Came here on a Sunday evening for a drink and something light to eat. The drinks menu is considerable; an extensive gin selection (But then, what bar doesn't have pages of gins these days? This is South Australia and the distilling market is completely flooded, you're a bad bar if you *dont* have a novella for a drinks menu). Had a couple of cocktails, nothing really special but they were all fine. We sat out on a very generic patio with cheap IKEA furnishings (no hate on ikea as an entity but read: incredibly flimsy tables that cost $15, dream bigger Brklyn), fake plants hanging everywhere (is there anything more depressing than a fake succulent? Just get some real succulents that need basically zero care!), badly stained timber slats lining the ceiling for some reason. So far, so meh - office people would thrive off going here on a Friday night for "a cheeky few". It's relatively soulless, but also relatively harmless. What really lets this place down though is the service and the food. We ordered the "Veggie Feed Me" option which was a selection of small platters shared between 2, brought out to us in stages. According to the menu it included olives, truffle pate, assorted pickled vegetables, a "dipping plate" and a toastie. What we received were olives, served extremely hot for no apparent reason, a fairly decent truffle pate and beetroot dip served with toasted sourdough and overly salty lavosh bread, some very old pickled carrots and onions in a chipped ramekin. The menu then took a left turn and instead of the aforementioned toastie, we received some deep fried mozzarella sticks (yeah okay then) served with an incredibly sweet spring roll sauce (yeah nah). The sauce reappeared for the next dish of brutally fried eggplant sticks with the skin left on, which provided the diner with a drawn-out and unpleasant experience of chewing on tough, fried eggplant skin before eventually giving up and spitting it out into a napkin. Not even Ed Gein would want to play around with that skin.
At this point, totally disoriented, we asked the serving staff if the menu was finished now (please yes). No! dessert was coming! We waited. Dessert came; a truly confusing collection of so many elements on a plate that the chef (who seemed to be running half the meals whilst the bar/waiting staff, who if rostered on Sunday night are probably not the all-stars, to be fair, were nowhere to be seen, except for that one time I can across them filming each other biting into burgers outside the toilets for presumed social-media reasons) gave up explaining the components to us and just said "it's a LOT" and left us to it. My recollection of the dessert is hazy - some blowtorched meringue that been stored badly and had gone sticky, a buttery passionfruit curd that I would happily drink a litre of, cholesterol be damned; some painfully sweet raspberry mixture, some nice crunchy flakes of indeterminate origin, and an ominous shard of badly-made honeycomb stabbed through the middle of it all - this dish was partially thought through, completely sugary, an left us with a distinct sense of somebody using up some old ingredients AND a weird coating sensation on the mouth. We wove through the Brooklyn "street" back out into the actual street below and instantly felt more at home on the latter.
In sum - I don't know what you like so who knows if you'll love it here. Go for a drink if you like a nice harmless bland bar, fake plants and budget furniture. The cocktails and drinks list in general will serve you well. Be prepared to hustle if you want the staff's attention for anything (or alternately to wait until they re-materialise from the depths of Instagram), and if you want a feed - skip on down to NOLA instead, hell, even the revamped Stag hotel puts in more effort than these guys. Both places have similar price points as BRKLYN, but with more attention to detail and staff who are actually physically present. Bon chance. read more