotel

Now that temperatures in Melbourne are dropping, I’ve been on the lookout for a great little cosy pub for the winter. Somewhere to meet friends spontaneously for drinks, grab a warm meal, or go for a lazy weekend breakfast. Finally, I’ve found one.

The Gertrude Hotel is a great, classic, simple pub with street-side tables out front and warm leather couches by the fireplace inside. It’s down to earth, friendly, and a great neighbourhood retreat.

I’m sure that on chilly nights and weekends I’ll be popping in for a Pipsqueak cider or warm breakfast. Most nights during the week they also serve up featured $10 mains.

Mao’s

Its not often that I visit a restaurant and receive too much service. I’m an American, after all. But at Mao’s Restaurant on Brunswick Street, I experienced service so attentive I almost felt like my waitress was the third dinner guest.

Every time my glass was half full (empty?) the waitress was there with the water jug. When she brought the mains, she served them from the plate to my smaller plate and placed my chopsticks next to the dish. She even made sure to place herself at the door when we started to rise from our seats so that she could hold the door open on our way out and wish us a lovely evening.

Now, this could be due to the fact that we had dinner at 9.15pm and were nearly the only patrons in the restaurant. Regardless, it was fantastic service, and fortunately I can report that the food was equally good. My noodles had the perfect tingly-lips spiciness, and the entrees are inventive.

I’d like to go back on a weekend and see Mao’s at its best, busy and crowded with customers.

Ikea

I’ve spent at least a total of 24 hours in the Ikea store at Victoria Gardens in the last month and a half. Part of moving to a new city means buying heaps of new stuff that you never realised you’d need but suddenly can’t live without. For example: a whisk. Or a bottle opener. Or a key hook. One run through Ikea and suddenly I’m $400 poorer, all spent on individual items that cost no more than $5 each. It’s robbery.

But still, I go back. Again and again. And really, though it’s not my favourite place to spend a Sunday morning, it’s easy enough to get in, get everything I need, and get out the door. Ikea and I certainly have a love-hate relationship.

As a renter, the last thing I want in my (tiny) apartment is expensive furniture. I mean, I have dreams one day of upgrading into a large beautiful warehouse conversion, at which point I’ll buy my leather lounge suite, but for now I’m hardly responsible enough to take care of such an investment. Plus, I have a tendency to move between countries fairly often, and according to Qantas hauling furniture along is not really an option. For my type, Ikea is perfect.

Besides, at least I get to reward myself for my spending efforts with a $1 hotdog on the way out the door.

Pellegrini’s

Imagine being in a small crowded bar. You wander around squeezing through groups of people to find a stool on the bar to perch on, then shout your order to someone behind the bar, who lifts your drink over the heads of those at the bar to hand it to you. You struggle back to your bar stool and enjoy the drink while chatting to your friends crowded around you.

Now imagine the drinks are not drinks, but steaming hot plates of spaghetti bolognaise. This is the scene at Pelligrini’s a tiny Italian restaurant at the east end of Bourke Street near exhibition. When I first arrived, it looked like standing room only, with pasta dishes flying overhead as people struggled to get their hot plates back to their seats. The Italian waiters stay behind the bar laughing with each other and getting rowdy with patrons, joking about the footy and greeting the regulars.

The pasta, priced at $13 and served up in less than five minutes, is fantastic. Don’t bother trying to locate a menu, either step up to the bar and name a common Italian dish or check the wooden sign hanging from the ceiling in the center of the restaurant. With atmosphere and food like this, I’ll be hesitant to hike to Lygon street next time I’m feeling like a little Italian!

The 86 Tram

I briefly lived in Preston, and every day I’d spent about 1 ½ hours total on the 86 tram, riding up Smith St and through Northcote. I had a lot of time to contemplate the goings-on and daily tram happenings during my journey, and I’ve seen some pretty ridiculous stuff.

The guy that refused to tell the tram inspector his address, because he “didn’t know it,” so she had him phone his friends to figure it out.

A lady who dropped every shopping bag she was holding while getting on the tram, then did the exact same when exiting the tram. It sounded like she smashed a box full of wine glasses each time.

Silver spray-paint man, who roams Brunswick street and eternally has a can of chrome spray paint in his hand, as well as all over his face and chest. He smells nice, it’s always a pleasure to come across this local friend.

Random muttering/screaming/shouting/singing crazies.

Not to mention the daily sketchiness of the rear stairwell of the tram, where all the drunk guys sit sipping their pre-mixes.

I have come to the conclusion that there is no other tram in Melbourne quite as exciting as the 86. My advice: always secure a forward-facing seat near the front, never ride without validating your ticket or the inspectors will get you, beware of old ladies banging your legs with their gigantic shopping trolleys, and prepare for a wild ride… you never know what might happen.

La Roche

It’s time to show some love to you guys on the other side of the river. I had dinner last Sunday night at La Roche on Acland Street in St Kilda.

First, it was absolutely packed. There were no free seats, and tables were crammed so close together that I had had neighbors sitting next to me as if they were my dining companions.

Second, every main meal on the menu was $12. This included giant steaks, lasagna, pastas, stir fry, and chicken dishes to name a few. The meals were gigantic and very tasty. This, I’m assuming, is the reason for my first observation: the chockers-ness.

If you can get a seat, it’s $12 extremely well spent.

Sentido Funf

Like so many places in Melbourne, Sentido Funf looks extremely unimpressive from the outside on Gertrude Street near the corner with Smith Street. I’ve walked past the bar at least five times and hardly even noticed it. In fact, it almost looks like an office, with two windows covered by venetian blinds hiding what’s happening inside.

But what’s inside is quite remarkable. The small, crowded entrance leads to a narrow corridor and you feel like you’ve probably seen all there is to see and are about to reach the toilets, when you realise there is something at the end of the corridor.

The whole place opens up to a large room with glass windows, lanterns hanging from the ceiling and a large tree holding up the roof in one corner. This leads to a green, leafy outdoor area covered in vines and with picnic tables and a few large squashy chairs and fairy lights.

The bar keeps unfolding as you keep going, getting better and better. I went with a large group of friends, and would classify Sentido Funf as a people pleaser. Everyone likes a bar like this one, with well-known hits on the stereo and a laid back atmosphere.

Little Peninsula

Last night I visited a great little bar in the city called Little Peninsula on Little Lonsdale between Queen and Elizabeth.

It’s great for a Friday night because the place is a crowded and lively and, unlike many city bars, doesn’t suffer from too many suits standing around with their laptop bags looking like they’re preparing for a 2am business proposal.

It’s a small place, with enough space for standing or sitting, and they mix up some fantastic drinks. I had the bet mojito I’ve had since travelling in South America and a great concoction called a Berrini with a layer of sparkling wine over a layer of crushed berries and vodka served in a champers glass.

The staff is friendly, the music is great (there’s an in-house DJ spinning behind the bar) and the atmosphere is perfectly chill without being sleepy. There are a lot of great places for a drink on a Friday night, but this one is perfect if you’re meeting up with a few friends and want somewhere intimate but upbeat for good conversation.

And hey, being scrunched into a little bar makes for some good conversations between strangers too. Many a romance has started with “Uh you’re standing on my foot.”

Toni & Guy

A few months ago a friend of the family got a job at the Toni & Guy salon in Perth. She needed models to practice the cuts she was learning, and being the frugal person I am I volunteered. Hey, discount haircut.

But, I was also oh-so aware of Toni & Guy as the international salon chain I saw in London and New York but could never consider for a cut, seeing as they run tend to run somewhere around $150.

The great part: I got the best haircut I’ve ever had in my life. The not so great part: I came to the realisation that I’d never be able to get a haircut like that again in my life, since normally it would cost me half my weekly rent. My hair had nowhere to go but down.

Fast forward to Melbourne, where I found a Toni & Guy salon that needs models for its students. Today I scored a great new haircut (chopped off 7 inches, eek!) and I’ll be ducking in on Monday for free highlights with the same stylist. All for $0 dollars.

Usually apprentice stylists are very highly qualified, they just have to learn to cut hair “the Toni & Guy way.” That means they need to find their own models, and once they’ve cut every friend and family-members hair they’re relying on strangers. They really appreciate models, and the truth is that your haircut will be even more perfect than usual since a supervisor is looking over their shoulder the whole time.

The only thing to consider: the cuts take between 2 to 3 hours, seeing as every strand has to be perfect, so remember to bring your patience along with you.