Time Out Melbourne never writes starred reviews from hosted experiences – Time Out covers restaurant and bar bills for reviews so that readers can trust our critique.
On the first day of winter in 2023, husband-and-wife team Alex Back and Sophie Machin opened a cosy pub on Grey Street in St Kilda – perhaps a risky proposition in a suburb known for its summertime appeal. But Back’s 20 years of experience managing popular venues around the UK (the Boundary Rooftop in Shoreditch, Badger and Co in Edinburgh, among others) and his recent stint with the Stomping Ground Group have certainly helped get things off to a rip-roaring start. Machin has brought her graphic design and art direction skills from the advertising world to renovate the handsome space – and just like that, the Lion and Wombat has rocketed up the ranks to become one of Melbourne’s most respectable watering holes for traditional British pub food and drinks.
Friends of mine – an English couple from Norwich – recommended it to me out of the blue on a night out. “You’ve got to go in and review this place,” they said. “It’s just like being back home.” In my experience, it’s always the loveliest kinds of places that spread via word of mouth. “Best Scotch egg I’ve ever had in Australia,” one happy customer wrote online (though perhaps they ought to try the one at Reed House, too). Consider us curious.
Blown in from the bitter chill, we’re glad to be seated swiftly at a candlelit table next to the window. Exposed brick walls and leather Chesterfield sofas look just the part for a British-style sesh, a Union Jack flag is plastered across the wall and a coat of arms displaying the pub’s two mascots gleams above the door. We’re told the leafy beer garden gets a lot of love (and cute dogs!) during the day, but it’s the snug sunken lounge that looks most inviting on this cold night.
It’s the Lion and Wombat’s signature cocktail that first catches my eye – a drink that skews more Victorian than British. A thin-stemmed glass of raspberry and tarragon-infused prosecco (aptly named Jolly Good) lands on the table and while not necessarily complex, it’s a lot of fun. The citrusy wild-fermented prosecco from Maison Soleil in the Alpine Valley lends the drink fizzy and funky life, and it both looks and goes down like a fruity, liquefied sherbet. The house cocktail list has been developed by Dav Eames from Cocktails and Eames, previously head bartender at George’s Bar at the Gilbert Scott in London.
Though other cocktails tempt exploration – the Paddington (featuring marmalade and whiskey) and Pimm’s Cup are earmarked for next time – the Lion and Wombat’s most authentic drink is arguably its hand-pulled cask ale. Aussies might be horrified to discover that the British style isn’t traditionally served frosty but rather at cellar temperature; don’t worry, that’s still cold and better retains the richness of the beer’s character. It’s a highlight.
My $6.50 pot of specially brewed Wombat Draught (a collaboration with Stomping Ground) is excellent value, and a tasty way to wash down our glorious Scotch egg. And now to the million dollar question: how is it? It’s great – simple and humble, and I’m delighted to report, not dry at all. Exactly what I want from a beer snack. The gooey-yolked egg, cut in half to expose its glistening layers, has a salt-flecked crumb and is served with a tiny dollop of creamy mustard. It’s clear they’ve perfected the recipe.
I’m even more impressed by the smoked eel soldiers, two small canapé-like bites of toast generously loaded with tart beetroot, smoked eel and a smear of cream cheese. Historically, eels were an inexpensive, nutritious and plentiful ingredient for Londoners (often consumed in jellied form), but these days I mostly encounter it in Japanese restaurants or, occasionally, fine diners like Navi. The Lion and Wombat’s take is punchy, addictive and exactly the kind of snack you’d love to have on hand if friends made an impromptu visit. Upon my waiter’s suggestion, it’s comfortably paired with a crisp Picpoul de Pinet white wine from Languedoc.
For mains, we’ve opted for rolled pork belly, stuffed with apple and sage. It’s a delicious and multifaceted mountain of a dish, served with a dollop of sweet apple sauce and coated generously in tasty jus. Though I would have preferred thick-cut British chips than the skinny French-style straws we’re served, I can’t complain after dipping a fry in its accompanying fennel-salted mayo.
Here, food is uncomplicated and crowd-pleasing flavours are the focus. What’s not to love? It doesn’t feel raucous for a St Kilda-British pub – more like a sensible bistro, the kind of place where you'd feel comfortable having dinner with your parents. I half expect the ghost of my late grandmother to walk out with a tray of bone china teacups, biscuits and one of her old phrases my family miss the most: “Tea for the troops!”
We notice the atmosphere winds down at 9pm and by this time we’re ready to bid farewell, but not before discussing plans to revisit. There’s a fish finger sandwich I want to go and try next time with mum, washed down with a round of Pimm’s Cups.