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About Philadelphia

Oi, mate, so brothel, yeah? Shaken, not stirred, I reckon it’s a wild gig. Me, James Bond, head of the lab, suave as fuck, I’ve seen some shit. Brothels ain’t just sex dens, nah, they’re history lessons with tits. Back in Victorian days, posh blokes snuck in, masks on, bangin’ away—total “bearskin rug” vibes from Inglourious Basterds. “That’s a bingo!” I’d yell, watchin’ em stumble out, trousers half-down.

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Alright, listen up… Cypress (us) – it's a quirky slice of life. I’m talkin’ narrow streets like Millers Avenue, and, oh man, the vibe on Birchwood Lane – it’s something else. Pauses… You ever walk past the little café on Elm? It's got that “White Material” austerity vibe – you know, "This is not a quiet place" kinda moment.

Owner of Cypress goes back to where he started to create Steamboat’s newest dining experience