Stowaway Bar

It's a Monday night, it's cold, it's wet and Stowaway Bar is going nuts. Very audibly nuts. The kind of volume only heard at Anzac Day two-up or the runway of international airports.

Freshwater's most popular classroom-sized bar is chockers with guys in their mid-20s knocking back beers like there's no tomorrow.

I don't think I've ever been in a nautically themed joint that actually sounds and smells like a pirate tavern might have and after a couple of 4 Pines Pale Ales ($8) I make up my mind that I like Stowaway Bar and its noisy bunch of ragtags very much.

I'm slightly disappointed, then, when I find out there's a 4 Pines Brewery staff party going down and things "aren't usually this hectic".

It's true. I return later in the week and it's a very different bar. There are a few small groups huddled around tables sharing jugs of punch and bottles of pinot gris and the noise level doesn't go past "somewhat excited school excursion".

Stowaway refers to itself as a dive bar on its Facebook page. It's not. The bouquet of wildflowers on each table kills that notion. A collection of antique paraffin lamps buries it, and the fact my Mr Ford's Blazer ($17) cocktail is served with a finger of shortbread sees the notion cremated and scattered over Queenscliff Bay.

Now, call me Candy Pants Boys, but I liked that my blazer was served with bonus shortbread.

Lord knows it wouldn't work with a mezcal margarita but, by Jove, it does with a snifter filled of Angostura seven-year-old rum, Old Codger tawny port, roasted walnut syrup and a peaty spray of Lagavulin whisky. Served hot and finished with an orange peel and cinnamon quill, it's a soothing drop and I immediately wish I was drinking it in bed with a Wodehouse novel and not facing a long and wet 40-minute drive home.

The Gibson Girl ($16) is a little less sleep-inducing even though it has nothing in common with the two-onion martini named after Charles Dana Gibson's 19th-century drawings of the all-American girl. It's a homely a mix of Kraken rum, Angostura five-year-old, bitters, butterscotch schnapps, lime juice and pear reduction. A couple of these by a window in the summer and I'm happy.

Thoughts of a ramen mission to Ryo's on the way back across the bridge are dashed when a pair of chorizo tacos ($13) come to the table. They're chunky boys and I'd wager there's almost a whole chorizo and avocado split between each of the soft tortillas. They're fine and fatty although need a bit of crunch to cut through the mush.

Luckily "Old Greg's Ceviche" ($16) has a Simply Red wig of fried sweet potato shavings you can borrow for texture. The rest of the ceviche isn't much chop thanks to rubbery scallops and thickly cut salmon, and I wish I'd abandoned my slider prejudice and ordered the chicken katsu buns instead (3 for $13).

It's all good, though. Whether it's a night of beer and back slapping or cocktails and conversation you can have a good time here. Staff genuinely care and have given it a red hot go to provide Freshie with a decent boozer.

You just might want to bring some earplugs if there's a party on.

THE LOW-DOWN
Go for … glass-clinking bonhomie in Freshie.
Stay for … a pizza from next door's kitchen.
Drink … The Gibson Girl.
And … there's a mulled cider in the winter that's warmer than a wetsuit.