Smith Street is, in my opinion, one of
the most bizarre streets in Melbourne.
Walking down here you see
everything; hipsters, fashionistas, fabulous gay men, homeless
people, grungy teens and everything in between. Within a single block
you can pass the most ridiculously over-priced boutique selling
useless arty crap and then world's cheapest shitty café, often right
next to each other. Want to feel fashionable and slightly
uncomfortable about your safety at the same time? Smith Street is the
place to do it.
So when I tell you that Panama can only
be reached by entering a very nondescript door,
 |
Inviting!
|
climbing what appears to be a metal
fire escape for three stories, before arriving at a fire door
completely devoid of any signage, you're likely to think I've made a
terrible mistake.
 |
| Look at this door. You just know you're about to walk in on something extremely important that you absolutely should not interrupt. Like a theatre production or mafia drug deal or something. |
But if you manage the climb and have
the guts to barge through what looks like the door into a high-risk
industrial plant, then you'll experience the only restaurant I've
ever found that manages to combine relaxed with excellence.
