Pub of the Month

The Royal Derby Hotel

446 Brunswick Street, Fitzroy, VIC
http://www.onlymelbourne.com.au/melbourne_details.

I don't much go out on Friday nights anymore. It's not that I have anything against Friday nights, per se; it's just that, as someone who has never worked a 9-5 job, I find the traditional weekly Friday night inner city invasion by corporate types and outer suburb-dwelling tweens confusing, alien, and even slightly more repugnant than it is hilarious.

My microscopic bladder copes as poorly with a night of binge drinking as my weak-ass stomach does with the acid smell of vomit, and my natural aptitude and grace on the dance floor and expertly honed tenor make rhythmless flailing of the limbs and pitch-deaf interpretations of Bon Jovi's rock canon as impossible to master as they are painful to witness.

Friday nights on the town are not for me.

In my duty to You My Dear Readers, however, I am sometimes called upon to step outside my comfort zone, and pussyfoot into the fray. This is one of those times. You see, despite my hermit-like disinclination to venture out of my very comfortable apartment on the eve of any given weekend, I've been around long enough to know that, when it comes to pubs and bars at least, there is probably no better measure of a venue's character and resilience than said venue's performance on a Friday night. Just as we, as people, reveal surprising strength and character in times of great hardship or crisis, so too will the humble pub show us its true colours when under siege from an army of punters hell-bent on a Saturday morning hangover in a strange and disorienting bedroom (or a strange and disorienting shopping trolley in a park somewhere, if the venue is Collingwood's Copa Cabana, and the punters belong to the bridal party.)

Armed with only this hypothesis, my wits, and a small compact camera, I made the trek up Melbourne's increasingly popular and therefore decreasingly classy Brunswick Street to The Royal Derby Hotel on Friday evening to take a gander.

I can't say how many times I've wandered past the Royal Derby on my way to Fitzroy North without so much as a glance inside. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that before now I'd been entirely unaware that the pub was there at all, let alone that it was part of the Quiz Meister's empire. The enormous chicken banner with "Quiz Meisters Trivia" on it plastered to the North side of the building should have been a giveaway, but I've never had a great eye for details, and in my further defense the Royal Derby doesn't exactly boast the world's most ostentatious facade.

Inside, too, the RDH is unapologetically no-frills. The beers on offer range from your standard bogan draughts like VB and Melbourne Bitter to your borederline crafts like Fat Yak, and... well, that's it, really. The new fashionable slew of organic, no-preservative, made-in-our-backyard-and-cooled-with-water-from-our-swimming-pool micro beers have no place here (and I doubt they stock Laphroaig Quarter Cask) but I don't mind: I can get an ice cold glass of Coopers Green or Stella, or a bottle of Heinekin to wash down my accompanying $5 pizza. Perfect. The fact that the RDH serves its beer up in schooners somehow adds to the anachronistic, country town feel of the place — it's like that bar you were too scared to try to get into when you were under age, but when you finally did you had a great night drinking Bundy and Cokes on a dancefloor identical to the Derby's sneaker streaked checkerboard, and later vomited in Kelly whatshername's ear when you leaned in for a flirty whisper.

The staff are friendly and talkative, and were only too happy for me to shout a few questions over the bar. When asked what the Derby could do to ease my fear of Fridays, the bartender pointed out a nearby poster advertising an upcoming gig by The Vendettas. "Cut the Fat Fridays. We put the night aside just to bring in a different crowd to the usual bogans and dickheads". The statement is free of malice, and it's worth mentioning that although the clientele is perhaps a little rougher 'round the edges than you might be used to on that chic (dare I say pretentious) stretch of Brunswick Street, most of the Derby's customers seem like the affable type. At one point during my visit, a few of the blokes in the spacious beer garden even stopped conjecturing about the merits of flickblades long enough to give me and my camera a big thumbs up.

Cut the Fat Fridays have been a popular innovation at the RDH, with acts ranging from bands to burlesque — sometimes both at once. Most of the other weeknights are also allocated a theme: Tuesday is Uni Night, and Wednesday is, of course, dedicated to the fine men and women of Quiz Meisters (with the Derby pulling a consistently big trivia crowd the year round). There are countless great food and drink deals, and the menu is exactly what you want from a pub — the enormous burgers tower precariously over fat sides of crispy chips.

The Royal Derby is a pub with character. Well worn and down-to-earth, it knows its function and serves it humbly. Unlike most of its neighbours, this gem of a pub feels mostly untouched by the gentrification sweeping the area. Hipsters being hipsters, it probably won't be long before they descend in a beardy swarm upon this fine little establishment, and turn it into another "ironic" hangout, with new felt on the pool table and piles of stupid vintage board games replacing the Big Buck Hunter arcade machine out the back.

My advice? Make sure to stop in at the Derby for a cold schooner or two over the Summer. Hell, do it on a Friday night.

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