This reborn Richmond pub captures the good old days but feels very 2026

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Following the pandemic, a pub-aissance took off in Melbourne, with dozens of old boozers reskinned and reinvigorated. But the next generation of publicans seem just as charmed by the past, and many have sought to capture the essence of the good old days.

The folks behind The Rising Sun in Richmond are some of the savviest when it comes to this balancing act. Their pub family has many children, including Fitzroy North’s Royal Oak, Brunswick’s Sporting Club and Fitzroy’s Marquis of Lorne. Not all have the same owners, but there’s an undeniable resemblance between them.

Timber panels are the surface of choice, Carlton Draught is on tap and sport plays (silently) on screens. Sunday roasts are sacred.

“The Riser”, in the furthest reaches of Richmond where the train meets the river, is their latest project and slots effortlessly into the genre of “2020s Melbourne pub”.

And this is how it plays out on a weeknight. Out front, five young men in King Gee stubbies have knock-offs on a table by the road. Moving inside, a tiled horseshoe bar sweeps across the front room. Men in collared shirts, groups of friends and 20-somethings on dates perch at high tables. A pool table sits on one side under a fringed lamp. There’s a “clack” as someone breaks.

It wasn’t always like this. The new owners had to clear out an op shop’s worth of Red Bull and Jim Beam merch before reopening the pub last June. But visit now and you’ll feel like an extra in The Riser: The 50 Shades of Mustard prequel, set in the years your parents were knocking back pints and everyone looked like they were straight out of a Rennie Ellis photo.

‘It feels like all of Richmond is here: people keep getting up to say hello to other tables.’

We may want our pub decor to throw back to 1973, but if we were eating what they were eating back then − rissoles and meatloaf and gristly steak with eggs − I think we’d be asking for the time machine to bring us back to the future.

The Riser’s executive chef, Scott Stevenson, understands that, offering enough comfort to keep feet on solid pub ground and enough “now” to keep a young crowd coming through the doors.

The Sunday roast is dead simple − beef, potatoes, carrots, gravy − but with a little flair − celeriac remoulade, salsa verde − to remind you someone else made it.

Chips are dusted with chicken salt. The chicken parma is a far cry from the mountains of rubbery breast common at other pubs. On top, tomato sugo provides acid and sweetness, and the cheese has the unmistakable tang of proper mozzarella, which is sourced from That’s Amore.

Moving away from counter-meal heroes, dumplings with gossamer wrappers protect a cloud of minced prawn. Falafel comes with all the trimmings: babaghanoush, zingy slaw, flatbread.

And the pork chop! From top Victorian producer Western Plains, it’s cooked better than at many restaurants, a touch charred but still juicy all the way through.

You can sip pots of house lager all night, or bounce around the drinks list: an elderflower spritz is a genteel thirst-quencher; Mac Forbes Yarra Valley pinot noir is never a bad idea; Doom Juice’s chilled red is priced for fun. There are three-figure bottles of wine available, too. Maybe for when the boss is paying.

On a Wednesday night in December, it feels like all of Richmond is here: people keep getting up to say hello to diners at other tables and wish each other Merry Christmas. The dining room can get pretty noisy, even when it’s not full. But seeing parents and their adult kids eating dinner together next to groups of gal pals and retirees doing their annual catch-up? That’s pretty great. There’s also a rooftop with its own bar where the party kicks on at weekends.

That everyday-ness is the essence of the pub. The best watering holes − no matter how good their food and drinks are − understand that and preserve it, even if the colour of the paint changes.

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