It's so much more than a bun fight
The countdown's on, with just over a week till Easter long weekend. First and foremost, let us remind all you heathens out there that Easter is a time of great religious significance.
It’s not about chocolate – although if cocoa is your jam we sincerely recommend you get down to the Shocolate factory in the city to watch their sculptors in action, and then mosey over to Monsieur Truffe to pick up a monstrous chocolate cockrel. What’s not to love about a 4kg beast that looks as fierce as it's delicious? Although if you’d prefer something that doesn’t look like it belongs in a Buenos Aires cock fight how about a blue collar bunny? We don’t quite know what Cacao were thinking when they created their workin’ class rabbit that comes in a nifty set of dungarees, but then again we don’t rightly care when we get to ogle their outlandish tableaux made up of 150kg of chocolate.
It’s not about hot cross buns either, even though without fail these embellished bread rolls manage to get most of Melbourne hot under the collar as they joust over who does dough best. Usually we’re right there in the fray sticking our two pennies worth in for the fluffy wonders at Baker D Chirico and Aviv, but this year we’re picking up a tub of hot cross bun flavoured ice cream from Fritz Gelato instead.
And it’s absolutely not about drinking. Heaven forbid you have a last Supper Club wine, before getting crucified at the Mercat Cross and then head for a pick-me-up at the Resurrection. But we don’t condone that kind of thing here at Time Out. Although on the eve of a long weekend it would be a shame to sell yourself short. So perhaps you might discreetly just mosey on south to Joe’s for cocktails beachside, east to the Bridge Hotel for burgers, beers and the most outlandish fitout this side of Disneyland. Go west to Acqua y Vino in Yarraville for a little old school cocktailery, or north to the Bishop of Ostia for pig’s ear sandwiches and Cricketer’s beers all round. If you’re in the city, the Bottom End keeps turning the fun dial up to 11 with trashtastic décor, 3am po’ boys and bags of rave juice.
Happy Easter, folks.