This bar takes a whimsical journey to a more civilised time, when the grass (though faux) was greener, the tennis shorts were tighter and the Pimms flowed freely.
Madame Brussels, named after the Melbourne brothel owner and entrepreneur from the 1830s, is a trip down the garden path into a world of whimsy, wonder and fruit punch. Humble tennis whites teamed with a Pimms No. 1 are the preferred accessories, as waiters and waitresses serve up the best table service and rose this side of Italy.
Upon our arrival, the hostess, Miss Pearls, was gleefully whipping a delivery driver with her riding crop. Needless to say, our group enjoyed the activity immensely.
In this 'Venetian palazzo collides with Lacoste'-inspired atmosphere, one will find creeping vines running the walls, while ladies sporting resplendent party frocks laze on wicker furniture (resting on faux grass), with a glass of rose in hand. Sundays see the terrace become the site of a simply darling barbecue party, with local chefs providing their own take on garden-party fare.
Of course, if you want a low-key gathering you can always slip onto the terrace with a jug of chrysanthemum and rosemary punch, and a handful of cupcakes. Gorgeous!
At first glance Madame Brussels may appear a little camp and cliche. But, as a friend of mine once said, "I can resist everything, except temptation", and Madame Brussels is temptation personified.
Mark Gambino
