It took a day or so to dust ourselves off and get back to feeling like a human being after the Frankie's gig, but once we did, I took sometime out of Syd and headed into the mountains. As a lifelong rev head, there's certain race tracks in the world that you're obligated to visit. Indianapolis, Le Mans, Silverstone, Daytona, Spa, and of course, Bathurst. Home to the 1000 every October, this track for me, is the greatest of them all. The rivalry between Ford and Holden is synonymous in Australian motorsports. Many have tried, but few have succeeded at conquering the mountain. It took a 6er of Cooper Mild and a tank of oxygen to help me reach the top, but on an absolutely gorgeous Monday afternoon, accompanied with a cold beer, and an endless view from Skyline, I felt in my own small way, I had conquered it.
Turned out Bathurst was a nice old town but had no rock bars to report on sadly, just a plethora of old school Aussie pubs and inns serving Toohey's and a cheeky chicken parmi. Mind you, not quite as "old school Aussie" as The Castle Hotel in Bothwell Tasmania, that place was truly next level. I once read that during the war, pubs in Aus were only open from 4-7pm, so pubs would install urinal though's a the bar so blokes would stand there, sink as much piss as possible and not have to loose their spot. When I read that I thought, "there's no way that's true", but after seeing it for myself at The Castle Hotel, I can confirm it was true as. Bloody wild!
A few days later, once I was back in Syd, I got told we needed to meet at Mary's for a feed a couple wet ones. Since everything in Syd was foreign to me, I was keen to see the sights, and man, what a sight for sore eyes Mary's is.
Mary's, "The Big Bad Burger Bar", is pretty hectic to say the least. If there was a championship for being the ultimate dive of dives, this would be a contended for the top spot. It's poorly lit, covered in graffiti & spent candle wax, the service was terrible and you know what? That's exactly what I wanted. If I wanted bubbles and foie gras, I'd go to Ester, if that reference is unfamiliar to you, that's ok, it's a Michelin Star restaurant in Syd. That whole scene of Michelin Star restaurants is somewhat lost on me anyhow, I appreciate and applaud the chefs for their contributions to the culinary world, but when it comes to a duck foam, I couldn't tell you and good one from a bad one.
As poorly lit as Marys was, the fried chicken was crispier then a winter morning in the rockies, the mash & burgers were dynamite and some of the best I've even eaten. Along with the constant pitchers of Newtowner being delivered at a rapid rate of knots, this spread was much more welcoming to the abilities of my unrefined pallet. A Wednesday night soundtrack that was seemingly curated by an Aussie god of rock echoed loudly against the concrete walls, everyone from The Angels to Cold Chisel, and before getting to bent outta shape, we settled the tab, and wandered off to the watering hole in Newtown.
Mary's is an institution that shouldn't be missed when the opportunity calls for a night on the cans, I absolutely loved it and can't wait to get back.
6/6.
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