The young local crowd gravitates to this little gem of a bar like moths to a flame. A gritty, underground feel echoes across every inch of the spray-painted brick interior of Ching-a-Lings – named after the famous New York biker gang of the 1970s – and suits the dingy Oxford Street surrounds.
The quickest way to find this place is to ask someone. There is no signage and no line up the stairs to the yellow-lit bar, which is furnished with low couches and tall bar stools.
You won’t find any fancy cocktail lists or extravagant bar food here. It just beer, house wine and spirits at Ching-a-Lings, which are all reasonably priced for an inner city watering hole.
DJs spin a mix of funk and electronic beats while patrons kick back to chat with friends. There's also a small rooftop area that's rarely anything less than buzzing.
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