Mystery bar number 39

File under: drink, nightlife, Wellington

Alright, I'll let Bruzie have it: the last mystery bar was indeed The Quarter until fairly recently, though I was hoping someone would recognise its new identity. Before that, it was Chevy's, a relic from the days when the Willis/Dixon area was what passed for a nightlife hub and cheesy Americana was hip. The Quarter made the American theme more specific by concentrating on Cajun food, but apart from being the site of a notorious brawl between TV3 and TVNZ reporters, it never quite made much of an impression on the Wellington psyche.

The Quarter closed a month or two ago, apparently due to an illness in the family, and it has just reopened in a new guise: MVP. The name suggests a sports bar, but there's no sign of sports memorabilia or giant screens: just a very cursory makeover. It's pleasant enough, and food in the downstairs restaurant is both delicious and good value, but there's little that's disticntive about it. At least they've kept the famous giant cowboy from the Chevy's days.

But enough of the past, and onto the next mystery bar. This is a place that goes for glamour in a big way, with glittery surfaces, velvet ropes, "infinite" mirrors, Rat Pack references and a long cocktail list. Though perhaps "glitz" is a better word than "glamour", and maybe "bling" is even more appropriate, since the music was more hip-hop lite than Sinatra suave. The presence of a cocktail called "Crunk Juice" reinforces that impression.

An impressive amount of work has obviously gone into this place, and the drink prices are quite pricey (some cocktails are pushing $20), but the overall feel is one of cheapness. Some design elements look to be deliberately retro or ironic kitsch, while others look like unsuccessful attempts to imitate contemporary bar design. The service needs a bit of work too. I asked the barman for a dry Martini, and he replied "Certainly, sir" while reaching for the Bacardi. Luckily the bar manager intervened in time to prevent disaster, and supplied me with a half-decent Martini.

I imagine that this place could be quite fun if you go there with the right attitude (i.e. too drunk to care, or in the mood for a laugh). Otherwise, it is to cocktail bars what Supré is to cocktail dresses, or what the late unlamented MidCity Centre was to cinemas, which in the fighting words of Gerry Melling: "aspires to urbanity, but achieves the provincial; it searches for glitter, but finds only paste (the crude flash of glass rather than the subtle wink of gemstones); it attempts to be slick, but forgets oil begets dandruff".