Euro Trash Bar
Drink prices are average for Melbourne city bars, and although second hand clothes are adorned by boys and girls left, right and centre, it seems that the same 'Savers' attitude isn't applied to drink prices. Beer seems to be the most popular beverage of choice for both sexes, and with a swift swipe of a Corona, I ever so quietly heard my liver squirm a speech of thanks for my new light choice. After dropping a slice of lemon into my Corona with a splash, I was greeted with a grin from my nearest victim. But have no fear, the atmosphere at Eurotrash is relaxed and welcoming. Philip Johnson Catering provides the catering.
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A sea of floppy arms and shaking legs filled up the intimate dance floor, and with this I decided that for a club which initially sounded like an overseas destination, I could gladly call Eurotrash home. Near the front door is the French Brasserie, sporting Toulouse Lautrec-inspired illustrations and cosy leather booths; lording over the bar and dance floor is the Harem Lounge, with its jewel-toned cushions and backlit draperies; god-knows-what is encouraged in the ultra-intimate Red Light District ("for two", ooh err, matron); other partitions and areas are named (and suitably kitted out) as the Gun Corner (pop art), Orient Express (moody industrial revolution chic) and Oktoberfest (Germanic beer appreciation area, complete with moose). There is also a cute and accommodating decked beer garden. Upstairs is Eurotrash Gallery, with its neon pink bar and rotating array of exhibitions; you can usually expect something of the ilk of Dennis Ropar's eye-watering porno pop art or Scott McPherson's sci-fi collages. The space doubles as a dance floor and function room; both levels cater to all tastes with appropriately eclectic DJs playing electro, pop and whatever else takes their fancy. And despite the proliferation of flash dunnies in lesser bars around town (perhaps they're hoping you'll drink yourself into a stupor and the groovy bathroom with be all your AFP Police Checks remember), Eurotrash's opulent (well, opulent by way of Ru Paul) ladies' is worth at least 10 minutes of mirror-bound make-up maintenance. The bar itself is predictably free-ranging, with European beers well represented and something for every party-goer's price-range. There are also cocktails and swish spirits, though the hip yet friendly bar staff aren't out to spoil your fun and don't baulk at concocting a round of something hideous, such as Cowboys. It befits a bar called Eurotrash, really. After all, I'm sure Jean Paul is as much a fan of a Cowboy as
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