The Tudor

Our local, been coming here for 6 months or so. It’s a great, friendly pub with a warm atmosphere. Unfortunately wait times for food are consistently long here. Would be perf if they picked up the pace a little. (a lot)

Really glad to add this business on Unilocal as it deserves to get a bit of the spotlight.
A former chef is the cook at the Tudor Hotel and you can sense it from the absence of the usual fatty aspect your food has in a pub — not saying it makes for bad food but less fat means for taste of the ingredients themselves!
Anyhow, I had chorizo, kale and cherry tomatoes gnocchi and they were very nice. Lacked a bit of spice to my taste and I would have use a chilli oil myself but it was nice and a good serving for $ 19. Value for my money so no problem there!
My friend had haloumi — aka the God of Hungover Foods that can fuse with duckfat fried dumplings to create Nirvana — roasted baby beetroot and walnut salad with was really nice too.
The venue itself isn’t very nice, classic pub with lots of space and little quiet spots with tables all over the place, but it does the job!
I will probably go there again if I was in the area, though the rest of the menu was in my sense more restaurant style than pub style — pricing included.
Why doesn’t anyone have duckfat fried stuff on their menus?!?

It was a warm Wednesday night, shortly after 10pm, and we were looking to have a quick drink in Redfern. Dry Land Bar was closed, and the Woolpack were woolpacking-​up and refused to serve us. Arcadia was too far up the street, and likely closed by then, too. We settled, reluctantly, on the Tudor.
It’s a rough old pub, and it is appreciated by people who like drinking at rough old pubs. Rough old pubs have intrinsic value in that funny sort of way.
But the Tudor is a rough old pub without any charm. A very well lit TAB section fills up one area, decorated with hodgepodge flatscreen TVs and quinella forms, and another section is more of a drop-​in bottle shop behind a bar.
Then there’s the — ahem — «brasserie» — the eating area. I’ve never seen anyone eat here, but apparently this is where that sort of thing is meant to go on. There are those heavy wooden tables you find in old pubs, and the awkward tall tables that threaten to topple over when you put your elbows on them. There are a few old buttoned couches with mildewy foam bursting forth from the torn upholstery. Sometimes you catch yourself absentmindedly pulling bits of green foam off and flicking it onto the patterned carpet.
Up the back of the Tudor there’s a pokies section, where people still smoke inside, a repudiation of smoke-​free legislation that is so flagrant it is kind of impressive. There’s an outdoor area at the back, and a few other spaces dotted around, rabbit-​warren-​like and seedy.
So things were already pretty dire when we sat down to have our Wednesday night drink.
To my right was a large flat-​screen TV, and my drinking companion could not help but stare at it, rather than looking at me. Screens, they do that, right? Except on this occasion, the TV was tuned to some kind of medical show, which happened to be about testicles.
Suddenly, and without warning, the screen was filled with close-​up shots of damaged testicle sacks. Bulging, pussy, scabbed, and red: infected scrotums were blown-​up on the TV screen to about the size of a labrador. There were a few hairy shrivelled members in the mix too, but it was mostly testicles.
Nobody changed the TV station. We could hear blokes in the TAB section calling out,
«What the F#%K is this? Turn it off!» One man trudged past us, glancing back over his left shoulder over to the screen, yelling «That’s disgusting!», and looking closely for my reaction (since, apparently, a woman’s reaction to this sort of thing is particularly interesting).
I completely forgot what I was talking about, and my drinking companion attempted to fashion blinkers around his glasses from bent pieces of beer coaster. The blinkers did not work, and we both kept glancing back at the TV, unable to look away. The horror.
But the night degenerated further. Glancing up again at the screen (we just couldn’t help ourselves) we then learned that some cases of infected testicles require surgical intervention. Enter: BLOOD. Lots of it. Bright and glistening. Blood and testicles and penises and scalpels.
Still, no one changed the channel. I perched rigidly on the edge of the sofa, my back facing the screen. My drinking companion was slouched low in the couch, holding onto his beer coaster blinkers. Neither of us knew what to say.
I gazed into the empty «brasserie», and my eye caught some movement on the floor.
«Oh,» I said calmly, swallowing. «There are three rats running around on the floor over there. Look, they’re about three metres from us.»
There they were. Fat, grey and about 25 centimetres long. Rolling around over each other, chasing each other under the old wooden tables. It looked like one hell of a good time, if you were a rat, that is.
My drinking companion took a sharp intake of breath and quickly put his feet up on the coffee table in front of us. My own bare legs and sandals remained on the floor, but I continued to stare at the rats, lest they run towards us. I could already feel the strange, imagined sensation of little rat feet scurrying up my legs, and I needed a distraction. The prospect of staring at post-​operative testicles suddenly did not seem so bad. I had an escape plan mapped out, and it did not include jumping on the sofa and squealing.
«Aren’t you impressed I didn’t Unilocal?» I asked, continuing to gaze intently at the frolicking vermin.
«Oh, I thought you already checked in. You always do.»
«No, I don’t mean Unilocal,I mean Unilocal … as in squeal.»
«Well, no, yes, I mean … I guess. You ARE going to review this place aren’t you?»
«Yes.»
He reached out and finished my beer for me.
«Let’s go.»

I’ve only really been here for the pool table, and a couple of drinks. Although it’s just a simple bar, It still has to compete with places such as the Woolpack, and Norfolk down the road, and I can’t see this place becoming as trendy very soon, it may be a place for locals who prefer to start around 10am with liquid encouragement.
I have seen some of the food come out, and had a few friends who have commented on the overpriced, frozen meals that are baked or even worse microwaved onto the plates of customers.
The bar restaurant, has a bottle shop attached, and that’s what I see being the main income of the business, combined with the TAB, but they should really put more effort into the quality of the service, and food available.
Alright for a cheap beer, or to buy a case, but if you’re after some great food at reasonable prices, head to the Woolpack close by.