3 Wise Monkeys Pub — Restaurant in Sydney

I don’t typically write reviews, but I felt compelled to share my experience with this pub. Tonight was my final evening in Sydney, part of a once-in-a-lifetime trip across the world to celebrate graduating college. I am an American. My sister and I had spent the day walking miles, sightseeing, and making friends along the way. We decided to end the night with a drink at this pub, conveniently located across from a karaoke bar we were excited to visit but ended up being closed. We got to this bar at around 11:30, it did not seem super busy at all so we were excited to sit down for a bit and get a drink.

After walking over 10 miles, I was understandably exhausted, but still wanted to unwind and spend a little time with the new friends I’d made. I rarely drink, and didn’t intend to drink much, just one glass of wine to enjoy the atmosphere (I do not drink hard liquor). As we approached the venue, I opened my bag to get my ID, and my wallet accidentally fell out. My friend’s phone dropped at the same time, and we shared a laugh over the coincidence.

As I approached the entrance, the security guard said something to me, but I didn’t quite catch it due to him mumbling and the loud cars driving near by. He then asked how much I had to drink, which caught me off guard. I hesitated for a moment, confused, partly because I’ve never been asked that question at a venue before, and partly because I couldn’t tell if he was being serious. I eventually responded, somewhat uncertainly, that I had about two drinks throughout the entire night (in truth, it was less than that).

To my surprise, the guard denied me entry, stating that I couldn't come in because I was too drunk. I wasn’t showing any signs of intoxication and genuinely wasn’t drunk. It came out of the blue to such a point that my friends were laughing because it seemed incredulous that I would be singled out and denied entry.

What confused and frustrated me further was that my friends, who had consumed more alcohol than I had, were allowed in without question. I was given no opportunity to explain or clarify, and the guard simply dismissed me. I even walked in a straight line to prove to him that I was not drunk but he still would not let me specifically in. I was in a group of five women, aged 18-22, so it was weird to me that he allowed everyone in except me. Like most women, the group I was with wouldn't abandon me so we left without buying any drinks or food, which we were originally planning on doing so.

We walked a mile back to our accommodation feeling confused and disheartened. I'm still sober as I write this right after the incident. I can’t help but wonder, was I treated this way because I’m American? Was the security guard on a power trip? Was there something else at play?

I’ll never know, but what I do know is that this experience left a bitter impression on what should have been a memorable final night in Sydney. The pub was nearly empty, so I can’t imagine they were turning people away lightly. I felt targeted and unfairly judged, and it truly hurt to be treated this way, especially when I was simply trying to enjoy one last night in a city I’ve come to love.

I gain nothing from writing this review, and I don't expect to return, but I do hope the management takes this feedback seriously. The role of security should be to ensure safety, not to deny paying customers entry because of some weird power dynamic that seemed to be at play. I sincerely hope future guests are treated with more respect and...

Crispin, a wiry chicken schnitzel of once-proud golden crust, surveyed the wasteland of his paper plate with despair. A measly 20ml of mushroom gravy clung stubbornly to the corner, mocking his parched breading. The ration board's decree echoed in his ears: "Twenty milliliters, no more. Violators will be sent to the Deep Fryer."

Crispin longed for the days of gravy gushing like a sunlit meadow, drenching him in savory embrace. Now, every bite was a dry rasp against his tongue, a cruel reminder of the rationing. Every schnitzel in Sydney bore the same parched fate, victims of the Department of Mushroom Gravy Regulation's (DMGR) draconian policies.

He shuffled off the plate, his breading dragging like a deflated sail. The once-bustling George Street was a graveyard of gastronomic despair. Withered parmis sat hunched on plates, their cheese hardening into brittle tombstones. A lone meat pie, its pastry flaking like sun-bleached bone, stared vacantly at the sky.

Crispin saw a glimmer of hope – a furtive movement by the bins. It was Bruno, a wizened lamb chop, rumored to have connections on the black gravy market. "Bruno," Crispin rasped, "got any… spare drops?"

Bruno's single, rheumy eye narrowed. "You know the risks, Crispin. They caught Maurice last week, sent him straight to the Fryer. Turned him into a nugget in three seconds flat."

Desperation clawed at Crispin's crumbly innards. "Just a dribble, Bruno. Anything. I can't take another dry bite."

Bruno sighed, his bony fingernail scraping a grimy tin hidden under the bin. He held out a single mushroom cap, glistening with forbidden gravy. Crispin snatched it, the rich aroma making his insides quiver. He closed his eyes, savoring the nectar as it soaked into his parched breading.

A guttural roar shattered the silence. Two DMGR goons, their uniforms crisp and gravy-smeared, lumbered towards them. Bruno vanished into the alley. Crispin, the cap clutched in his hand, stood frozen.

"Caught red-handed, schnitzel!" boomed the lead goon, a greasy walrus of a man. "That's a one-way ticket to the Deep Fryer."

Crispin tried to run, but his dry crust, heavy with the stolen drops, held him back. The goons grabbed him, their laughter echoing like hyenas in the empty street. They dragged him towards the ominous rumbling truck parked at the end of the street, its exhaust spewing the sickly sweet scent of hot oil.

As they shoved him into the fryer basket, Crispin closed his eyes. Not a tear fell, for there was no moisture left in him. In the searing oil, he thought of Bruno, of the forbidden cap, and the fleeting taste of a gravy-soaked dream. Then, with a sizzle and a pop, Crispin the schnitzel was no more, another casualty in the war against mushroom gravy rationing.

On George Street, the wind whistled through the empty bins, carrying the faint, greasy scent of fried chicken. The sun beat down on the parched plates, casting long shadows that stretched like empty bowls, begging for a gravy that...

This is a nice pub for a drink. But food? Well, I am writing this review because of their food. This is supposed to be a pizza margherita.... it is not. At all. Look at this picture. I did not expect them to have a real pizza oven to be fair. But the tiny amount of herb on top is not even basil... it looks & tastes like alfalfa. And there is a tiny bit of tomato sauce with no real tomatoes in sight. This is a cheese pizza. Just call it a cheese pizza. This is really really disappointing considering that I have come here for drinks many times & I love the atmosphere here. I would have actually been totally fine with eating a cheese pizza if they had labelled it that way on the menu. But to expect a margherita pizza and get a 0-tomato, 0-basil pizza is just a slap in the face to Queen Margherita of Savoy herself.

EDIT: Ok, I changed my review from 3 stars to 4 after coming round here on another day & remembering why I like this place haha. My initial review was maybe too harsh. I have also been to a handful of Aussie pubs now and I have realized that bastardizing European classics is a pub staple... This pub does have a great atmosphere, whether you prefer to socialize or to find a quiet corner to pull your laptop out. I was pretty choked by the pizza being mislabelled since I was expecting something completely different. But the building, the staff & the vibes are all on point. And SELLING POINT - this is one of the only pubs I have found in Sydney that has a real IPA on tap. My Canadian alkie arse is not used to these sub 4% Aussie beers... I need a hoppy knock-you-off-your-bum beer!! These guys have a nice...