West Village

"One of your $10 negronis on tap, please," I ask the bartender.

"You know that's not a beer, right?" It's Australia Day and I figure she's having a stab at my lack of blokeness. It's a wide target.

"Yeah, all good. Keen to give it a whirl. It's been a long day," I say.

"It's just that a lot of people think it's a beer."

"How many is a lot?" I ask, figuring surely no more than 10 or 20 per cent.

"Oh, about half. Maybe more. That's why I ask everyone now. There was a lot of negroni wastage."

Rightio, then. We're at the West Village Hotel opposite Petersham station. You might have once known it as The White Cockatoo – a wonderful old-mate's pub with nicotine-stained walls, pinball, Nobby's Nuts and chicken schnitzels the size of a baby. This is not an overstatement: the fried chook slabs here were ridiculous and mates of mine back in the day had a "Schnitty Committee" you could join when you finished a whole one. It was a small club.

The Cockie had its wings clipped and reopened in November as West Village. It's the first venue from Goodtime Hospitality, a new hospo group (because Sydney doesn't have enough already) co-owned by entrepreneur James Bodel and Locky Paech (ex-licensee of The Forresters).

A vicious gutting has made the pub unrecognisable from its old self. The eastern block is your "traditional" pubby bit, featuring heavily stained woods, ancient tennis racquets and a wall of handsome mid-century mirrors that I reckon would have cost a mint. The western half is lighter and whiter and features distressed walls, cane chairs and a lot of low-maintenance green things in pots.  

It's clean and nice and deliberate and soulless. A top place for lunch with the extended family, but not the kind of joint where I'd want to sink schooners and talk rubbish all night. I'd be too worried about knocking an antique cricket bat off the wall on the way to loo.

If you do want to drink beer in Petersham (and the bowling club isn't open) the Village can facilitate with a respectable tap list that includes local brews by Grifter and Shenanigans plus house standards. A tequila and mescal Old Fashioned ($17) is worth your hard-earned and a couple of the $12 pre-bottled cocktails – such as a watermelon gin pop or Kraken iced coffee – would go down a treat on a hot day in the pub's semi-outdoor zone.

There's a schnitzel on the menu but it's not chicken and it's not the size of a Faroe island. It's a standard issue veal number with crunchy brown crumbs and submissive meat – the same guy you can find in any golf club bistro in the country. However, I'd wager steamed veg and gravy would have made better plate mates than shoestring fries, burnt-lemon caper butter and a plod of room-temperature sauerkraut.

A brioche dinner roll stuffed with hunks of blue swimmer crab, avocado and celery ($12) is too rich in cream and price for its size. Meanwhile, the mozzarella-heavy kimchi poutine ($12) should be avoided completely. Chorizo slices braised in red wine ($12) fare better – a real Spanish cowboy dish with soft, big-flavoured slices of sausage you can almost spread like 'nduja​ on the accompanying Brickfields' sourdough. Perfect stuff for a Morris shiraz out of Rutherglen ($40) described on the wine list as, ahem, "cuddly".

I feel sorry for the Petersham local wanting a schooner in a pub without kitsch and forced nostalgia. Where are they going now that so many boozers in the area have been "reimagined"? I'm not against change. I'm just not sure who's asking for it when half the patrons here are sending a negroni back when they realise it's not beer.

Sometimes it's best to stick with VB, chicken schnitzel and gravy.

THE LOW-DOWN
Go for… chirpy, chatty staff and a cup of chorizo.
Stay for… Rock'N'Roll Bingo on a Tuesday night.
Drink… a negroni on tap.
And… head to The Goni's Schnitzelria (296 Marrickville Road, Marrickville) if you crave the old Cock's giant schnitties.