The Old Clare

Full points to Alice, Guest Services Manager (according to her business card) at The Old Clare Hotel. She’s left a handwritten note on a cardboard coaster in my room, propped up against a framed photo of my toy poodle, Jinkee, sadly left at home for this trip. ‘Hello Mrs Smith,’ it reads, ‘We know you love writing, food and travelling, but there is also Jinkee, and we are gutted that he can’t be with you.’ At this point I’d usually explain that Jinkee is a girl, but I’m so impressed it doesn’t matter. It continues, ‘So we prepared a belated gift for him.’ In a calico bag with ‘Jinkee’ stamped across the front is a novelty squeaky dog toy. For the humans: treats from nearby Kakawa Chocolates. 

There are 62 rooms here in what used to be the Carlton and United Breweries Administration Building. A glass atrium links it to the pokiest-room-turned-reception with its retro posters, vintage barber chairs and amber glass-panelled desk. The atrium is a thoroughfare between Carlton and Kensington Streets, the latter lined with restaurants and a laneway of cheap eats called Spice Alley. My Clare Room is the priciest of three types, not including lofts and suites. If budget allows, the boardroom has been transformed into the 100-plus square metre C.U.B. Suite with restored timber panelling, an eight-seater table and slick bathroom featuring the original urinal. Each room is different and other than some plaster-chipped walls, mine feels a little newer. 

I wonder if anyone has tried to pinch the lamp made from old engine parts, but for all the industrial touches the super king bed feels soft enough to swallow me whole. Blackout blinds make it difficult to rise, countered only by the unwelcome sound of garbage trucks. On the small desk an information manual titled ‘Random crap’ flaunts the sassy Old Clare attitude, which segues to the shower with Triumph & Disaster toiletries (read the labels for cheap entertainment). There’s Young Henrys beer in the minibar from a few kilometres away, but I opt for tea in a Le Creuset mug. Wedged between the city and grungy-cool inner west, Chippendale – once a neighbourhood known for brothels and bad behaviour – is now the place to be. Given its history I’m hesitant to find out what happens if I hang the ‘I’m lonely’ sign on the door. The reverse reads ‘I’m busy’, a no-bollocks interpretation of the standard Do Not Disturb. 

Upon booking, my confirmation email urged me to contact #TheSuperConcierge and provided access to Porter & Sail, an invite-only website and app modelled on the concierge experience. I go with the former, explaining to the Super Concierge – more commonly known as Martin – that I haven’t been to Sydney for a little while and could he please recommend some places to eat because eating is what I do best. It’s an A+ for Martin, who bullet-points old favourites (Ester, Acme, Lumi Dining, 10 William Street) and sprinkles in some new ones (Saint Peter, Nour, Isaac). Automata at the Old Clare is as good as any, so I stay on-site. Inside, it turns out Automata is an old warehouse with an elongated communal table, open kitchen and mezzanine level, with mechanical features like cylinder downlights and an aircraft radial engine chandelier. Chef Clayton Wells offers a five-course set menu ($95 plus $65 for matched drinks) and a three-course lunch for $60 Wednesday through Saturday. 

When I visit, his new all-day diner A1 Canteen is moments away from opening across the pedestrian laneway. That means breakfast at the Old Clare’s Kensington Street Social, which is open three meals a day. I’m smug about booking the breakfast set with the room for an extra $25 – for two it would have cost twice that on the morning. One evening after dinner out I return to the hotel for a second dessert. Kensington Street Social accommodates with an oversized dark chocolate flan specked with cocoa nibs. For something more casual, the Clare Bar beside reception is a rowdier, retro homage to the original watering hole. 

The following morning I have chocolate flan on the brain and descend to the gym on level-1. It’s cavernous and feels a little like it’s there to tick an amenity box. My time is better spent beside the rooftop pool, with its stunning urban outlook among Chippendale’s multibillion-dollar redevelopment project. This includes a verdant backdrop courtesy of the world’s tallest vertical garden, cascading 150 meters down the reflective windows of One Central Park. This rooftop is clearly the place to do the Sydney socialite thing over summer – peacocking with beautiful people at the bar and attending pop-ups and events. Instead, I find peace in the middle of the city, first thing in the morning. The rooftop is a suntrap as water trickles over the edge of the infinity pool and muffled traffic starts up below. I think about the hotel. This is the fourth time The Old Clare has been accommodation since the mid 1800s, interspersed with other shops and dealerships. Here, I don’t need the walls to talk – in the face of gentrification you can feel the history.