It used to be Luigi's, now it's a cocktail bar and cafe called Hot Lips. I dragged The Peachettes there tonight after Spicks and Specks finished and the lounge room started to look boring. I expected Hot Lips to be dire. The kind of terrible experience I do on purpose, like going to the RSL and eating a five dollar bowl of pasta while the Portuguese Elvis impersonator sings Roy Orbison songs and it didn't disappoint.
The cocktails were cheap and awful. The bar has one blender which is rinsed and washed between each cocktail. The process of making three cocktails took about fifteen minutes. The Spatula's cocktail tasted peculiarly of honeydew melon, ice and something a little bit like lemon. Mine tasted like sour cherries that had been mashed, frozen, diluted then frozen again before being blended with something quite like lemon. Grizelda chose the Hot Lips cocktail. It was a chocolate, strawberry and ice cream extravaganza with chillis randomly thrown in to surprise the nonchalant sipper.
I spied some Penguins from Penguins Plays Rough, two people who are always in the supermarket and one ex-waitress from my fourth favourite cafe among the happy patrons. The interior designer was our waiter for the evening. I was tempted to ask if he had purposely created the hippie-goth-strawberry-car-smash aesthetic or if the theme had developed naturally. Part of the ceiling is painted in a pink chequer board pattern, the part that is nearest the front door.
We were presented with a platter of free cold food. I am assuming this because it was the grand opening night. The catch was that some of the food is generally best enjoyed hot. I'm including calamari and battered prawn things in the generally best served hot category. The platter was accompanied by some corn chip and a small bowl of dip that can best be described as aerosol cheez whiz mixed with Tang and thousand island dressing.
It might have been the constant bouts of brain freeze from indelible unmeltable cocktail or the hot lips caused by the chilli I stole from Grizelda's cocktail but I did not want to murder the musicians plying their trade in the corner. The three women singing playing guitars and drumming were at times transcedent and at other times high quality background noise.
Close listening to the singers was made impossible by The Spatula who insists, always, on singing along loudly no matter where she is or how close she is to my head and my small but efficient ears. Locations of The Spatula's insistent close and loud singing includes the lounge whilst watching television, any cafe, restaurant or bar, Hot Lips, The Townie, any privately owned vehicle, walking down the street, my bedroom, the bus, the train, a taxi, an aeroplane, The Peach Deck, The Peach Hallway, concerts, The Peach Library, Grizelda's bedroom, all book shops, supermarkets, department store, hardware shop, The Peach Kitchen and other various locations. It is fortunate that she can carry a tune.
I am terribly pleased at the opening of Hot Lips. This is what I hoped for with the demise of draconian liquor licensing laws and the relaxing of live music regulations. I welcome you small, quirky and independent bar.