Sunburnt Cow is the worst name for a restaurant I can recall—though a now defunct place on East 6th Street called Anar Bagh gave the Cow a run for its money. This Australian spot opened two months ago on Avenue C, where nearly a dozen bars and cafés have turned the tree-shaded thoroughfare into a rollicking frontier town, sucking the patrons out of the Avenue B joints and leaving them half empty. I wondered what constituted an Aussie (or "Ozzie") restaurant as I climbed the rickety wooden porch. The national propensity for drink and sport is demonstrated immediately by the expansive barroom and big-screen TV, making the back room a far better place to dine. Some plaster master has turned it into a grotto tinted the rusty color of Ayers Rock and the Great Australian desert. In fine weather the tarp that serves as the roof is rolled back, and the full moon sometimes washes customers in eerie light. A persistent bark is probably one of the feral mutts that haunt the tenement backyards of Avenue C, or... More >>>