The thought’s occurred to me that I should host a Bar Zine awards night for Sydney’s best bars – except that I don’t like hosting parties (or going to any party if the alcohol isn’t free) and the only prizes I’d want to give would be autographed photos of my cat.

This might explain why I am not a media mogul.

Nevertheless, if I were to give an award for most unpretentious bar then the winner would certainly be Freda’s.

From the outside all you see is a driveway on Regent Street with a sign hanging off a fence that has “Freda’s” written in chalk on it – and the décor inside is equally simple. This is a bare bones bar with chain link fences, naked bulbs, exposed brick walls, and bare wooden surfaces. The cocktail menu, however, speaks volumes. It includes a 50/50 sazerac made with both rye and cognac, the Brooklyn cocktail (an old classic forgotten by most), not to mention drinks such as the Southside and Bourbon Sour – cocktails for those who like the taste of liquor.

I think the best drink here is the Brooklyn, made with rye whiskey, dry vermouth, Amer Picon and maraschino liqueur and served with a maraschino cherry. This is a sultry drink, similar to a Manhattan but, in my opinion, more sophisticated in flavour.

My second favourite cocktail here is the Grapefruit Mezcal Margarita with pink salt ($17 – to be honest, I forgot how much the Brooklyn cost but it was in the same ballpark). Made with El Señorio Mezcal Reposado, Cointreau, fresh lime and pink grapefruit juice, this is a good variation on a margarita that has a stronger flavour thanks to the aged mezcal.

The only disappointment is with the Sazerac, which is decent but nowhere near as great as the Brooklyn – and coming from a Sazerac obsessive like me, that says something. I’m not sure why this Sazerac doesn’t work for me since the guys here obviously know what they’re doing – they use La Mercier absinthe (which I love), Remy VSOP and Wild Turkey rye for this drink – but it just doesn’t gel for me.

The food, however, is spot on. Specials are written on a chalkboard and I and my drinking partner, a lapsed Canadian with a rye whiskey fetish, try the slow roasted pork shoulder with pickles ($12) and the sardines, pine nuts and currants ($12) – both of which are perfect bar food.

Funk music is playing softly, the service is exceptional, and even the free bowl of nuts that they gave was above average, thanks to a mix of pistachios, pecans and almonds.

In short, I’m impressed. Really impressed. To the owner of Freda’s: if you want an autographed photo of my cat, you merely have to ask.

Freda’s, 107 Regent Street, Chippendale. Open everyday until late. See Freda’s website

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There’s nothing new about looking old in the world of small bars – after all, most feature more second-hand furniture than a uni student’s apartment. Yet what makes Hinky Dinks stand out is that it does feel new – in a 1950s way.

What I mean is that its retro décor has been built from scratch, making it feel like a brand spanking new 1950s apartment. The pastel surfaces gleam, the red and white bar stools are vibrant, the pineapple-shaped lamps shimmer and the low leather settee is … ok, I ran out of adjectives. If only there was a vintage record player then the look would be perfect (although they do have a vintage refrigerator humming along at one end).

What also makes Hinky Dinks stand out is its Madagascar Manhattan ($16) – so much so that, after trying it on a Sunday night, I come back the following Wednesday just to have it again.

Made with vanilla and citrus peel-infused bourbon, sweet vermouth, agave syrup and chocolate bitters, the Madagascar Manhattan is served in a crystal glass (on the Sunday it was garnished with an orange twist and on Wednesday with a maraschino cherry). The result both times was a delicate drink that belied its strength, with the vanilla, citrus and chocolate hints adding a fragrant softness. It’s by far the best cocktail I’ve had in weeks – although, for the record, I prefer the orange twist.

The menu is geared toward alcohol-soaking snacks such as the pan-fried olive and parmesan sandwich ($9) and fried squid ($16), as well as oysters with blood orange and coriander gastrique.

For me the sandwich is the winner (I am a sucker for gooey cheese) and the squid’s good too. I tried this on my second visit when I came with a chef friend, and although he pointed out that the batter could be a little crisper, he was still happy – the batter’s light, the squid tender and …

Ah crap, I’ve used so many adjectives I’ve bored myself.

The rest of this review will be in bullet points:

• The jazz music on Sunday is quiet enough for conversation and on Wednesday there was no music, which actually worked fine as the place was so busy it was still humming
• The bar’s named after a corrupt Chicago politician who gave out drinks for votes
• If you’ve had a bad day then try the Zombie, which is so potent they make a point of only serving two per customer. Made with silver, aged and op rum, cinnamon syrup, passionfruit, grapefruit, flamed absinthe and mint, this Tiki drink doesn’t taste anywhere near as alcoholic as it is.
• Talking of cocktails named after the dead, the Corpse Reviver No. Blue is another deceptively smooth and yet strong drink. Made with South Gin, Lillet Blanc, triple sec, absinthe and fresh lemon, it uses blue curacao to give it an electric blue colour that, combined with a rich egg foam on top, makes it look like something from a cartoon. It’s a good party drink – but in my humble opinion, the less ostentatious Madagascar Manhattan is a much better cocktail.

Hinky Dinks, 185 Darlinghurst Road, Darlinghurst. Open Wednesday to Sunday from 5pm until late. See the Hinky Dinks website

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Review by Jess Black

If Hemingway opened a bar it might look like this.

That said, god knows what Hemingway, whose portrait hangs next to a map of Sydney’s western suburbs, knew about hospitality.

But there’s every chance he’d enjoy Dry Land, which has eschewed stainless steel swathes and considered kitsch for an interior that seems very much to the taste of its creators.

A warmly lit, introspective space, one might sit as easily and comfortably in silence as in conversation, or in the case of one couple, very much conjoined.

An old man and the sea vibe lingers in the deep blue walls that are lit by a series of orb-like naval light fixtures.

The aluminium floor-to-ceiling window frames are clearly a vestige from the former occupants and this reticence to put a definitive Dry Land branding upon every fitting contributes to its casual atmosphere.

The nonchalance carries over, unaffectedly, to the bar staff, one of whom would seem every bit a character of Mark Twain with his sack-like trousers and checkered tea towel were he not so attentive to our drink levels.

Our crowd could be split into three groups – lovers, who co-opt the two booths; tables of friends; and Dan, who would sell his cat for the Dry Land Sazerac.

I order the Side Car (cognac, Cointreau, and lemon juice), which is classically (and well) made and served with a sugar rim. Meanwhile, Dan claims his Sazerac (rye whiskey, Peychaud’s bitters, sugar and absinthe) is one of the best he’s ever had [note from Dan: turns out they made it with Jim Beam rye, which surprised me since the Sazerac was so smooth - I would have sworn they'd have used a higher shelf rye]. Cocktails are all $16 which would be a fair ask for a far less expertly executed tipple than ours.

Nibbles are stored in large jars on the counter, as if ready for a long sea voyage, and so we get a serve of the scratchings ($5.50) and mixed olives ($4.50) both of which are so salty (in a good way!) they could easily induce another round of cocktails. As if we need the excuse.

The music is a touch too voluble which might be why Dan and I lapse into mutual observation, and I find myself in a voyeuristic, triangulated relationship with the booth couple, while Dan spies a lower back worthy of Man Ray.

In fact, Dan has the look of a man who’s just got the catch of a lifetime (the analogy ends here I promise!) and says he wants to move to Redfern so he can drink here more often. Then again, Dry Land is definitely a second home you wouldn’t be ashamed to call your own.

Dry Land. 92 Redfern St, Redfern. Open Tuesday to Saturday, 5pm-12am.

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The best part about Stitch, a small basement bar on York Street, is the entrance. There’s a shop front on street level filled with sewing machines, balls of yarn and shirts hanging on a rod – as well as a stairwell heading down. Take a step into the shop front and you can then see a glimpse of the sumptuous bar downstairs, with all the promise that those shelves of bottles glowing from the back bar’s light can bring.

It’s this specific moment I enjoy most about my visit – the promise of something unusual, decadent and hidden from view. Call me a fantasist but as I head downstairs on a Saturday night my imagination works overtime. I imagine exotic women with a fetish for alcoholic bar reviewers, a piano man tinkling the ivories and a wizened old bartender who’ll listen to my troubles while making me Manhattans.

It turns out there is no piano man and the bartenders here are young (what happens to old Sydney bartenders? Considering how young they all are, it’s as if they live in an alcoholic version of Logan’s Run, where any barperson over 30 is swiftly dispatched) but the bar has got an old fashioned and quirky feel nevertheless.

The bar counter is seemingly made from old sewing machines stacked on top of each other while sewing machine covers dangle from above the back bar. The light fixtures look like they came from a western saloon, sheet music is used as wallpaper in one area, there are booths as well as small barrel tables and blues music is playing on the sound system.

The blues fits my mood since I’ve been stood up not once but twice by two people today, which must surely push my loser quotient to new heights. As such I perch dejectedly on a bar stool, order a sazerac and begin telling one of the friendly bartenders about how a man can only trust his cat in this world. In turn she smiles politely and no doubt starts hoping I’ll drink my sazerac quickly and get the hell out of here.

The menu lists the sazerac as being made with Hennessy cognac, sugar and Peychaud’s bitters served in an absinthe-rinsed glass, but I see the other bartender using Pernod instead (when I ask, he tells me they’ve run out of absinthe).

The result is still good, however, (if I wanted to be fernickety I’d argue the aniseed flavour is fractionally stronger than I’d like in a sazerac, but it’s still a great rendition) and I’m always happy to see a traditional sazerac on a cocktail menu.

Talking of menus, the kitchen here offers gourmet hotdogs and burgers – for example, one of their meals is the Mack Ducky Dog, made with duck, orange and pistachio sausage served with foie gras canard and truffle sauce. I’m tempted to order a dog but I’m worried my cat will become jealous, so I finish my solitary sazerac, tell the bartender that my faithful feline awaits, and head back up the stairs into reality.

UPDATE: I’ve since come back several times. First of, if you order a cocktail then I recommend either the Romeo Had Juliette (made with Amaro Montenegro, pineapple juice, Angostura bitters, Hennessy cognac and lemon juice) or the Bitter Tears (made from Makers Mark bourbon, grapefruit marmalade, honey syrup and orange bitters and served short with a sugar rim). The former is tangy and tart, while the latter is my favourite cocktail in this bar. I’m not sure how to describe the flavour – you can taste the orange bitters, the tang of the marmalade, and the sweetness coupled with the citrus and bourbon results in a taste that reminds me of the fizzy sour lolly drops of my youth. I like it.

I’ve also tried the hotdogs: the French Poodle ($17) is made with Toulouse sausage, red wine and garlic and served with pickled pear and Dijon mustard while the Wild Pig Dog (also $17) is made with wild boar sausage that has spiced apple and and rum-soaked currants in it. Both are awesome.
Stitch, 61 York Street, Sydney. Open Monday to Saturday, 4pm until late. See the Stitch bar website)

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There’s a small bar in the basement of an otherwise innocuous building on Clarence Street that’s become my favourite bar of the moment. Called Grandma’s, it calls itself a “retro-sexual haven of cosmopolitan kitsch and faded granny glamour” on its website and to be honest I just can’t beat that description.

Once you climb down the stairs past the animal head with horns on the wall you’ll find exposed brick walls, retro furniture and the occasional tiki touch such as cockatoo wall paper and a tropical cocktail menu with plenty of punches, rum and tequila cocktails.

It’s a Saturday night and I’m drinking a Papa Doble (Hemingway daiquiri) while waiting for my gay wingman to join me – he’s running late because he’s having dinner at his grandmother’s place (and yes, the coincidence doesn’t escape me). Personally, I can’t imagine spending Saturday night at my grannie’s place but hey – the GW has always been a far kinder soul than me.

However, the daiquiri is good enough to increase my benevolence toward my fellow man: made with Havana Club rum, maraschino liqueur, fresh lime and grapefruit juice, it’s perfectly made. It’s one of those cocktails that are strong and yet refreshing, with the tartness of the grapefruit balancing the sweetness and unique flavour of the maraschino. Hemingway may have been a drunk but he sure knew his cocktails.

There are also beers and ciders available and when I finish my daiquiri I order a Monteiths Summer Ale, which is a good Kiwi beer. I’m just checking out the food menu – they serve jaffles (you can choose from chicken, cheese, spaghetti and vegetarian ones) as well as biltong and curried cashews – when the GW finally arrives and apologises for his tardiness, explaining that his granny was plying him with margaritas and he lost track of time. This makes me somewhat jealous since all I get at family functions are matzo ball soup and guilt.

Despite believing that Melbourne bars are better than Sydney’s, even the GW grudgingly admits this is a good bar. Funk music is playing, the service is friendly and the crowd is casual and relaxed. If my grandma’s place was like this, I’d be a far more doting grandson myself.

Grandma’s bar, basement, 275 Clarence Street, Sydney. See the Grandma’s bar website

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The first thing that hits you on entering the Absinthe Salon is the heady scent of aniseed. It fills the air and smacks you in the face, taking a few moments to get used to. The next thing you notice is that the front room is a shop and not a bar: there’s bottles, books and absinthe-related paraphernalia such as slotted spoons but no tables and chairs. It turns out the Absinthe Salon started off as an online store and while they still can’t sell absinthe by the bottle over the counter (although that might change in the future), you can go into the back to buy it by the glass.

Accompanied by a friend, a bartender who’s served a lot of absinthe in his time, I head into the back to find what initially looks more like a tea room than a bar. The music is quiet, it’s well lit, there’s an Art Nouveau street lamp in the middle of the room and, most notably, there are small tables spread out, with each one containing old-fashioned metal and glass fountains containing ice water. The idea is that the absinthe is poured into a glass, a slotted spoon is placed on top, followed by a sugar cube, and ice-cold water is then dripped onto the cube from the fountain’s taps. The water and sugar both dissolves and dilutes the absinthe, causing the absinthe to become slightly milky in colour (the term for this is louche, which is French for opaque), just as ouzo does when water is added.

Before I go further, however, it’s probably time for a ultra-brief absinthe lesson. Even though absinthe has been banned around the world, was considered hallucinogenic and held responsible for driving the likes of Van Gogh mad due to its use of wormwood, a herb that contains the toxic chemical thujone, in reality the amount of thujone contained in absinthe is negligible (incidentally, thujone is also found in sage) and it’s only in the past ten years that scientists have proven that absinthe is actually harmless – at least, as harmless as a spirit that’s between 45 and 74 per cent alcohol can be.

Now to think of it, maybe it did drive Van Gogh mad.

The taste and drinking method of absinthe is also often misunderstood. Because absinthe has been unavailable for so long in most of the world the original recipes were often not followed, especially in the initial revival of absinthe in the 90s. As such, the absinthes that made it to market (and I’m mainly referring to those from the Czech Republic) were often too bitter and not representative of what people in Paris and New Orleans (these two cities were absinthe hotspots) drank a hundred years ago. This may explain why some people use absinthe in cocktails to mask the flavour or use the “bohemian” method of drinking it, where people soak a sugar cube in absinthe, light it and then drop it in a glass of absinthe – a method that purists frown on. But enough about the history (although I do suggest reading this Wired feature) – back to the review.

We’re presented with a menu that shows a wide variety of absinthes (no other drink is on offer) along with detailed descriptions of each. My friend says that Swiss absinthes are often smoother than those from other countries and opts for the Kübler (53 per cent and is clear rather than green in colour) while I follow the advice of the man who serves us by ordering the Verte de Fougerolles, an unfiltered traditional French absinthe that’s 72 per cent alcohol.

After hearing about how bitter some absinthes can be and not being a huge fan of aniseed I’m surprised by how much I enjoy my Verte de Fougerolles. It might have a similar smell to Sambucca and ouzo but the flavour is complex and pleasant. It’s not something you’d want to sip on a tropical beach but I can imagine it being perfect in a Parisian den of iniquity.

Having said that, my friend was right about the Swiss: when I taste his Kübler I’m surprised by how much of a difference there is. It’s much smoother and has a nice velvety mouth feel afterwards – as he puts it, it’s like having your mouth coated with liquorice.

Despite being the middle of the week almost all the tables here are full – when we first walked in it was mainly men (to our surprise) but by the end the balance shifts and there’s a few girls on their own as well as couples. I’m not sure whether I would take a date here myself but, considering the kick that the absinthe gives me (and it’s quite a buzz) it probably would be conducive to romance if only they dimmed the lights a bit to give it more of a romantic (or den of iniquity) feel. After all, the Absinthe Salon has everything else: a great selection, friendly service, and some fantastic water fountains to help recreate the whole decadent experience. If you want to try absinthe for yourself, then this place is worth visiting.

Update: since writing this review, I ordered a bottle of the Jade Nouvelle Orleans, which is made by the same guy (Ted Breaux) mentioned in the Wired story above. The NO is considered one of the world’s best absinthes and, in keeping with its concept of being as close as possible to the original absinthes, comes with a cork that is sealed with wax. Opening it was a son of a bitch and I destroyed the cork (and only through luck avoided getting any cork in the absinthe) but the Nouvelle Orleans is my favourite absinthe so far: gentle, complex, very easy to drink and with a beautiful aftertaste.

Absinthe Salon, 87 Albion Street, Surry Hills. See the Absinthe Salon website or phone 9211 6632. Open Wednesday to Saturday from 4pm to 10pm. Prices range from $13 to $22 per glass.

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Taking off where others have failed, The Hive is a casual and cool affair that’s easy on the wallet, as Paul Chai reports.

The Erskineville site where the Hive Bar now sits seemed doomed as a string of bars took on the neighbouring Rose of Australia pub (one of the area’s best) and lost. But this low-fi, funky addition to Erko village has proven that when you get the basics right, the local clientele will happily switch allegiances – at least for a night or two.

When we pitch up on a sunny weekday afternoon the place is – if you’ll excuse the pun – buzzing. And that’s what you notice most about the place, as it is now always rammed with animated punters telling stories at the bi-fold windows, spilling out onto the footpath tables or fronting up to the small bar, made of recycled timber, to listen to the relaxing tunes.

Often it can seem like a spontaneous house party, be it the regular Wednesday night DIY vinyl club that makes use of the house decks or a one-off Octoberfest with one-litre steins and oompah music.

While the previous bars worried more about look than feel, Hive has taken a relaxed but contemporary approach to its decor. Furniture is mostly recycled and of the mix-and-match variety allowing you to create your own space depending on the size of your party. It is all set off with casually graffitied walls, local art installations, simple paper lanterns and a bar area where metallic alien figurines jostle for space with bottles of tequila.

The latter is put to excellent use in quite simply one of the best margaritas this side of the city ($12). My companion, on the other hand, heads for the spring martini ($12). It may be a month late (the summer martini is yet to materialise) but its mix of cucumber and mint muddled with gin and a splash of apple juice proves to be a cocktail for all seasons.

For nibbling at the bar I recommend a handful of the fiery chilli nuts, chilli almonds or wasabi peas (all $2), but we are after more substantial fare.

My companion opts for the very popular pizza and drink deal for a reasonable $12 and it doesn’t disappoint. The chorizo pizza has a crisp yet slightly doughy base and is topped with capsicum, Spanish onion and rocket, which my companion teams with a punchy glass of house red.

We add in a mix of share plates: plump triangles of samosa ($7) with just enough bite to hold their own against the chorizo; menu standard salt and pepper squid ($9), which comes out tender and perfectly spiced; and a plate of “good old hot chips”, crisp on the outside and pillow-soft in the centre.

I shift to beer in order to try the E’ville pilsner, a concoction that is specially brewed for the bar by the neighbouring St Peters brewery. It is a little too sweet to stay on all night, but is yet another welcome nod to the local community. There is also Blonde, Scharers Lager and St Arnou Pale Ale on tap (schooners $4.70/pints $6.80) and an eclectic selection of boutique bottled brews. There is also a focus on sustainability at the bar from waste and recycling through to an emphasis on sustainable and organic produce. But the one thing that Hive seems sure to sustain is its popularity among Erskineville’s drinking set.

Hive bar, 93 Erskineville Road, Erskineville. Phone 9519 9911 or see the Hive bar website

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On a Friday evening Small Bar (which despite its name covers three levels) is packed. As a friend of mine and I walk down Sussex Lane, which borders one side of the bar, we see office workers desperate for release and cigarettes puffing outside the cellar entrance while others are crammed within the bar’s stone walls. We take a deep breath, lunge inside, and then within moments hurriedly pile out as the claustrophobia sets in.

I go back a few weeks later on a Thursday night after 9pm with a different friend (a Kiwi who believes eatin’s cheatin’) to find the place at a more comfortable capacity – and it’s a good sign for the bar that at even this hour there’s a decent crowd. The bottom level, which is an intimate sandstone cellar that makes me think of some of the small laneway bars you find in New Orleans’ French Quarter, is crowded with what looks like a group of workers from the same office, while on the second floor a jazz band plays in the corner. Wooden floorboards, ceiling fans and the odd painting gives the bar a cosier and quirkier feel than is usual in the CBD, although it still feels more restrained than such Surry Hills contemporaries as Pocket Bar and Low 302.

I grab a glass of Nanny Goat pinot noir from Otago, New Zealand, that’s a little earthier and heavier than your average pinot noir (in a good way) while the Kiwi gets a Stella Artois. All the tables are full, so I decide not to order any food (and the Kiwi’s attitude to food has already been explained) but menu options include antipasto, burgers and fish and chips.

It’s almost a year since Small Bar launched as the first bar to make use of Sydney’s new small bars licensing laws and while there haven’t been a lot of other bars following suit, Small Bar certainly seems to be making a go of it.

Incidentally, at the time of writing a new space called Balcony Bar has recently opened next door (click here to see our review) and other empty shopfronts on Erskine Street and Sussex Lane have real estate signs saying they can be used as bars – so it’ll be interesting to see if this laneway does become a bar strip. We’ll keep you updated when we know more.

Small Bar, 48 Erskine Street, Sydney. Phone 9279 0782 or see the Small Bar website

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Pop art (think Warhol and Lichtenstein) is painted on the walls; matchbooks, cards and other knickknacks are scattered under the glass-topped bar counter that doubles as a bookshelf and funk is playing from the sound system. This is Pocket Bar, a small edgy drinking den a block down from Oxford Street that feels more like a hipster’s warehouse space than a traditional bar.

On a Saturday night the place is full, from the retro 70s sofas and coffee tables down the back right through to the wooden benches toward the front. Squeezing myself into a space at the bar, I order the Paloma, a Mexican cocktail made from tequila, grapefruit soda and lime juice that’s apparently more popular in Mexico than margaritas. Served in a tall glass, the main flavour of this cocktail is of the pink grapefruit soda, which masks the tequila to a surprising degree. If you don’t like the taste of alcohol then this is the drink for you.

However, I much prefer the 10 Cane daiquiri that I order when I come back the following Wednesday night (when the crowd has thinned enough for me to find a seat) – in fact, it’s possibly the best daiquiri I’ve ever had. Made from 10 Cane rum (other rums are available, but I prefer 10 Cane), fresh lime and a dash of sugar, it tastes fresh, tangy and is balanced so that it’s neither too sweet nor too sour. I’m also impressed that the bartender was knowledgeable enough to ask me questions such as whether I wanted the drink double strained or not (I opted for not).

If you want to eat then you’re looking at having either a savoury or dessert crepe, with fillings ranging from goats cheese and spinach to Nutella and strawberries. I opt for the ratatouille and goats cheese, which is great and surprisingly filling while the pastry itself is nice and light (although a friend of mine disagrees with me, saying the crepe she had was too thick). There are also dips and french fries, both of which do the trick (I try them during a later visit) plus there’s a breakfast menu available.

Despite the hip decor the atmosphere is friendly, casual and unpretentious, which is a welcome relief in a city like Sydney. Let’s just hope it remains this way.

Pocket Bar, 13 Burton Street (corner of Crown), Darlinghurst. Phone 9380 7002 or see the Pocket Bar website. Open everyday until midnight.

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