One of Sydney’s biggest-name drink impresarios has created a bar and restaurant that celebrates Australian flora, with menus designed by Icebergs’ food whisperer in chief.
The venue is separated into three sections. There’s your classic public bar downstairs, which is where you want to shoot the breeze with the bartenders, squidge onto a window seat or hang out with your dog at a pavement table. Upstairs, take a right and you’ll hit the refined dining room, which has a larger, more considered menu than the bar snacks downstairs, and is the correct choice for evening eats. A left turn will take you to the rooftop terrace area, which is an obvious long lunch spot: light, bright and breezy and complete with a cleverly cantilevered roof to let in sunshine and air or roll quickly back into position if the rain kicks in.
You are, of course, in a Darlinghurst terrace so don’t expect to find anywhere to strew your belongings about or man-spread across a sofa. Everything here is tight, concise and cosy, so think of The Waratah as somewhere you’re likely to make a new friend as you bump elbows on the banquette.
The wine list is nothing to be sniffed at, with lots of fun and frisky small-scale Australian producers such as Minim, Architects of Wine and de Salis. The house red and white come to you courtesy of Renzaglia Wines’ di Renzo series and that’s a very good thing. But the main attraction is, of course, Evan’s cocktails. He’s set a high benchmark for himself, and one that he easily meets.
Upstairs, the idea is that the list will change seasonally, representing a new region of Australia with every iteration. The debut inclusions is centred around Tropical Far North Queensland, so the glamorous and bang-on balanced take on a Negroni is made with distilled Daintree chocolate and cherries, while the Strawberries and Vanilla whisky situation sources its vanilla beans from Daintree Vanilla & Spice. A couple of very nice bright and brisk non-alcoholic options include a natty little bitter-bomb made with native blood lime and navel oranges.
Downstairs, the cocktail list changes weekly, with individual drinks tricked up by the various bartenders. Look for them listed on the back bar, against a glowing amber board that’s been colour-matched with a bottle of VB.
A fun thing to do if you want to frighten your international friends is to order the burger with “the lot” downstairs at the bar. Watch them recoil in horror as you sink your teeth into a fat burg accessorised with beetroot and a fried egg (you’ll have the last laugh, though – their eyes will light up with the fervour of the converted when they take a bite themselves).
The longer menu upstairs is more rarified. There’s a range of small and large plates centred around Australian ingredients, with the prawns and lemon myrtle butter dish already cementing itself as a crowd favourite.
And you have to order the ’gram-tastic fairy bread ice-cream – a fat blob of Messina gelato given a lick of sour honey, strewn with hundreds and thousands and sandwiched between two wafers. It’s a mess of a thing to eat but that only adds to the nostalgic childhood birthday-party vibes.
