Beach Haus

The former Barons site (RIP) has been stripped of its dark leather couches, charmingly dishevelled bar and smooth jazz jukebox and turned into a 70s cruise ship nightmare. Credit where credit is due however: the club does look like a beach house. 

Beach Haus is a supposedly underground, need-a-swipe-card-to-get-into, secret club. Granted, it was a midweek venture, but frankly, the exclusive angle is a bit of a bust. We just walked straight in. There are green, doughnut-shaped leather couches with pot plants sprouting from the centre, bright lighting, diagonally striped pine and mirror walls, mosaic bar tables and DJ decks placed awkwardly near the centre of the room. Hmm.

The bar is adequately stocked with the usual nightclub fair and is manned by a young, good-looking team kitted out in cut-off Le Coq Sportif sailor outfits. All the main spirits, mixers and garnishes abound and there's a reasonable selection of red, white and bubbles at standard Kings Cross cocktail bar prices. At Beach Haus, you can supersize your cocktail. This involves an oversized silver shell brimming with half a bucket of ice, a litre of cocktail and five foot-long straws poking out the top. It'll set you back about $140 and be warned, this is a two-arm job: try and carry it in one and you'll end up with booze juice all over your shoes. 

We retire to the couches to watch the crowd of models, French dudes (Wednesday night is WOW, a Kronenburg-sponsored Francophile night) and what looked like the end of an office party hit the dance floor to a mix of 2005 party jams and recent house hits until the clock strikes 11 and the club clears out. Next time we'll have to get our midweek kicks down the road at Bada Bing.