Almanac Pubs: Grace Mackenzie’s third pub, the All Nations in Richmond

 

Grace Mackenzie has been the beneficiary of a generous scholarship provided by Kevin Densley for the mentoring of budding writers. Consequently, John Harms has acted as Grace’s mentor over a period of time, liaising with both Grace and Kevin as the process evolved. Kevin hopes to continue to offer similar opportunities in the future.

 

 

Almanac (Pub) Life: Friday Night at The All-Nations Hotel

 

 

 

 

Image: Victorian Heritage

 

 

When you picture the perfect person to get a pub recommendation, I’m sure you don’t envision a twenty-something girl who works a white-collar job and lives in Melbourne’s inner city. Hell, if I walked up to myself and offered a recommendation I’d scoff and walk away. Luckily, my friends at the Almanac have entrusted me to review my favourite pubs in Australia in a three-part series. For the first, I spoke of home in Darwin, The Humpty Doo Hotel. The second was a pub in my new home, Melbourne, The Tote. To conclude with my third, I decided to put some of that trust back into the Almanac team and take myself on a booze cruise at their suggestion, to then pass those suggestions on to you.

 

The bar I set for pubs is always high, so I’m tough to impress – but never for the reasons you’d think. I’m not on the hunt for which establishments have shown their best contemporary take on a $30 cheeseburger, but rather a joint that would make my nan faint if she discovered I frequented (my mum’s mum that is, because my dad’s is a former publican, and I have seen her do a ‘wet p*ssy’ shot with my own two eyes).

 

I recently explained it to a fellow pub-goer that I find myself chasing the nostalgia of an era I never lived through. Maybe we can chalk that up to experiencing my twenties in an ever-complicated world, chasing simpler times. Without psycho-analysing myself too deeply (this is a pub review after all, not a therapy session), I liken the stories of my parents’ teens and twenties in the 80s and 90s to those of mine and it shows how disconnected we continue to become in a social media society. Now, I’m no better than the next 23-year-old – my screen time is shocking – but going to a pub that hasn’t changed in twenty years immortalises the era and its people with it. Rather than standing with your friends alone in a crowd of 100, you play pool with a man who introduces you to his pet cockatoo and wife over Facetime and later give an in-depth tutorial on your nail routine to a group of women at the bar. For an hour or two, it feels like the sort of Australia those overseas dream about, rather than its often-sobering reality.

 

I’d like to say the Almanac editors must get that about me, because when I was directed to the All Nations Hotel in Richmond, I was instantly sold.

 

Tucked away in the surprising hidden  suburb of Richmond, where trains rattle by, high on old lines built while Melbourne was marvellous, The All Nations first opened its doors in 1873. It sits among nineteenth century terrace house which would have been home to Irish working class Dads and Mums with tribes of kids in the two or three rooms. The public house was just that, public. A common lounge room, just as the parks were common back yards.

 

Speaking to current publican Bob, who has owned the All Nations since 2015, he paints a vibrant picture of the establishment’s past. Though there’s a fog around its first century since inception, the stories around the pub heat up around the 1970s, when the All Nations found itself in the heart of Melbourne’s Waterfront wars. A battle for control of waterfront crime within the Painters and Dockers came to a head with the murder of union secretary Pat Shannon and, while luckily (for the time), the All Nations was not the scene of the crime, Bob tells me of Pat’s wife Wilma who was the publican. So, to no surprise, the All Nations was a hotspot for unionists. Bob even points to the gunshot hole in the mantelpiece above the Snug Bar’s fireplace, where someone had taken a shot and (luckily) missed.

 

Those who know about Melbourne’s historic underbelly know the story of Dick Pratt. (I do not claim to be one of them. Bob had to tell me all about it.) Australia’s third richest man at the time and Chairman of manufacturing empire Visy Group, Prattv was discovered to have teamed up with rival Amcor to assemble a price-fixing cartel. If you ask me, a cardboard cartel is the least interesting gang you could assemble, but it was a very big deal at the time. What might not be known, is that the two infamous meetings that resulted in this collusion’s downfall took place in the All Nations’ own dining room. I can’t say I feel ‘bad’ for its victims – if you ever hear me aim sympathy at Nestlé, Coca-Cola or any other trillion-dollar company, assume a lobbyist has stolen my skin. But I do have to say that the whole ordeal being taken down by Amcor’s own external lawyers because they were going after five ex-employees for setting up their own consultancy firm, is the ultimate payback. In 2005, in the middle of its grilling piece towards Pratt, even The Age couldn’t help throwing The All Nations a bone, calling it as ‘renowned for its good grub, cold beer and well-worn wooden interior’.

 

Interestingly, the All Nations was the backdrop for the first two seasons of The Front Bar, the AFL talk show on 7 hosted by Andy Maher, Mick Molloy and Sam Pang. Back then, it was called Friday Front Bar and was yet to be picked up by the network, running only on the AFL website, but by all other aspects looked like the show 40-something dads love to tune into weekly today. And a few others. Bob tells me the idea spawned from Molloy himself who was a regular at the All Nations and had devised the plan to film the show in its Snug bar. So, for the first two seasons, they opened shop at 7am each Friday morning to film the episode of the week. Unfortunately, once picked up by Channel 7, the network wanted to reformat to a live setting. The All Nations couldn’t give up its Friday Night rush for filming, so production moved to filming on a set – which was heavily inspired by the homey bar the hosts had hugged for its first two years.

 

Mark Shields, a pre-eminent wine critic of his day, also held great affection for the Snug bar as he held office each week out the front of the All Nations. Bob tells me that wine reps from across Melbourne would frequent the pub in hopes of catching Mark to pass off their latest samples. I’m sure the locals who befriended Mark had a field day joining him on pro bono tastings.

 

It’s apparent that the All Nations has caught the attention of Melbourne journalists across the board, even as I talk to one of the front-of-house staff about my reason to attending, she asks me if it’s in relation to another 3AW review. I can only imagine this is due to radio host Tony Leonard’s apparent affection for the pub; he has personally written five reviews of the spot since 1996, with the most recent last year. Each, as you would expect, is as glowing as the next. In Tony’s own words, ‘the All Nations genuinely falls into Iconic status in the life of Melbourne pubs’, and through my visits I can see exactly what he means.

 

On my first visit to the All Nations I feel as though I stick out like a sore thumb, not in a way that someone such as myself doesn’t belong, but that I’d missed the memo up until now. Most pubs in Melbourne can feel as though their main imports are passers-by, but here as it feels as though I could introduce myself and expect to be known by my extended family as if I were in my hometown. As each new person walks in, they’re greeted by the older locals that hug the front bar, and each time I look up the population has grown by one. “Should I sit next to Jack, or should I sit next to one of you fellas as old as me?”, one says upon entry, and next to Jack he sits. Out back are the younger crowd, but if you’re as inexperienced as I was, don’t assume that they aren’t acquainted – each time one comes up to order the next round, they sit down with the ‘old fellas’ and fit themselves right into the conversation.

 

Image: All Nations Hotel

 

Sneaking out the back, I treat myself to a Sunday arvo Parmi. It’s what I call ‘pub perfect’ – it’s not winning any Michelin stars, but if I was looking for a Michelin meal, I wouldn’t start searching at a place I need to order at the front bar. Rather it’s a welcoming meal that eases the faint feeling I have in the day’s abnormally hot spring heat. It’s so large I need to take half home (+2 points) with the intention of eating it for my lunch the next day. Instead, I watch my partner devour it in four bites when I get home and still rate it a ten despite being long cold.

 

While some historic pubs feel their age and a bit tired – which can ultimately take away from their atmosphere – the All Nations’ character is embedded in the fact that it feels frozen in time. Perfectly preserved (or, made to feel preserved) in that classic 80s way – I’m talking red rug, wood panelling on the walls and brass accents from top to bottom. Rather than being worn down to the linoleum and chipping away, it all looks like it couldn’t be more than a few years old. Bob confirms this for me when we chat, telling me about each renovation he did when he got the keys; new flooring, new coat of paint, the whole works. It’s something I greatly respect, some see change as the only path forward, while others don’t dare to make a single change. But acknowledging who you are, while making room for change is a path less travelled.

 

I think what’s special about the All Nations is that no more than two decades ago it wasn’t at all special. You could find a pub exactly like it on every corner of every city and every country town, with its Carlton Draught sign ready to welcome you in. But where others have caved to their age, either wearing down or stripped to the bone to become something new, the All Nations has stood tall. Rather, it’s time capsule of after work knockoffs and Friday night footy. By sticking to its principles of not looking to be unique, it’s become a unique institution in itself. And that makes complete sense.

 

So, here’s my third, and final, recommendation for my Pub Life series with the Almanac; if you’re ever down in Melbourne, catch the train down to the All Nations hotel on a sunny Sunday afternoon. In a city that never stops, it’s a worthwhile endeavour to slow down and ‘smell the roses’ – which, in this case, is a euphemism for drinking an ice-cold Carlton Draught.

 

The annual Footy Almanac Grand Final lunch at the All Nations Hotel. Year? Dips, can you recall?

 

To read more by Grace Mackenzie, including her first two parts of this series, click here.

 

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