Naughtons Parkville Hotel

Past this place on my morning walk. Popped in for a coffee in my gym gear (naughty naughty) was excellently surprised considering the blend they use. Beautiful renovation inside, dont judge a book by its cover. Excellent food & wine menu. No pokies. yippee! Morning staff were happy & friendly. Different story at happy hour this same day, smiles wld be very welcome & less gossip at the end of the bar ladies (maybe they’ve decided to be reverse mexicans: moved south of the border ???) thk god im use to it. But i come to melb for a happy check away from sydney…

Alright people. It’s time. After a series of gushing reviews about places I dig the shit out of, I’m gonna absolutely trash one. Yeah that’s right. Does his have something to do with me being in a crap mood because life is unfair? And because I can’t have what I want and I’m fucking heartbroken? Maybe. Ok yes.
But it’s also a lot to do with the fact that I feel that Naughton’s has let me, as an Australian, down. Naughton’s used to be a pub. Like a real pub with beer soaked bar mats and beer soaked patrons, Nobby’s Nuts, authentic pub meals and that smell in the air that makes you think that there’s a good chance that the carpet has a higher alcohol content than the beer. It was AWESOME.
Then they closed, the venue was sold, renovated and reopened under new management. Totally changed. WHY DO I HAVE TO LOSE EVERYTHING I LOVE.
The new Naughton’s is open, echoey, and clean to the point of sterility. The wine list isn’t too bad, not adventurous but at least there’s a fair few options by the glass at around $ 9 (nothing worse than a bar where the house wine is $ 12). The food menu is Italian-​based: pizza (standard), pasta (standard), steak, burger, salads (beetroot & haloumi, trout and calamari) and sides, desserts. Specials board. Why places like this feel the need to use the word «sugo» on a menu is beyond me. It’s sauce. I know it, you know it, the guy in the kitchen at old Naughton’s knew it.
Points for a cute waitress, but the fact that, between three floor staff in a small venue, we were asked for a drinks order three times, and I had to point out which wine I wanted because the name didn’t ring a bell (there IS only one pinot grigio vermentino on the list for gods sakes) and they not only didn’t bring us water without prompting but FORGOT when we had to ASK… maybe it’s the hospokid in me but that’s a pretty hard fail, especially for an (ostensibly) classy joint like this one.
I ordered the beetroot salad, only to be told they were out. I’d have to pick something else. But I wanted the beetroot salad. I had fallen in love with the idea of it. It could have made me so happy. I smiled just thinking about it. The waiter recommended the vege stack. Well you know what? I’ve HAD vege stacks. But they’re not what I want in a dish and I’ve moved on. We’re still friends but its over between us. Vege stacks need to accept that.
But there was nothing to be done so I agreed to go with the vege stack and accepted that life is not fair. But you know what? Pinot grigio vermentino doesn’t GO with vege stack. Vege stack was uninspired, slices of grilled aubergine and courgette with a slice of haloumi, swimming in a sea of tomato fucking sugo. It’s saving grace was a sort of rosti of sweet potato etc.
Wonderwoman and The Proff ordered from the specials board. Sardines (whole fried stacked in a hash formation, kill me now or get Jamie Oliver’s degenerate teenage chefs out of the kitchen, with polenta chips and «Italian» salad) and curried lamb shank (with rice so dry that my dad remarked on it, and he thinks Question Time at Parliament is the best thing on TV, plus a homemade roti… actually a triangular one-​eighth section of a homemade roti, and HALF A FUCKING PAPPADAM. Half a pappadam. What the hell is that??)
The food wasn’t expensive by today’s standards (veg stack $ 19, sardines about the same, lamb $ 25), but half a pappadam? I just don’t understand it. How much do those things cost? Half a roti maybe. MAYBE. But half a papp – well, I think you get it.
I was kinda hoping that these were teething problems, that we could work things out. Maybe they could change. We could compromise. Then I got chatting to the manager on the way out as I had a quick look at the (concise but admittedly well appointed) bottle-​o shelves. Turns out they’ve been open for 5 months. These aren’t teething problems. They’re irreconcilable differences.
It’s not the same. The feeling is gone. You’ve changed, Naughton’s. I don’t love you anymore.
Actually I’ve just thought of something to cheer me up. The website claims that «the dining area affronts Royal Parade». Affronts. I can’t argue with them there.