While the lock-out laws continue to strangle the life out of King's Cross, the sterling work of a few means there are still some great places left, keeping the "gold" in "Golden Mile". The Club is one of those places.
Located underneath Hugo's (RIP), and opposite Candy's (soon-to-be RIP), the Club is not just alive - it is electric. To prosper in a place that is fast becoming a ghost town, you need to have a number of things working in your favour. Let's break them down.
While The Club often hits capacity, this place is one of the exceptions to the usual "King's Cramped". With a pumping indoor floorspace, a VIP room, and a smooth outdoor spread, everyone is catered to in comfort and style. The decor and seating has been done with finesse, along with a generous smoking area that doesn't leave you shoulder-to-shoulder like some sort of leper colony the way other joints have.
Watermelon Drank. Use it as a helmet on the way home…
Your bar options are aplenty, and they keep things original here. Since the fun Nazis over in the NSW Office of Liquor, Gaming, and Racing have mummified the cross in red tape, The Club has gotten creative. Keeping within the guidelines, they still manage to churn out new and novel drinks on the reg. To top it off, the bar staff are sharp, efficient, and energised. Which leads to my next point...
The staff are more than just friendly. They genuinely enjoy being here, and they make damn sure you do as well. Keep an eye out for one bloke in particular - he looks like something straight out of a rock n' roll band. He's got more energy than the most places in the Cross combined - it's even been alleged that he "oozes greased lightning".
The Club is managed by a distinguished bloke called Michael. He's a dead ringer for Benito Mussolini, and runs an even tighter ship. He's got a natural instinct for this sort of gig, and he's been on the scene long enough to know what, where, when, how, and why a certain goal needs to be kicked. Long story short, if more places were run like this, we might not have had the lock-outs to begin with.
The men are dapper, the women are gorgeous, and no one's here to cause strife. A pretty simple rule applies - let in the champs, turn away the gronks. Not hard.
The Club still has to dance with the strictest alcohol laws this state has seen since we were a convict colony. But they do it in style - this joint looks set to keep serving up some golden nights for some time. Personally? I love a good Sunday session. See you then.