Saving Grace @ 32 Church Ln, CBD
The Sprink and I decided to go for a drank on her first day at her new job.
I’m not one to take a risk. I had found the undisputed best bar in the city – like Heartbreaker‘s mellower, less loud sister – and it was touch and go as to whether or not The Sprink was kewl enough to score an invite to it. But.. she just got a new hair cut and I had sore eyes from FB refreshes and frankly, I deserved it.
”Get on a tram to wrong town” I said (aka south of Swanston) and she actually did.
We sat at the bar, ordered grenache because it’s fun to say (and the cheapest red) and within seconds she’d fallen hard too for this dark, divey hidey-hole that reminds you of that place in the East Village, NYC, that plays Springsteen but without the faintly disturbing odour or the free pizza (or a jukebox alas, but they do have excellent taste in tunes).
And there’s men. Many men. 80% suits but they clear out at be-home-for-dinner o’clock, leaving Sprink to inhale a bloody good burger and make eyes at the cowbow, the French guy, and the poor bar guy, while I nicked her chips.
I ruined the Sprink’s winkfest as it was heading a pretty non-Wednesday kinda way, and I already knew I’d be back tomorrow with another ex-workmate (and I was) who I also knew would love it (and she did).
Other ex-workmates, your time will surely come.
‘Sprink come ON’ I said, loitering by the door and watching with awe as the French gent shoved his phone number into her hand. Woah she’s good, I thought, but not quite as good as Saving Grace, Saving Andy since I discovered it on day three of my new job.
