JULIET ATE HERE | receipt no. 9 — Bar Liberty
Bar Liberty, Fitzroy
(An ode to honey butter, fish done right, and service so smooth it feels invisible)
Receipt No. 9
Bar Liberty, 234 Johnston St, Fitzroy
Adventure Friday (moved to Sunday)
Sunday 28 July 2025
Total: $155.90
With: Sam
We bent the rules this week and moved Adventure Friday to Sunday. Why? Because Bar Liberty does a $65 Sunday set lunch, and after Sam’s brother’s 40th the night before, we needed it.
Everyone has told us to go. At least three different waiters, all unprompted, suggested it when we asked for recommendations. I’d been once years ago, Sam never.
We booked for 1pm. The front room was glowing, the kind of soft winter sun that shines through bottles lined on the windowsill. From the street, you can’t see in, there’s a mystery to it. Inside, the light filtered through glass in shades of green and amber, catching on tables and plates.
On the wall near the entrance, a list of names: Australian winemakers. A quiet nod to what this place is about.
The Menu:
Focaccia with honey butter
Bloody Mary St Helens oyster
Pickled mackerel with savoy cabbage, capers, chervil
Hand-cut pasta with goat’s curd, nettle, wild garlic
Ling with pink fir potatoes, beurre blanc, chives
Bread miso tart
To drink: Mischief Brew Aperitivo Spritz, Adelaide SA ($12 each)
The focaccia arrived first, warm, pillowy, served with honey butter accompanied by a Bloody Mary oyster and a plate of pickled mackerel with silky savoy cabbage. The focaccia felt almost like dessert mid-meal. Sam called it nostalgic: as a kid, when there were no sweet treats in the house, it was always honey on toast.
The oyster shot was a first for me, saline, briny, cut through with spice. Then the mackerel, bright and sharp, the kind of dish that wakes you up.
Next came hand-cut pasta with goat’s curd, nettle, and wild garlic. Soft ribbons tangled in a sauce that was green and fresh, somehow both comfort and spring in a bowl. The sauce so creamy, Sam was impressed.
The main: ling with pink fir potatoes, beurre blanc, and chives. Rich but precise, everything balanced, perfect fish, crispy potatoes, buttery sauce pulled sharp with chives.
Finally, dessert: a bread miso tart. The kind of sweet you don’t just eat but pause over. “Now that’s a tart,” I said, spoon in hand.
The service moved like clockwork, but softly, so smooth you barely noticed it happening. Plates cleared the moment you finished. Water glasses stayed full without a word. A fresh napkin appeared before Sam even realised he’d dropped his. Our waiter moved with a kind of fairy godmother energy, anticipating needs before we had them.
It was seamless and quiet, the kind of service that feels invisible until you stop and notice how cared for you are.
We lingered over the last bites of tart, watching the light stretch across the bottles in the window, turning everything amber. It felt like the kind of lunch that slows the world down, a quiet reset, a small luxury tucked into a Sunday.
Moment of the meal: “Honey butter should be mandatory.”
Thought to keep: “It feels like someone’s looking after you.”
Atmosphere: Sunlit, seamless, quietly generous
