We went to Mad Cow at the Ivy, a ginormous complex of bars and restaurants in the city. Fab fit-out, but by far the best feature was the fact that it’s essentially Sydney’s biggest smoking lounge, designed as it is around a big courtyard, with this tree in the centre:
The bartender told us, “If you can see sky, you can smoke.” Finally!
It being a Friday night, the place was heaving; a well-dressed mosh pit. As the evening progressed I noticed an increase in stiletto-wobbles and dodgy man-dancing, the latter being forgiven for the fact that the music was pretty fucking great.
I suppose getting a straight guy to dance is a triumph in itself. It’s never less than amusing and occasionally hot, although far too many resort to that low-impact, malfunctioning-robot back-and-forth. I guess anything more flamboyant is frowned upon...
As for dinner, it was delicious and eye-crossingly expensive. My martini bill alone was shameful. But Justine, as always, insisted on paying. She’s a barrister; I guess she can afford it.
Put it this way, this was the tip:
2 comments:
That tip is a days wage for some people.
I know, it's obscene in a way, but she does come from another universe (read: London)
Post a Comment