What bad craziness is this? A new bar named after Hunter Stockton Thompson? The sign outside the bar has the motif of Thompson’s always-on Aviators, a pair of crossed pistols and a Steadman-esque bat. The same owners run the Hemingway near Victoria Park: they seem to have a thing for suicidal, alcoholic American writers. But once inside, the Hunter theme stops abruptly. This bar’s not a fiery tomb of magic, mystery, and myth, but a pleasant, comfortably furnished, dimly-lit neighbourhood drinking and dining spot in a restrained art deco style, its walls decorated with some enormous and feral bits of taxidermy. There is a bottle of Wild Turkey behind the bar, but it’s hidden behind a row of upmarket bourbons. The men’s toilet is stiff with framed pornographic prints of women: apart from that, everything else is rather civilised.
For info, see Hunter S listing.