tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20396116088735014892024-03-19T11:52:16.864+00:00Cool Bars for Uncool PeopleSometimes you need to convince someone that rather than being a lager addled man-child with a predilection for kebabs, you’re actually a suave social chameleon with a penchant for the finer things in life. This blog is meant to help you take people to bars and other venues that reflect well on you; secret underground drinking-holes that only people who really know the vibe and pulse of a city could know about. But really you got it off this blog. Good luck!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13370179933402108685noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2039611608873501489.post-8297737780589650812014-04-17T16:31:00.001+01:002015-01-22T13:06:05.652+00:00Bunga Bunga Brunch <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For our first review in quite some time we bring you something rare and new. A cool bar for uncool people South West of Hyde Park Corner. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">‘What?’ I hear you cry! 'Why would we stray out of our comfort zone to spend time in a part of London where trends go to die? What could possibly draw us to the environs of Tarquin and Hettie?' The reason lies on Battersea Bridge Road, and particularly between the hours of 11:30 and 5pm on a Saturday during which the famous Bunga Bunga Brunch takes place. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is worth visiting at other times, it just seems that if we are going to be advocating needless drinking, we may as well give it a purpose and some lining. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In fact it retains the atmosphere of unbridled fun, which is fully let loose at brunch, throughout the week; that is, if you can deal with the proliferation of garish corduroys and signet rings. Why, then, focus on the brunch? The first reason being that brunch is normally a fairly sedate and contemplative affair.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You’ll be struggling to finish a Bloody Mary or a Bucks Fizz wondering whether you actually like any of these drinks or are just battling through out of conformity. You’ll be struggling to finish a Bloody Mary or a Bucks Fizz and wondering whether you actually like any of the people sitting in your personal space in this cramped, open-brick-walled-furnace. Seriously, why do people queue for so long to go to the Breakfast Club? Or, if you’re a ‘real’ person you’ll be smugly reading the paper, sipping your macchiato while sampling some sort of hand reared quinoa omelette, and smiling occasionally at your besotted extension. Either way, it’ll be fucking boring. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Bunga Bunga, however, manages to invigorate this normally morose affair. The second reason may have more traction. If you are to believe any popular nightlife or bar review site, from small blogs to industry leading websites, the average Londoner is so jaded with the standard bar or pub experience that they are aching to try anything and everything, so long as it’s different. So, like everyone else, we have settled on something a little more unique and peculiar. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The joy of Bunga Bunga is that it fulfils these needs in such a reckless way: Step in from the searing light of Saturday morning to the dark, thick-pulled-curtain comfort to see long tables prepared with carafes of various flavours of fruit juice: the perfect medicine when mixed with a good dose of Prosecco. All proceeds at a fairly gentle pace until about the 4th or 10th glass when small talk becomes loud talk and chairs mysteriously turn into a disjointed collection of wood and metal (sorry). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sometime during this period ‘brunch’ is brought out. I say ‘brunch’ in its broadest sense, since pizza with a glass of Prosecco in the early afternoon seems about as far from brunch as Dr Oetker’s pizza is as far from being made by a real authentic Italian doctor. There are eggs on some of them though – so that’s a bonus. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This sense of warped time adds to the growing feeling of excess and extravagance. Once all the food has been consumed, or at least put near a mouth and then on the floor, the real fun begins. Lights dim still further, the cross-dresser appears and the karaoke begins. All else is full of lights, sounds and other indeterminable flurries of sensation. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The only issue is, what do you do once Bunga Bunga shuts its doors and you are flung out into the real world so early on a Saturday? Has your weekend just begun, or is it already over…<br /><br />O.C</span><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13370179933402108685noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2039611608873501489.post-72680811988374819292013-10-04T12:35:00.000+01:002014-08-18T11:58:33.846+01:00Manero's<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After something of a hiatus following our really quite unacceptable behavior in several of these bars that we profess to love so much; we’re back, and we’re going back to our <a href="http://coolbarsforuncoolpeople.blogspot.co.uk/2012/11/mezcaleria-quiquiriqu.html" target="_blank">roots</a> by telling you about a weird bar we found when we were drunk that’s located underneath a kebab shop. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Manero’s is a yellow door located on Kingsland Road about halfway between Shoreditch High Street and Dalston Junction – it doesn’t seem to have any distinctive features apart from aforementioned bright yellow door, and entry is via knocking or a buzzer. I discovered it using the skills I picked up during my ill-spent youth in Wales, vis-à-vis; someone saying ‘go on, knock on that door, see what happens’ and the understanding that everyone fucking legs it if anyone angry answers. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Luckily for us, no one angry answered, a very nice bloke who promised to give me a treat if I followed him into his basement did. Always one to think the best of people, as well as one to ignore those videos they make you watch in Primary School, I promptly obliged. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Manero’s calls itself a ‘Private Members Club’, but this doesn’t seem to have any real meaning, all they ask is that you ‘please be nice’. Surprisingly enough, we managed to stick to this rule long enough to not be unceremoniously thrown out or have any threats of calling the appropriate authorities leveled against us. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's a dimly-lit bar with an eclectic mixture of furniture that mostly looks like it was left to the place by eccentric great aunts; in short then, brilliant. The bar itself is very small, apparently the capacity of the place is only 69 (hee hee hee). I was going to make a very immature joke about that being just the right size and number for an orgy but I’d rather just lazily throw in the fact that I’d already thought of it and let you fill in the punchline. Any laughs you gain from this are of course, as a result of my dazzling wit, not yours, so please be aware of that. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At one end there’s a window through which all the drinks are served, and at the opposite end of the room is a raised stage bit where you can sit to drink them. I liked this, as it made me feel a bit like the central character in some sort of gritty and urbane stage play. Then again, as a self-centred narcissist with what has been described as a ‘feeble’ mind, I always feel like this, and everyone else in my life I see as basically glorified props. Basically, this stage-area bit fed my already inappropriately large ego, and you should go and sit in a big leather-backed chair and imagine you’re in the 50s and married to a woman called Marjorie for a bit too. It’s great. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The drinks were mainly cocktails, and for once, I decided to forgo my usual pathway of obnoxiously asking for ‘lovely lager’ until I’m either given one or told ‘please, this this a garden centre’ and have to leave. The cocktail I was made was called the something-or-other, and I believe my peers had respectively, the whats-its-face and the forgotten-what-its-called. Look, I’d been drinking heavily and I’ll confess I forget what I had, but it was delicious, as was everything I had in there. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Manero’s has that rarest of things; a bartender who is actually a bartender and knows his drinks, rather than some dickhead who can catch ice in a fucking cocktail shaker and doesn’t know his Bellini from his Bellend. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Basically, Manero’s is a weird, dark basement underneath a kebab shop in East London that not many people know about, and that’s sort of the whole point of this blog. It looks cool, it has great drinks, and I like it there. Thanks for the great night Manero’s. And thanks for not bumming me in the back like in Pulp Fiction. That's always a plus.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /><a href="http://twitter.com/Cleedophile" target="_blank">J. Clee</a><br /><br />Manero's<br />232 Kingsland Road, <br />London</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">E2 8AX</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="mailto:members@maneros-london.com">members@maneros-london.com</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://facebook.com/APrivateMembersClub">facebook.com/APrivateMembersClub</a></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13370179933402108685noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2039611608873501489.post-43532970684177817832013-06-14T17:14:00.000+01:002014-11-11T14:07:35.401+00:00The Filling Station (a.k.a Shrimpy's)<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; letter-spacing: 0px;">I’ve always hated that all too familiar feeling of being judged for being drunk, chain-smoking my second packet of Malboro Reds and cooking on an open fire in a petrol station. Fortunately for me, being blessed with a near total misunderstanding of the concept of self preservation, I spend my holidays in crippled former Yugoslav republics where such behaviour is far more quotidian. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For the rest of you, who I know have been dying to drink up and light up in a petrol station, The Filling Station (a.k.a. Shrimpy’s) is perfect. Of course, I’m a pretty cool guy so I think that The Filling Station lost a lot of its rough around the edges, ‘you might die here’ charm that us east London types love when it started serving prosecco and seafood instead of diesel oil. Then again, I don’t get a vote because half the stuff I drink may well be unleaded petrol and I wouldn’t know the difference.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To clarify, I really hope that nobody reading this genuinely considers themselves edgy enough to consider their local Texaco garage a good place to party. Health and safety, the criminal justice system, GCSE chemistry and the most basic of human survival instincts dictate that there are probably better places to spend your Friday night. One of those places is Shrimpy’s behind Kings Cross station. On the canal just off York Way, the forecourt of this former petrol station has been turned into a bar and grill which is sunny, spacious, airy and, most importantly, nothing like the Cleveland-dungeonesque basement bars we usually review. This makes it perfect for all of you engaging in our national pastime donning shorts and t-shirts and pretending you’re not cold.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the interests of thoroughness I should mention that the Filling Station’s refurbishment began with the opening of Shrimpy’s restaurant in the former service station shop. I can’t tell you much about it because, as women often like to remind me, I don’t deserve nice things so the nearest I got to the restaurant was the toilet it shares with the forecourt bar. That was very nice though. I particularly liked the anti-heroin lights.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now a quick word about the forecourt bar. You may find that it takes a very long time to get served. If this is the case you’ve probably fallen into the trap as most of the other people at this bar fall. You’ve seen the long single file line waiting for the bar, forgotten everything you ever knew about anything, decided that you are in fact an american tourist, assumed that this is how bars work now and joined the back of the queue. Don’t worry you’re not the only one. Fortunately I’m here to remind you that you’ve been in a bar before and this is patently not how they work. Just walk straight to the front and get served almost instantly. That’s what we did but then again most people hate us so swift service could be seen as something of a pyrrhic victory.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Once you’ve made your way to the front of the queue via whichever is your preferred route you’ll get your first glimpse of the food and drink menu. Somebody with more lyrical talent than me once said, ‘variety is the spice of life’. The clever folk at Shrimpy’s have come up with the compelling counterpoint of, ‘no it isn’t shut up’. The food menu is limited to meat or vegetable tortas, corn on the cob or a seafood bucket. Childhood memories of singing ‘there’s a hole in my bucket’ and 4am trips to KFC have given me a vague understanding of what a bucket is but what the seafood is I have no idea. This isn’t Mr Shrimpy’s fault as I never bothered to ask and I had just eaten a pizza so I didn’t order it. I also have no idea what a torta is. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The drinks menu is equally simple: lager; cider; margarita; prosecco from a tap. In a round about way I mean this as a complement because beer that doesn’t say Carling on the side confuses me and the choice of whether I want garlic or chili sauce on my kebab is often too much for my pretty little head to worry about.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You get the point. You’re not going there to drink cocktails out of unicorn horns, discuss the relative merits of Tia Maria over Kahlua and wow your friends with how the extract of whogivesafuck has really brought out the flavour of your cocktail. You’re going there because it’s cool, it’s different and you’re so desperate to show off you’ve resorted to reading this blog. You’ll find a great place to enjoy the sun and look out over the canal with a beer discussing important questions such as: ‘if I’m on a barge am I ipso facto a pirate?’; ‘can river people shrink your head?’; and ‘if that’s a seagull where is the sea?’.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">King's Cross Filling Station </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">020 8880 6111 </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">www.kxfs.co.uk</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13370179933402108685noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2039611608873501489.post-17164674096203965442013-05-15T16:40:00.000+01:002014-11-11T14:07:58.286+00:00The Old Fountain<br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In a gross overestimation of this blog’s popularity and with a somewhat overoptimistic view of the breadth of our readership, we had something of a crisis of conscience. With the 14 degree heat of the pale English sun blazing down on us like Promethean fire, we realised that most of the bars we send our readers to are in basement warrens which are more Watership Down than Alice in Wonderland. Our poor readers, who definitely use this blog as their only source of London drinking information, were going to have nowhere to sit outside with a Pimms in thick jumpers wishing they didn’t live in bloody England. Fortunately for all(/both) of you, we’re finally reviewing some places suitable for people who don’t suffer from acute Photodermititis. We reckon that these will prove especially useful now that it’s even more damp outside my flat than in (a rarity) and the prospect of more sunshine seems as likely as a primary school teacher saying, "Today, children, we’re going to listen to Lost Prophets before watching Animal Hospital and if you’re well behaved then a local celebrity will fix it for you to have you dreams come true."</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">With that in mind I would like to introduce to the Old Fountain. It’s just off Old Street Roundabout and is easily recognisable from the fact that it looks just like all the other pubs in London which you don’t really want to go into for fear of being accosted by a drunk Scottish CAMRA member insistent on teaching you life lessons at 3pm on a Sunday. Don’t be put off and keep your eyes on the prize. Remember you’re here to get yourself a nice drink and enjoy it in the sunny spells of a lukewarm day. Even when you notice that the inside looks a bit like it might have been used on the set of Shameless or This is England, stay focussed on that nice refreshing lager that you’ll soon be enjoying. Even when you realise that for no ostensible reason there’s a fish tank which looks like its contents have been caught in Regent’s Canal, keep thinking about the tan that you’re probably/maybe/definitely not going to get after an afternoon on the...wait for it...roof terrace. That’s right, after 382 words of rambling nonsense, I’ve finally got to the point.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Old Fountain has a perfect roof terrace for summer boozing. Due to something to do with weather, it catches the sun and stays sheltered from the wind. Handily, it also has umbrellas and heaters for those British summer days which one could easily mistake for the Arctic Tundra in December. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now, connoisseurs of the Shoreditch roof top bar scene, a) need to get a hobby and b) will know that there is another roof top bar a stone’s throw from the Old Fountain and might wonder why I’m not reviewing that one instead. I am, of course talking about the Golden Bee. I’ll finish this convoluted diatribe with a few notes on their comparative merits.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">First off; reasons to go to the Golden Bee:</span></span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; letter-spacing: 0px;">You can leave and go to the Horns strip pub directly underneath it.
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I can’t think of any others so now onto reasons to go to the Old Fountain instead:</span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; letter-spacing: 0px;">It’s not absolutely packed with trilby sporting half-wits and extras from The Only Way is Essex in white suits checking their watches to make sure they don’t miss the last train back to Romford. They’re all busy showing off their diamante ear studs to other people I never want to meet in the Golden Bee. In fact, the Old Fountain isn’t packed full of anyone. One of its main attractions is that the Londoners flocking to find a beer garden as soon the sun comes out, as if they’d spent the last few months trapped in a Chilean mine, don’t know about it;</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; letter-spacing: 0px;">The drinks selection is extraordinary. Yes it’s summer so most of you will order either Corona, Pimms or Bulmers which makes the variety of interesting inebriators on tap somewhat obsolete. Yes, rather than learn anything about food or drink we prefer to compensate for our own mediocrity by making snide, ill-thought remarks about CAMRA meetings. But, from what little sense I can glean from the mire of half-memories of my Sunday there, there was some pretty ok stuff at the bar. (That’s right Timeout, let’s see you come up with criticism as well observed and hard hitting as this);</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You will never, ever see any of us in there. If you’ve met us you’ll understand why that’s a good thing. If you were there that fateful Sunday, you’ll understand why we’re about as welcome there as a hug in a burns unit. In the full knowledge that my mother is reading this and that our half-arsed attempts at anonymity have, like any other good idea we’ve ever had, failed completely, I will spare you most of the details. In short, we found the perfect summer pub. Let’s not ruin it by getting too drunk, we said. Let’s not throw stools around while we pretend to be spiderman like simple-minded overgrown man-children, we said. Let’s not help ourselves to pints from behind the bar, we said. Let’s not make out with each other for no reason, we said. Let’s not...I can’t, I’ve already said too much.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></li>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yeah we can’t go there anymore. You can. You should take advantage of that fact. Don’t make the same mistakes we did. Keep your clothes on. I’m so sorry.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Old Fountain</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">3 Baldwin Street</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">London</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">EC1V 9NU</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #ebf2fc; white-space: nowrap;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">020 7253 2970</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.oldfountain.co.uk/">www.oldfountain.co.uk</a></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13370179933402108685noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2039611608873501489.post-67967623796252783202013-05-01T13:23:00.001+01:002015-01-22T13:06:20.444+00:00Platform<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On their website a quote boasts: ‘Platform Bar and Terrace at Netil House has the intimate atmosphere of drinks round a friend’s living room’. How many people, not including the writers at The Hackney Citizen, can honestly say that their friend’s living room is hidden away in a gutted council block, replete with an array of salvaged and luxuriant furniture. Not only that, but with ‘kooky artwork’ and graffiti on the walls and large windows offering a sepia tinted sunset view over the rooftops of East London towards The City. They do say ‘atmosphere’ rather than ‘replica’ or ‘scaled model’ but I’m not one for semantics so will swiftly move on. Also, I have very few friends, let alone any who would have something resembling a living room, so don’t have many scenarios to compare this to... <br /><br />The important thing is that Platform is a great place to demonstrate that you still have that detailed knowledge of London’s drinking venues. <br /><br />It is situated just a short walk from Broadway Market, one of the best (if most expensive) food markets in London during the weekend and a pleasingly independent shopping street during the week, and London Fields where some of this city’s rich and trendy show off their new found wealth from gorgeous terraced houses or shiny new build blocks which seem to laugh in the face of Hackney’s urban poor. <br /><br />Not only is the location enough to catch anyone’s attention, but the building and setting itself will also be sure to impress your guests. Platform forms a focal point of the creative collective that is Netil House. This includes a warren of studios containing a wealth of different artistic endeavours, regular artistic events and rooftop parties, and Netil Market which takes inspiration from Broadway Market round the corner with a well selected group of in-vogue food carts (they also form part of a group which manages the interesting Hackney Downs Studios and The Russet Cafe). <br /><br />The entrance lies between Netil House and the arches supporting the North Eastern railway between London Fields and Cambridge Heath. Hold your nerve and purpose as you saunter down the shingled path - you are now practiced in the art of persuading people to follow you into dark alleys. <br /><br />Two bouncers wait by a door at the end. ‘Platform?’ they ask; half implying that you’re only here for part of the show, half that you are part of an exclusive group who know about such special venues as this. Reply with a confident yes, indicating to your guest that you form an integral part of that group, hiding who you truly are, while also leaving them tantalising evidence of the fact that you know Platform may not be the only thing on offer within and around Netil House. <br /><br />You will be directed up a few empty flights of concrete stairs. Eventually you will reach the bar itself; you are greeted by this ‘living room’ atmosphere. And it is surprisingly warm despite the fact the most people there are aggressively trendy. We’re not only talking the limb-crushing jeans but styles which with a bit more extravagance and irony wouldn’t fall far short of Dan Ashcroft’s ‘Geek Pie’. At least they’ll provide a talking point when you inevitably run out of conversation and are beginning to lapse into half-overhearing Indigo pontificate about the pros and cons of her new healing crystals. <br /><br />The smells from the open plan kitchen tempt drinkers toward to delicious looking Persian inspired menu. However due to a mixture of only having 85p left in my account (I spend it on trawling bars so you don’t have to – see how selfless I am) and the fact that I’m a genuine heathen and only wanted lager, I didn’t eat on this occasion. <br /><br />The drinks are good: well selected but mostly unremarkable. Finally, now you are armed with your poison of choice, comes the coupe de gras. It is supplies the logic for the name, vindicates its place on this site and provides a purpose for the sun. <br /><br />It would take a writer with more descriptive abilities than myself to explain how they managed to make a bit of open concrete attached to an old council building next to a railway seem attractive, but trust me it works. <br /><br />Platform Bar and Terrace at Netil House is the place to be, whether that’s relaxing in the calming cafe atmosphere during the day, soaking up the rays on the terrace, or flailing about like an eel (that is how to dance, right?) later on in the evening. Jokes aside, I know I’d certainly get a return ticket. <br /><br />O.C<br /><br />Platform Cafe,Bar,Terrace. <br />2ndFloor, <br />Netil House, <br />1-7Westgate Street, <br />London<br />E8 3RL <br /><br />0203 0959713 <br /><br />www.platformlondonfields.com</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13370179933402108685noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2039611608873501489.post-69731490235798818502013-04-17T16:49:00.000+01:002015-01-22T13:06:36.693+00:00Wilton's Music Hall<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Even the most inattentive reader of this blog will notice that the majority of bars which we have reviewed are either underground or, to some extent, hidden. They have been designed or set up in such a way in order to lure in idiots like us and trick us into thinking that they are cool by validating our need to be that little bit different; to know that little bit more than everybody else. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Wilton’s Music Hall, ‘the city’s hidden stage’, has all of this in abundance. The alley in which it is found does not show up on Google maps – making it the equivalent, to some Londoners, of the places on medieval maps where waterfalls tumble off the edge of the world and dragons roam free from the realms of logic. True to form, one person we were meeting there was found circling the area like a homing pigeon without a home. Clearly, then, it is secret enough to fit the bill.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjcyy4us0PVS60S7t42RbJ8xKHyo8LoHyQF6kXL54d1ZijCjc43q44B3Z9F6XIGYm30LfdtAqiCJDeUozS74IOMHbV2X0DUmWW3n0ZsXCPDBjad7l97lR3bNwV7hqXF2LHBj9c8afKea0/s1600/P1011750.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjcyy4us0PVS60S7t42RbJ8xKHyo8LoHyQF6kXL54d1ZijCjc43q44B3Z9F6XIGYm30LfdtAqiCJDeUozS74IOMHbV2X0DUmWW3n0ZsXCPDBjad7l97lR3bNwV7hqXF2LHBj9c8afKea0/s640/P1011750.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is the world’s oldest surviving Grand Music Hall and people have been drinking on the premises for hundreds of years. It has been providing Londoners with an ever-evolving range of on trend activities and drinking for longer than most. While some bars hark back to this forgotten age, Wilton’s is a relic of it. The location, design and history of Wilton’s give it an advantage over other bars which attempt to give off a similar image. The Mahogany Bar and The Green Room do not need to try to be cool bars; they are by virtue of their heritage. As a venue Wilton’s speaks for itself: it hasn’t covered up or overexposed the history – it is just a working venue that has risen from its knees to being able to strike a difficult balance in making this precious space available for the public’s enjoyment in a number of different forms, and preserving it for future generations. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN8_XHdHH5eHgEpMRByHGZa0snWmSZTwiIXAeSJcBB92UeH8fAo4CPlrDbEq4gxID8Wwlq8q2nUq_oiSOEehWla3tgf8liAUUjagT-3X2J8udQWGzv4WLmWsdjExN0MOfmevnm9iCTiBs/s1600/P1011772.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN8_XHdHH5eHgEpMRByHGZa0snWmSZTwiIXAeSJcBB92UeH8fAo4CPlrDbEq4gxID8Wwlq8q2nUq_oiSOEehWla3tgf8liAUUjagT-3X2J8udQWGzv4WLmWsdjExN0MOfmevnm9iCTiBs/s320/P1011772.jpg" height="320" width="262" /></a><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Wilton’s is situated on Graces Alley, and lies a short walk east of Tower Hill or Aldgate, past railway-arch carwashes which look like they’d be willing to wash anything out of your car (think Reservoir Dogs or Pulp Fiction dimmed by the gritty ‘reality’ of ‘Police Camera Action!’). Pass alleyways which, although clearly built in the sixties and covered in graffiti less inventive than the cocktail menu in a B@1, someone even less convincing than us might claim are the same streets in which Jack the Ripper committed his most heinous crimes. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Once you find the venue, you are struck by the beautiful exposed brickwork, which any kooky East-End bar would kill for but can only mimic, and a couple of battered wooden doors with gaslights hanging above them. Here you can finally begin to imagine a world before poured concrete and post-modern despair.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What makes the bars at Wilton’s all the more impressive is the fact that they are merely a sideshow to the main act – the music hall itself. Not only can you show off the fact that you are aware of the coolest places in London to drink, but also that you are sensitive to the historic fabric of the city. All the while (as all things vainly strive to) validating your colossal alcoholism by tricking yourse</span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; letter-spacing: 0px;">lf into thinking it’s for a good cause. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3y6SlAv-zDAqhiqRQ2nPsNoAqwbo4MTAMGF7I9LPmxfTcGo8S_YGmehUS5Xlsi7LUK1f8y2a7603wHKr4AMEMw4QHk7R-6WSxfDOBBjC3l6VRYCgz703890o3BwBb17l1GOErTwPQQbY/s1600/P1011765.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3y6SlAv-zDAqhiqRQ2nPsNoAqwbo4MTAMGF7I9LPmxfTcGo8S_YGmehUS5Xlsi7LUK1f8y2a7603wHKr4AMEMw4QHk7R-6WSxfDOBBjC3l6VRYCgz703890o3BwBb17l1GOErTwPQQbY/s320/P1011765.jpg" height="320" width="265" /></a><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">While Wilton’s would still be cool if it served tepid, flat Fosters, and while that is much closer to our standard poison, it offers a range of drinks which would almost be enough to make a harrowing suburban Wetherspoons worth visiting. The Mahogany Bar serves a twist on the selection of quality ales, lagers and ciders which have become essential to any cool London bar. From cider that is not spelled like cider and doesn’t quite taste of the piss you get in milk cartons in The West Country to beer made somehow more delicious by the fact it has sediment in the bottom, the selection on offer will allow you to impress yet again by demonstrating that you don’t only drink lager flavoured water. If you have been seen through so far, head upstairs to The Green Room and try some of their speciality cocktails which run on a seasonal menu (because where doesn’t). If you want to get weird with some mezcal (cf. <a href="http://coolbarsforuncoolpeople.blogspot.co.uk/2012/11/mezcaleria-quiquiriqu.html" target="_blank">Mezcaleria Quiquiriqui</a>) try The Old Curtain, or if you want to be creative (and they actually have the ingredients) try The New World Alexander which somehow manages to create a cocktail out of the ingredients of a half decent soup. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz8293ySoiumzP24Hiwd4rYXaSbitHlV56VplNz-4YgOHkno4UZHaxA670CyVrPkOA_WvyL4uZ294XpVFAI75DPCDHobR8hwYVIUigWOXbpdbwWHoEqjjjcfZ3RBGwA7Q_ILahyPoQ-6Y/s1600/P1011747.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz8293ySoiumzP24Hiwd4rYXaSbitHlV56VplNz-4YgOHkno4UZHaxA670CyVrPkOA_WvyL4uZ294XpVFAI75DPCDHobR8hwYVIUigWOXbpdbwWHoEqjjjcfZ3RBGwA7Q_ILahyPoQ-6Y/s200/P1011747.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Another aspect of Wilton’s which sets it aside is their offering of aperitivo on week nights - originally a Milanese tradition containing a selection of free light bite-sized snacks. </span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; letter-spacing: 0px;">I’m not a food critic (or a drinks one for that matter), so won’t comment on the nature of the nibbles beyond saying that it was nice and I liked it lots. Since I’m a savage I found it difficult to grace the fine line between politely grazing and stuffing my face, and definitely veered towards the latter. It’s an extra social nicety which just adds to the whole experience. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Of course, this should fit in well with the apparent British love of social niceties. We love queuing and we would never think to disturb the man dying on a tube escalator. However, this is a trend yet to catch on in London (watch this space). If I was being kind I would say that it hasn’t been a hit due to our weather: using that logic it’s impossible to eat inside. In reality it’s probably because too many of us are busy chucking too many pints into empty bellies waiting for the inevitable chippy or kebab binge on the bleary way home. Or this, combined with bars being too tight to consider the pleasure of their customers over that extra percent on their profit margins. Whatever the true reason, it’s unfounded, as aperitivo works an absolute dream at Wilton’s and any wise bar should follow their lead. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Wilton’s is a breath of fresh air and has an unpretentious crowd devoid of the cock-stifling jeans so often seen in the area. It is the sort of suave and sophisticated place that you might have imagined you’d be going to when you entered early adulthood or later, having finally grown up to appreciate life’s more subtle pleasures. Go here at least once to add sheen to the bleak reality that you’re stuck in a cycle of doing the same things, as I found out when I muttered on the way out, ‘all I want is a filthy kebab and a can of Red Stripe’ – ruining such a pleasant hiatus in the real world of cultured and functioning humans. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">O.C With thanks to Katie from <a href="http://kbfoodphotos.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">KBfoodphotos</a> for photos, company, indulging morons like us and generally making this blog a lot less rubbish. You can follow her <a href="https://twitter.com/kasiakatie" target="_blank">@kasiakatie</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Wilton's Music Hall</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1 Graces Alley</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">London</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">E1 8JB</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">020 7702 2789</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">www.wiltons.org.uk</span><br />
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</noscript>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13370179933402108685noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2039611608873501489.post-77589359662941666472013-04-05T15:00:00.000+01:002014-08-18T11:58:49.610+01:00The Crown and Goose (Obituary)<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When we started this blog, we rather grandiosely
decided that we’d keep our favourite bar secret, so that we were the only
uncool people in it. I think this may have well been vastly over-estimating the
popularity of this blog, whose viewership I think is pretty much confined to
‘me’ and my increasingly-disappointed parents. NO MUM I’M STILL NOT A LAWYER
YET.<br />
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That said, we recently found out that despite the best
efforts of a dedicated core of great people, our favourite
watering-hole in the whole of London is to be torn down to be converted into
luxury flats and a high-end restaurant. I mean, in a way, I understand, if
there’s one thing London needs it’s more people being priced out of the areas
they grew up in so fucking City Boy yuppies can sit around thinking they’re
Gordon Gekko meets Pete Doherty. No wait, that can fuck right off. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Unfortunate though it may be, we’re generally decent
people (court decision pending) and so we wanted to write about this place to
give you a chance to visit one of London’s last proper boozers before it shuts
its doors forever.<br />
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This Shangri-La, this Valhalla, this Oasis amongst over-priced cider with stupid flavours like ‘bubblegum’ that was what your sister
drank that year she went to V Festival and those twats who book all the tables
in the beer gardens from like 4pm in the summer (you know who you are, you
overly-organised wankers), is the Crown and Goose, Camden.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Crown and Goose has a very special place in the
heart of all the people who write for this blog; it’s a great little place with
loads of character and really nice people, plus, fittingly for this blog, not
as many people know about it as they should. It’s a small pub tucked away near
Mornington Crescent, on a quiet residential street.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When you first walk into the Goose (it always seems to
be called by the latter part of its name, rather than the former) you’re immediately
confronted by the bar: ideal. Get to it then and order some lagers. The Goose
doesn’t have cocktails made out of mermaid scales or that taste like a Sicilian
sunset or whatever other bollocks I’ve half-remembered from cocktail menus when
I’ve bothered to read them. It’s a pub that does a damn good drink, there’s a
good selection of lager and cider on tap and there’s all your other standard
stuff like G & Ts and wine and Jesus I’m even boring myself now. It’s a
pub, you know what you drink in pubs, if you don’t I think you’re trying to run
before you can walk on this one to be honest.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The interior of the Goose looks like it was once an
old shop or house, and I’m reliably informed that once it was indeed just a
humble beer-shop. It is, however, very very cramped. I’m talking tube-level
cramped. It can get extremely busy, and I mean that type of busy where you have
to hold your pint at a weird angle so you look like a trainee contortionist,
and apparently if you’re short it can get very claustrophobic. Not that I give
one about that; suck on that short people. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">However, and this is one of the great things about the
Goose, despite how busy and angular and weird it gets in there, it never ever
gets aggressive. In quite a lot of the pubs and bars in Camden you’re likely to
leave with quite a lot of glass lodged in your oesophagus if you politely ask
someone to ‘excuse you’ while you’re heading for the toilets. Now this may
sound like faint praise; ‘yeah, the Goose is great, I’ve never taken an
absolute pasting there even once’, but it really does make a difference, plus
for someone who acts like a total twat quite a lot of the time, the assurance
that my night isn’t going to end with me picking my teeth out of the gutter
with a broken arm is a big lure. <br />
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Goose is a genuinely friendly place, even the
staff there are brilliant, they’re all good at what they do, are happy to have
a chat, and don't mind when you get so drunk you spill candle wax all over the
fucking place like some sort of confused bee.<br />
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Although I hardly feel qualified to review the food,
as I'm the kind of man who thinks a restaurant is fancy if the chairs aren't
bolted to the floor, I think I should mention that the food there is absolutely
delicious. Every single time I've eaten there it's been incredible.<br />
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Finally then, this review is a farewell to the Goose,
an obituary if you will. It will be sorely missed by all of us, and by many,
many others. I urge you to check it out before Barclays Bank swing a
wrecking-ball through it build another stainless-steel and glass cathedral to
the worst excesses of capitalism.<br />
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Go and have a pint in the sun outside and try some of the food before it comes
down: you’ll never find a pub quite like it.<br />
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Goodbye Goose. We love you, and you'll live on in our
memories. This can be your swan-song. Or goose-song. Do geese sing? I don’t
know what I’m talking about now.<br /></span></span><a href="http://twitter.com/Cleedophile" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" target="_blank">J. Clee</a><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /><br />The Crown and Goose<br />100 Arlington Road,<br />Camden,<br />London<br />NW1 7HP<br /><br />020 7285 8008<br /><br /><a href="http://www.thecrownandgoose.co.uk/">www.thecrownandgoose.co.uk</a></span></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13370179933402108685noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2039611608873501489.post-83731789988649081812013-03-20T17:12:00.002+00:002014-11-11T14:08:14.805+00:00Underdog<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">‘Speakeasy’ is a word used to describe London bars more often than the words ‘idiot’, ‘prick’, and ‘get out of my house’ are used to describe me. I won’t do Underdog the disservice of lumping them in with all the highly pedestrian suit-havens of the capital by describing it as such. It deserves better than that. Unfortunately, I’m borderline illiterate and can’t think of another way to say it’s a slightly-hidden bar under another bar. <br /><br />Look, basically it’s the cocktail bar under Brewdog’s new pub in Shoreditch. <br /><br />There appears to be no door policy at all when you go to the ominously cordoned-off and guarded stairs in the middle of the main bar and ask if you can visit the Underdog. I mean, they let us idiots in: genuine class-A morons who spent five minutes milling about in a corridor because we couldn’t find the door. <br /><br />Once you’ve mastered getting through the actually-pretty-bloody-obvious door, stop and take in your surroundings. As you look around, much like when I look back at my behaviour over the weekend, it’s best not to ask ‘why?’. You’ll just upset yourself: 'Why are there so many dead animals? Why is there a voodoo corner? Why is there a box of hair?' At this point I wish we had some photos on this blog because I realise I’ve just made one of my favourite bars sound like the set of a Stanley Kubrick remake of the Human Centipede. It’s not. I promise it’s nice. I went there with actual women. They didn’t hate it. <br /><br />I think that the disjointed lunacy of the decor can probably be attributed to the ‘I don’t give a fuck what society thinks’ attitude which permeates the entire Brewdog venture. That’s what takes it from creepy to really fucking cool; a feat I’ve never accomplished myself. Brewdog is ‘Beer for Punks’ brewed by two guys who decided to sacrifice every penny of credit available to them on the altar of ‘let’s make beer that we like more than other beer’. Brewdog is the sort of bold venture that people like me write about because we’ll never be cool enough to do something that awesome ourselves. If this is the first you’ve heard of them I strongly suggest that you Google the following: <br /><br />‘Tactical Nuclear Penguin’<br />‘Brewdog/Speedball/Nanny State’<br />and <br />‘how do I get out of this box I’ve been living in for the last five years?’<br /><br />Obviously I love the whole punk thing because I was once at the beating heart of the modern punk movement. That is to say I went to Rancid gig. It was raining so I wore a sensible waterproof coat and I left quite early because I lost the phone which I had recently acquired on a generous but affordable tariff which made me sad. This gave me some time to reflect on the tattoos I don’t have. Yeah I’m not a punk. Most punks are smelly and scary and fortunately this bar is neither. It just wants to be your friend. <br /><br />I realise that I’ve been building this place up a lot so I’d like to take a moment to reassure you. These guys have not ‘done a Proud’ and fallen off the cool cliff into the pretentious-and-wanky pit. You won’t feel out of place because you don’t own a pair of jeans so tight that getting a semi fills you with an all-consuming dread. As I said, this bar wants to be your friend. It also, much like my beloved <a href="http://coolbarsforuncoolpeople.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/the-camden-town-brewery.html" target="_blank">Camden Town Brewery</a>, wants you to be able to drink some really delicious beer. Their beer is so delicious, in fact, that we broke House Rule #72 ('Only drink lager if it’s warm and flat and has preferably been open for a few days') and ordered a case of it. <br /><br />Here’s the really good thing about Underdog. While I am perfectly happy to drink myself into oblivion on lager and IPA alone, I understand that many of you like to drink these new-fangled fancy cocktail things. This presents a problem because the cocktail tends to be to beer what responsibility and consequences are to me: an absolute fucking nemesis. Finding a good cocktail in the same establishment as a good beer is about as likely as finding Salman Rushdie sunning himself on the beaches of the Persian Gulf. <br /><br />In classic Brewdog ‘fuck this noise, I’m going to sort this shit out’ fashion, Underdog has produced a range of cocktails based on beer and cider. With beer reductions and other fancy chemistry which is an absolute mystery to me going on I started to get scared and calmed myself down with another three pints of the Dead Pony Club Pale Ale. My friends that did try the cocktails were full of praise though. At least I think they were, by this stage I was hearing colours. <br /><br />Brewdog themselves say the following about their bars: <br /><br /><i>‘We are not cool. We are not pretentious. We just care. And we are your friends.’ </i><br /><br />Well, Mr B. Dog, I’ll be the judge of whether or not you’re cool. I don’t know if you heard but I’m a pretty cool guy. I don’t avoid buying skinny jeans because they’re a bit uncomfortable. I didn’t just come back from a holiday in Center Parcs. I never apologised to a police dog because I couldn’t be its friend. None of those things. <br /><br />Ok, I’m not even remotely cool. Underdog is. Go there. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />BrewDog Shoreditch <br />51-55 Bethnal Green Road, <br />London, <br />E1 6LA<br /><br />0207 729 8476 <br /><br /><a href="http://www.brewdog.com/">www.brewdog.com</a></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13370179933402108685noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2039611608873501489.post-4970847094254889292013-03-06T12:24:00.002+00:002014-08-18T11:59:03.306+01:00Garlic & Shots<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Some of you who have read this blog a few times before may have realised that the guys who write it have been slaughtered in cellars more times than the entire cast of the Saw films, and like the films; we’re showing no signs of stopping. Garlic & Shots is the perfect setting for even more of the same then, as this particular basement is dark, cramped and playing heavy metal: brilliant.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now, you may be thinking that this is something of a departure from the hidden and often classy cocktail bars we tend to discuss. This is true, but I’m the kind of man who’s more at home in those pubs you find on industrial estates than those kinds of places so I felt more comfortable here. Plus, Garlic & Shots is actually pretty cool, in the same way there was that one guy in school who was cool even though everyone was a bit afraid of him and you’d heard a pretty unsavoury rumour about him involving a kestrel. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As you may have guessed, Garlic and Shots is a bar that has a pretty obvious unique selling point, but just in case you’ve been drinking or you’re only glancing over this shoddily-written rubbish then I’ll spell it out. The garlic part of Garlic & Shots refers to the fact that all the food on the menu has garlic in. And I mean all; the website says ‘you can order more garlic, but never less’ so be prepared for that if you’re going there for dinner. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">However, this blog isn’t ‘places to go for dinner if you’re fucking terrified of vampires’, so we’ll move swiftly on to the ‘Shots’ element:</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Garlic & Shots has a menu of 101 shots, ranging from the fairly standard to the arguably criminal. Oh don’t worry though; quite a lot of the shots have garlic in them too. Say what you like about G&S, but they do exactly what it says on the tin. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The front of the place is something of a drab affair, which only makes me like it more. When you’re wandering around Soho it’s nice to see a change from the endless parade of Pret a Mangers and cocktail bars with names like ‘Paradise’ and ‘Jewel’ that inexplicably are still in business despite the fact you never ever see anyone in them. A squat, grey little building sandwiched between two townhouses, there’s very little to say that Garlic & Shots is actually a bar, rather than say, a really pretentiously-named boutique or a greengrocer’s that’s decided to branch out into the firing-range game. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When you go inside the ground floor is closer to a restaurant than a bar, but head through to the back and down the stairs into the basement. What you’re confronted with is the kind of thing I love: a dingy basement with a couple of tables in it and an extremely suspect drink menu. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’s not glamorous, and it’s not really very pretty, but it definitely all works. The metal that’s playing in the background only serves to add to the atmosphere and it’s absolutely perfect for getting fired up for the kind of night that ends up with you committing all Seven of the Deadly Sins, and possibly creating some brand new ones. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When we turned up we had the Bloodshot, which was some sort of concoction involving tomato juice, chili and, quite obviously, garlic. Then we had some other delicious treat that may or may not have been the garlic honey vodka. Then some other things happened, which my recollection of is hazy at best, and then I woke up in a badger’s den in Victoria Park with someone else’s shirt on.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Garlic & Shots is the place to take people for some shots about halfway through a night. It’s really fun, and everyone likes the whole garlic thing, plus if you’re sensible about it, you could probably choose some of the shots that are actually ok. Ideally though, you need to hit it at that point when you’re so drunk that a shot called ‘Racing Oil’ sounds like a great idea. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Finally, I'd like to sum up with the mantra of Garlic & Shots themselves, which speaks to me a lot: 'If it isn't fatal, it toughens your body'. Perfect. Although that does sort of lead me to believe that the guys who work there have never woken up a furious badger at 4:30am.</span><br />
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<a href="http://twitter.com/Cleedophile" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" target="_blank">J. Clee</a><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">14 Frith Street, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Soho, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">London </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">W1D 4RD </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">020 7734 9505</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.garlicandshots.com/">www.garlicandshots.com</a></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13370179933402108685noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2039611608873501489.post-63991737164089557732013-02-20T12:28:00.000+00:002015-01-22T13:06:57.110+00:00Passing Clouds<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Passing Clouds is, more than anything (and more than can be said of their Dalston Cola), refreshing. I can’t think of a venue like it – and if you can then a) You’re a better person than me b) Could you show me where it is, please? And c) You should be writing this, not me. <br /><br />Passing Cloud’s greatest strength is its variety – though at a base level most nights there do tend to involve too much drink and relentless hours of dancing at and around other people (don’t all?). As a man who thinks most clubs are mainly a louder and more annoying form of places where you jostle about next to other people you don’t know – like lifts, or Bank station at rush hour – this would not normally appeal. Passing Clouds, however, seems to be imbued with the spirit of misrule, which somehow makes this all you want to spend your time doing there. If this is not the effect it has on you, then reassess your life-choices – or for god’s sake have a detox and reinvigorate your relationship with serotonin. <br /><br />I still think that Nirvana are cutting edge and am just as likely to kill any mood by playing Burial as by blaring out Slayer so I am in no way qualified to judge any venue’s selection of music, whether positively or negatively. However, there is something in the atmosphere here that means whatever is chosen is somehow, at that exact moment, the only thing that could possibly make you want to writhe, gyrate and jump around more intensely and for longer than before. A combination of this and the structure, not to mention the decorations, which could have been put together by someone blasted forward in time from the 60s in full flow, conspires to give Passing Clouds a sense of near free-fall fun. <br /><br />Passing Clouds manages to cause such chaos, that if anarchy was transformed into an evening on the town, it would be here. Recollecting the next day (or a few days later, if it was a particularly big one or you woke up in Bracknell and had to make a confusing journey home), no one story of the night seems the same, and each small group seems to have just missed out on the most obscene aspect of the other’s evening. <br /><br />It is situated just behind The Haggerston - an excellent choice for a few drinks before venturing into Passing Clouds - off an increasingly less bleak stretch of Kingsland Road. Once you’ve decided to enter into this vortex of a club, you can exclaim - ‘Look the entrance to this club is near where some bins are’, and all of a sudden the entourage you have collected from visiting the other bars on this blog will, almost now jaded, once again bow down to your superior judgement. The best way to demonstrate its combination of variety and chaos </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">at this point </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">is by discussing a recent visit. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />Since the ground floor was yet to be opened, we climbed up the stairs to the second. This is at times a pleasant escape from the mayhem downstairs – though I have recently seen someone pirouette through a table. On this occasion, despite being calm it was unnervingly so, and we soon discovered the reason why. We appeared to have stumbled into a rerun of the bleakest entrants to Britain’s Got Talent; witnessing a surreal and disturbing puppet show re-enactment/parody of certain Shakespeare plays. It was the perfect tone to begin an absurd evening. <br /><br />Aside from the obligatory intense motion, and the occasional burst of reality brought on by a cigarette break, the night soon blended into a stream of mostly unconnected images. One clear thought was however, having seen them casually reclining at the bar, that someone had just decided to bring their albino python on a night out. Apparently this was Missy Fatale and her companion in a burlesque act, which I sadly missed.* I cannot escape from the fact that, having seen this creature, I was genuinely concerned that I would wake up adrift somewhere with my name and other useless details tattoed to the snake – fortunately that was not the case, unless I’m still dreaming. <br /><br />Despite the clear attraction of this, Passing Clouds is not solely about such nights: is a multi-purpose venue and community project. There have been salsa classes, spoken word events and many more, on a busy and diverse schedule, while on Sundays they hold a regular community kitchen. While these are interesting aspects of the venue and all add to its allure, this is a blog about cool bars to show off with, and not a blog about where to take your difficult vegan friend, so you can understand why I haven’t focussed on them. Now, back to the getting drunk bit... <br /><br />It can be difficult to get in due to the queues, and it is a bit steeply priced as nights out go. There is also the issue that not everybody will get along with its hippie leanings and laissez-faire attitude. I have also never been to a place where such a high percentage of people never stop smiling, which at the same time as being endearing can also be slightly draining for someone who loves to hate as much as myself. <br /><br />However, I know that I would rather go here and jostle about with freaks that I can put up with, and join in with, than go to Movida, Mahiki, or another generic trash-heap and pay £5 for some water to be near people I hate, listening to the same music as the last time I went there by mistake. <br /><br />I’d say I want go to Passing Clouds every weekend, but I know that if I did I would eventually explode. <br /><br />*Dear Missy Fatale, I’m so sorry if I tried to touch the snake’s head more than once, despite being told not to. I know it was foolish, but he was so creamy and alluring. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />O.C<br /><br />Passing Clouds </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1 Richmond Road <br />London <br />E8 4AA <br /><br />020 7241 4889 <br /><br /><a href="http://www.passingclouds.org/">www.passingclouds.org</a></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13370179933402108685noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2039611608873501489.post-55012279879503075382013-02-13T12:29:00.000+00:002014-11-11T14:08:31.669+00:00House of Wolf<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">House of Wolf boldly describe themselves as: ‘a multi-sensory experimental pleasure palace’. We were keen to see whether it could live up to the hype.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This blog was born out of a hatred of shit bars rather than an appreciation of good ones and I have been looking forward to my first opportunity to go to town on some overrated shitheap. Unfortunately my first mercilessly scathing review is going to have to wait because Carlsberg don’t do cocktail bars but, if they did, they would be nothing like House of Wolf’s because Carlsberg is horrible and House of Wolf is great.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There seems to be something of a trend in London for serving caipirinhas and mojitos at 15 quid a pop to guys in suits rutting around Barrio East braying about how expensive their drinks are and, ergo, how fucking great they are. Well, I’d like to begin by assuring you that House of Wolf bucks this trend like water over a bridge. <br /><br />Recently, we visited East London’s third best Lewis Carroll themed cocktail bar. I won’t do them the disservice of naming it, but it begins with 'C' and ends with ‘allooh Callay’. It won’t be featuring on this blog because I tend to assume that if nothing positive stands out in the sporadic memory-bytes of a heavy night, the bar was probably fairly pedestrian. That said, having sifted through the haze of broken images in my head-box, I remember a prolonged altercation with a barman in which he refused to serve me a ‘Lady Boy’ (if you don’t know what that is I suggest you start watching I’m Alan Partridge). In fairness, it was perhaps not the most fashionable order. But get over yourselves. I had done everything that this half-heartedly Jabberwocky-themed twat-den had asked of me: re-mortgaged my house to pay for their horrible Estonian lager; put up with rubbing shoulders with the self-entitled wankers that make up their clientele; not punched anyone in the face. I don’t think it was too much to ask for them to produce a couple of Lady Boys when, however bat-shit mental that may be, that is what I wanted. <br /><br />House of Wolf, in stark and refreshing contrast, will produce anything you want. But that isn’t it. Their entire staff have been trained by the Delphic Oracle to produce the drink you want most in the world based on the most vague of instructions. With instructions such as, ‘he only likes lager and fags, what can you do?’ and, ‘can I have something that tastes of despair in a good way?’, they will work their magic. The result is a drink that is so much better than what you thought you wanted that it will make you question your ability to ever decide what’s in your own best interests ever again. Of course, I’ve never been able to get even the slightest inkling as to what my own best interests are so I’m rather hoping that I can hire one of their bar staff as my carer because I can't be trusted and it seems they know what's best. <br /><br />Once you’ve had a bespoke cocktail and decided that you trust the bar staff with your taste buds, sobriety and credit card, I would strongly suggest an alcoholic experiment in the ‘Apothecary’. The House of Wolf’s Apothecary is the forum that inspired J.K. Rowling’s portrayal of potions classes, discovered what Tiggers really like and is the alma mater of Professor Wheeto. And that’s all true (it isn’t). Never has numbing your mind with hard liquor entailed such a degree of artistic merit as it does when exploring the Apothecary cocktail list. With everything from popping candy to Szechuan flowers making up the ingredients, the cocktails are a sensory experience akin to losing your virginity: excitement; followed by confusion; followed by euphoria; followed by a nagging regret that you finished it so quickly; followed by a lifelong desire to do it again and again. <br /><br />At this point I should mention that, because I’m a child and I only like new shiny things, I never made it past the Apothecary cocktail list. Can you blame me? They’re served with edible desert islands and blocks of cheese. However, the other writers on this blog moved on to the House Cocktail list. They’re idiots so the only feedback I could get was ‘I want to go for a kebab on the way home’. However, had they spent more of their lives training to be sommeliers and less getting drunk behind bins I’m sure they would have said something like: ‘I enjoyed some creative twists on the classics as well as some totally new flavours. They were a pleasure to drink and came at a very reasonable price’.<br /><br />Of course, you don’t always want a cocktail that is infused with black pudding, designed by NASA and produced by Gandalf (actually, I do, I want to stay there and never leave). Sometimes you just want one of the classics. House of Wolf’s non-exhaustive list of classic cocktails, all at £7.50, with a promise to make anything that isn’t on the list, is exactly how classic cocktails should be done. I like a Martini as much as the next man, but I don’t like B@1 bar staff pretending that there’s anything complex about making one. <br /><br />What makes House of Wolf great is the imagination and creativity that goes, not only into their cocktails, but into everything they do. From the decor to the food menu the House of Wolf offers something new and different and borderline arousing to the London overindulgence scene. Of course, we didn’t try the food because we’re kebab-munching pikeys. <br /><br />What makes House of Wolf the best cocktail bar in London is that all of this comes without an ounce of pretension. With cocktail ingredients listed as ‘some stuff from the garden’, vintage Placebo and Bloodhound Gang playing through the speakers and staff who are happy to indulge idiots like us, the whole set up is a relaxed and enjoyable beacon of hope in the all-too-wanky London drinking scene. <br /><br />Well done, and can I come and live in you? </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />181 Upper Street, <br />Islington, <br />London <br />N1 1RQ <br /><br />020 7288 1470 <br /><br /><a href="http://www.houseofwolf.co.uk/">www.houseofwolf.co.uk</a></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13370179933402108685noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2039611608873501489.post-66969890112020556472013-02-06T12:27:00.000+00:002014-08-18T11:59:18.582+01:00Opium<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The 1800s saw the might of the Empire of the Great Qing rise up against the British and French Armies in two separate wars that would rage for seven years. The cause of all this kerfuffle? Opium. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Obviously that time it was the drug Opium, but while almost certainly not as heavily addictive (to be fair, I wouldn’t know, I’ve never tried opium because I’m not completely insane), Opium Chinatown is sure to be the subject of a hell of a lot of discussion in Britain too. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Having launched extremely recently, we were keen to try the delights of Opium as soon as possible, so we rushed down there one Saturday with some women we were desperately trying to impress. So desperately were we trying to impress them in fact, that we got there before the ‘amber light’ came on and we had to go and sit in a pub round the corner for half an hour before Opium opened. Fucking hell. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The doorway into Opium is the perfect way to feel like you’re Pat Bateman (when really you’re more Pat Sharpe. Or at least I am, but I’m pretty sure the mullet’s going to make a comeback any day now, then we'll see who's laughing). They advertise themselves as ‘behind the jade door’, and they’re not lying. Alright, they are a bit, it’s slightly less ‘jade’ than it is ‘chlorine’ but let’s romanticise it a bit and say jade: 15-16 Gerrard Street is a nondescript door sandwiched between two Chinese restaurants, with a single buzzer beside it. Ring it - once the amber light is on that is, otherwise they’ll tell you to go away and you’ll have to drink warm flat lager in a sad pub round the corner - and they’ll buzz you in. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Opium is built in an old townhouse, and as such, you walk straight into the stairwell and begin the climb up. We were taken up three flights of very well-decorated stairs to the very top floor, which gave an amazing view out over the top of Chinatown and down towards the river. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The interior is particularly well done, it’s actually Texan-style. No, obviously not, it’s Chinese. Opium have painstakingly created the perfect Chinese / British fusion, right down to the wood used in the floorboards and the patterning on the seats. Then again, the nearest I’ve been to China is a day-trip to Hastings when I was 12, so what the fuck do I know about it? Basically, it looks loads like the bits I remember in House of Flying Daggers but I mainly remember that bit that happens in a blizzard so again, I’m a bit useless here. If anyone who reads this blog has actually been to China and would like to disagree, please leave a comment below which we can promptly ignore. It looks cool, alright? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Anyway, Opium looks cool, smells like those rugs you can buy in Camden and has a massive cocktail menu: so far so good. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Apparently Opium specialise in dim-sum, and it’s particularly delicious, but I wouldn’t know anything about that, because I was too busy panicking over the fact that the only beer I could see was Tiger for £5.80. Indeed, many of the drinks confused and scared me, casting an eye through the menu I noticed ‘The Classics’ as well as the many Chinese-themed cocktails, such as The Shanghai Surprise and The Kung Fu Fizz. All these interested me about as much as cocktails usually do: barely at all. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But then, I stumbled across the area of the menu entitled ‘Chinese Temperance Cocktails’ (non-alcoholic in other words). These all sounded like the kind of concoction you’d read about on the internet if you Googled ‘how do i get gum out of hair not my hair’. I’m a fairly adventurous drinker, but cress? Parsnip? No, I’m sorry, these are a bridge too far. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the end, a friend of mine had one of the Temperance Cocktails, because apparently his tastebuds did something really evil in a former life, but he claimed it was ‘quite nice’. Some of the others we were with had a selection of the cocktails and declared them; 'stop asking me fucking questions about my cocktail, I already told you it was nice'.<br /> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I, aghast at the price, only had a £25 scotch. It definitely wasn’t because I absent-mindedly said the wrong thing to the waiter at the last moment. Not that at all. It’s because I’ve got loads of money and when the bill came I definitely didn’t consider trying to pretend another man ordered it and trying to leave.<br /> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">(In fairness Opium is actually pretty reasonably priced if you’ve got a working human brain and don’t suffer from the Tourette’s version of the fucking Midas touch.)<br /> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To sum up then: Opium is a really cool bar, with great, relaxed settings, and a good cocktail menu, even if some of them do seem like they were mixed by Beetlejuice. The price is right, and it’s perfect for pretending you’ve got your ear to the ground in the throbbing London bar scene. Definitely go, and if you go from the 7th, it’s Chinese New Year, so I have no doubt they’ll have some great stuff on.<br /> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I know what you’re thinking. In answer to your last question: they left very shortly afterwards. After we took them to a lonely pub and I had an apparent brain haemorrhage whilst trying to order a drink, they cut their losses and they left. God I’m so alone.<br /> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>P.S: Puns I considered using in this review but then didn’t manage to:</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Crouching Lager, Hidden Flagon.<br /> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Big Trouble in Tipple China.<br /> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Carafe Kid.<br /> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><a href="http://twitter.com/Cleedophile" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" target="_blank">J. Clee</a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Behind The Jade Door,<br /> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">15-16 Gerrard Street,<br /> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Chinatown,<br /> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">London<br /> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">W1D 6JE<br /> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">020 7734 7276<br /> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.opiumchinatown.com/">www.opiumchinatown.com</a></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13370179933402108685noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2039611608873501489.post-22800292626959473352013-01-30T12:31:00.000+00:002015-01-22T13:07:11.004+00:00The Mayor of Scaredy Cat Town<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If through some bizarre impulse you choose to go to a bar reviewed on this blog, God bless you. However, if this is the one you choose, you may need the patience of Penelope waiting for the return of Odysseus. <br /><br />The fundamental flaw of The Mayor is that it just isn’t the secret it’s supposed to be. The first time I attempted to impress someone by revealing what lay behind that ‘inconspicuous’ SMEG fridge in the Spitalfields Breakfast Club, I was disappointed. I was informed that there would be at least a two hour wait. There was no way I was going to keep someone’s attention for that long without the numerous conversational crutches which I’d hoped this quirky bar would provide. <br /><br />Fortunately, this led me to the discovery of <a href="http://coolbarsforuncoolpeople.blogspot.co.uk/2012/11/lounge-bohemia.html" target="_blank">Lounge Bohemia</a>, so all was for the best on that occasion. Others, however, have not been so lucky. I have heard of people nonchalantly asking at the bar whether the Mayor was ‘in’ (as was the rumoured approach), only to receive a firm ‘no’ as a response. Reeling and with a very confused date who had so far been kept in the dark, another ‘cool’ destination would have to be found to salvage the evening. Without the help of this blog I’m assuming their night ended with them, alone except for some crayfish, slurping up some canal water. Or is that just me? <br /><br />Maybe sick of validating smarmy wankers with a response of ‘yes, he is’, things appear to have changed. Now, you’ll have to queue like everyone else waiting outside Infernos on a Friday night, or if it’s slightly less busy take a seat with a drink upstairs while you wait. Like a pleb. <br /><br />So, the essential feelings which you will experience as you attempt to get into this bar are confusion, disappointment and inadequacy – though normal sensations for us, they are not ideal for showing off your own innate knowledge of London’s underground bar scene. But maybe you thrive off this. <br /><br />If you trust your conversational ability more than I do: go ahead and wait. Finally, after demonstrating the patience of a saint you will be chaperoned through the fridge door, following the sign which reads ‘Thrills’, and down into the kitsch bar area. The Mayor of Scaredy Cat Town is finally revealed: It’s a bar, which serves drinks and has people drinking those drinks in it. <br /><br />I judged someone instantly when I heard them discussing excitedly what could be behind the fridge door. This excitement reached another level when they were finally led down to the bar area. Maybe I’m just too jaded for the experience, but it seemed that the anticipation had kept them going throughout the wait, and that they were genuinely not sure what to expect. I’m not suggesting I’m a savant, but this does seem to impress the sort of people that think All Bar One is an okay destination for a post-work drink and that you probably need a passport to go anywhere in Hackney. During your time in The Mayor there is a strong chance that you will be stuck with a combination of such people and, if you’re lucky a group of ‘ballers’ who’ve stumbled in from the nearby City: not the ideal demographic to give you the validation you desperately crave. <br /><br />It is an understandably difficult tightrope to tread if you intend to run a profitable speakeasy-style bar in London: too secret and the bar fails, too public and it’s not a secret. A victim of its own publicity, location and fame, The Mayor falls foul of this paradox. It is yet another ‘secret’ bar which somehow manages to belie its secret location by telling absolutely everyone exactly where it is. <br /><br />How can I justify reviewing it on this blog, then? Bear with me... <br /><br />The Mayor of Scaredy Cat Town is the paradigm of what this blog is searching for: it is a ‘cool’ bar brimming with uncool people attempting to impress other uncool people. Also, at a base level it is a very good venue. It is symbolic of the mainstream success achieved by London’s bustling, ‘underground’ drinking revolution. <br /><br />I’m more than happy to spend an evening downing £3, flat lagers at the Woodberry Tavern or doing something obscure in The Dolphin (another couple of candidates for London’s most desolate drinking venues). However, sometimes occasion calls for something slightly more pleasant – although I was disappointed that the cat food advertised was not actually real cat food, knowing my penchant for a bit of Whiskas to go with a few cocktails. Catch The Mayor at the right moment and you are guaranteed to impress. Grab the lounge chairs in the furthest corner of the bar, take advantage of the attentive table service, and lose long hours to the delights of its cocktail list (among one of the best in London). Savour the kick from a chilli and lemongrass margarita, or the fruity explosion of the Alpine Fizz. Try out the ‘Basil No Faulty’ or the ‘Posh Paddington’. How could you not be tempted by that? <br /><br />Best thing of all is that you are warned not to exit through the fridge, but back out through the toilets. You are implored to leave with your flies down to give the impression that you’ve just been to the loo rather than a trendy bar. This is perfect if you’re like me and that normally describes you anyway. <br /><br />Remember to make some quip to the staff about ‘it must be really chilly working inside a fridge’ on your way out: they really like it when you do that.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />O.C<br /><br />12-16 Artillery Lane,<br />London,<br />E1 7LS <br /><br />0207 078 9633 <br /><br /><a href="http://www.themayorofscaredycattown.com/" target="_blank">www.themayorofscaredycattown.com</a></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13370179933402108685noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2039611608873501489.post-2485076790961102692013-01-23T13:20:00.001+00:002014-11-11T14:08:50.845+00:00The Camden Town Brewery<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;">If you’ve taken the time to
read some of the other gibberish which I’ve inflicted on this blog you may have
noticed a trend for cocktail bars. We think cocktail bars are great. They
provoke reactions such as ‘Wow, I had no idea this place existed!’, ‘This drink
tastes like a pudding’ and ‘Oh great. Another date in Nightjar...’. You may
also have noticed an underlying resentment at the amount of time I spend in
cocktail bars. Unfortunately for me (and anyone I’m dating) social norms and a
total inability to wow people with my dazzling conversation dictate that I have
to go to swanky cocktail bars in the hope that the setting will distract from
the crushing inanity of 2 hours in my company.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;">In all honesty, I’m not a
huge fan of cocktails, they may look nice but they leave me broke and
disappointed at the end of the night. I much prefer a nice dirty lager, it’s
cheap and what it lacks in presentation it more than makes up for in
convenience. Funnily enough, I wrote something weirdly similar on our sister
blog ‘my lack of sex life for people who couldn’t care less’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;">This blog would be as dull as
it was brief if it was called ‘my favourite places to drink with my friends
(both of them)’. However, if it was, the Camden Town Brewery would be near the
top of my list. So please forgive some self-indulgence because, while it may
lack hidden doorways and a cocktail list like a Tolkien novel, the Camden Town
Brewery is a very cool bar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyVO7bVliOChtFCTjCmTEsByPf2nBifg7m4beMMftvcdWGnrdgqxtHL257gg4vP7GGGte2z1z-Bm2yDwtk5J0foQ5Bjtg8xmfOSen0YozB4plyWnMOU_Lcq7twR1AiqUn1pInSfP-8lXY/s1600/20130412_190756.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyVO7bVliOChtFCTjCmTEsByPf2nBifg7m4beMMftvcdWGnrdgqxtHL257gg4vP7GGGte2z1z-Bm2yDwtk5J0foQ5Bjtg8xmfOSen0YozB4plyWnMOU_Lcq7twR1AiqUn1pInSfP-8lXY/s640/20130412_190756.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;">The brewery, which produces
its beers under the railway arches ne</span><span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;">ar Kentish Town West, does a great line in
pale ales, wheat beers and lagers. Now I’ll be the first to defend British beer, but
more often than not I want something crisp and refreshing rather than some dishwater served in a handle under the pretence of being ‘real ale’. This is really
where the brewery finds its niche – finally we have some </span><span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;">interesting beers
which can be served cold and sparkling without the need to look to Germany, the
USA or, heaven forbid, Belgium*. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0WBiXV0exsYrcDaURB-fvM8niy3OVk71VQh-Dk7jo6QigJ9bZoCYNe69sHXeekHZzxba8zb-WgdPUZQDp-7J7bpAO-OV0t-e-RZVckQnlNRTHusU6-ph3xD0xKZJKBkIr2dd9HNWPx94/s1600/20130412_190651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0WBiXV0exsYrcDaURB-fvM8niy3OVk71VQh-Dk7jo6QigJ9bZoCYNe69sHXeekHZzxba8zb-WgdPUZQDp-7J7bpAO-OV0t-e-RZVckQnlNRTHusU6-ph3xD0xKZJKBkIr2dd9HNWPx94/s200/20130412_190651.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;">Hats off to the Camden Hells Lager for saving
me from yet more nights of Red Stripe and Fosters. This will no doubt offend
the purists who read the minutes of CAMRA meetings and think that anything that
doesn’t taste like soil isn’t a beer. If you find that the Camden Pale Ale
lacks the necessary undertones of mud and gravel I can recommend the London
Fields Brewery - where all the beers taste like compost. The only beer I would
exercise some caution over is a stout called Camden Ink. I feel a bit bad for
criticising it, I mean I couldn’t sue them for false advertising. I guess that
when I ordered a pint of ink, I was hoping that they would take it slightly
less literally. While parker pen cartridges aren’t generally a key component of
my preferred tipples, if you’re a big fan of stout give it a go. Also feel free
to send me hate mail telling me how wrong I am and how delicious Ink is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSQ0Ke6K_r4MCyyynAEtjPXAz9rzTZaLDwB9NNs2a971U0t0feML0boPegZQfAzA6PY5BoGkY1Qix0kFxNUMlwyQPks6RXZNOXm1gB_XTmP5hQbX9ifE3kI8SNFJT0qtGotBtvqRqLjEs/s1600/20130412_193723.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSQ0Ke6K_r4MCyyynAEtjPXAz9rzTZaLDwB9NNs2a971U0t0feML0boPegZQfAzA6PY5BoGkY1Qix0kFxNUMlwyQPks6RXZNOXm1gB_XTmP5hQbX9ifE3kI8SNFJT0qtGotBtvqRqLjEs/s320/20130412_193723.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;">The brewery bar has been open
since March 2012. I know this because I kept phoning them to see if it had
opened (I told you I wasn’t cool). The bar takes up one of the seven railway
arches which the brewery occupies and is open Thursday - Saturday. Looking at
the bar I like to think that the brewers had a conversation along the lines of:</span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: .1pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;">‘What the fuck did you buy
seven arches for? You know we only have 4 customers?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: .1pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;">‘Meh, fuck it, I’m sure we’ll
think of something, how about dodgems?’</span><span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;"><br />Fortunately, they haven’t
gone the way of Proud and used the excess room as ‘art space’ so that
overprivileged kids in red trousers can get in touch with their creative side
and show how in touch with London’s arty underbelly they are. Instead, the nice
folk at the Camden Town Brewery decided to tack a bar onto the end of their
brewery. Unpretentious and simple, it’s everything I want from a bar: nice
beer, brewed 10 yards from the tap,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;">served by staff who like what
they do at a price that doesn’t require the backing of a trust fund.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKRI9A6fk9y-gIG6zdamv1khEMEt7cFEXtUFkEmrvE3oL4BmeEXrkXWSaNN1TpNmyfsA49H8iNdYm5uk26lOoJvqe2eYKR-GmFH6W1VYWynEuAB1JlEZCjrKUa63wHEyoMazFodIj9VcY/s1600/20130412_190720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKRI9A6fk9y-gIG6zdamv1khEMEt7cFEXtUFkEmrvE3oL4BmeEXrkXWSaNN1TpNmyfsA49H8iNdYm5uk26lOoJvqe2eYKR-GmFH6W1VYWynEuAB1JlEZCjrKUa63wHEyoMazFodIj9VcY/s320/20130412_190720.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;">While this isn’t a food blog
(because there’s only so much you can say about 2 for 1 Pizza Hut), I’d
recommend eating at the Camden Town Brewery. In keeping with its rough around
the edges image, </span><span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;">a variety of food stalls are invited to come and set up shop
outside the bar to serve up a selection of street food. If anyone has been to
Whitecross Street Market (which you all should) you’ll recognise a few faces
and understand just how good London street food is these days. You can check
who’s cooking and when on the brewery’s website.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;">So that’s the Camden Town
Brewery - if you met someone in 151 King’s Road and are looking to impress them
on a date, don’t come here (or anywhere else I drink). On the other hand, it’s
a great little place to take your mates (or the mythical lager girl who thinks
that watching the Six Nations is a perfect way to have some couple time). In
doing so you will ensure that your chosen company sees just how cool you are
with your expertise in lesser known London drinking venues. If you go on a
Thursday they will even give you a tour of the rest of the brewery - I have
always found that tours are a good way to further high-functioning alcoholism
in the name of education. The same thing could be said of writing for this blog.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="line-height: 24px;">(*Fuck Belgium) </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><a href="http://www.camdentownbrewery.com/" target="_blank">www.camdentownbrewery.com</a></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="line-height: 24px;">The Camden Town Brewery, </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 24px;">55-59 Wilkin Street Mews, </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 24px;">London </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 24px;">NW5 3NN </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 24px;">0207 485 1671</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13370179933402108685noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2039611608873501489.post-55694499293611744502013-01-16T12:36:00.000+00:002015-01-22T13:07:35.313+00:00White Rabbit Cocktail Club<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;">In a nearby shop window is a vintage poster which reads: ‘No
underground! Get over yourself. Visit Stoke Newington.’ If you’re not lucky
enough to live there or nearby, get on a bus and go, and while you’re there you
may as well make a day of it. If you can persuade someone to spend that much
time with you, that is.<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;">Let your companion consider mortality in the beautifully macabre Abney
Park Cemetery. Some say death is actually a powerful aphrodisiac, so who knows
where this may lead. Best leave before dark though: you may actually come
face-to-face with mortality or at best a couple of ageing Goths wanking each
other off onto a tomb where ‘dearly beloved’, who ‘fell asleep’, lies waiting
to wake again at the Second Coming. Lighten the mood with a short stroll down
the serene Church Street and regain your <i>joie de vivre</i> by admiring the fallow
deer in Clissold Park. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;">After this psychological rollercoaster a drink is in order.
Where better than the mental medley that is White Rabbit Cocktail Club? I never thought I
would be writing the phrase ‘another bar inspired by the works of Lewis Carroll’,
but there we go: this is another bar inspired by the works of Lewis Carroll to arrive
on the London drinking scene. A touch of this inspiration, combined with a
pinch of steam-punk, gives the venue the appearance of having been put together
by someone addicted to opium. There is a large garden at the back - it was cold
and dark so I didn’t look - but I am told it keeps on theme, and am sure that
it will be a massive draw in warmer months. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;">The drinks themselves are delicious, made even more so by some
excellent deals. The Kir Royale, one of the best I’ve had, seemed to be made by
magic. The cassis syrup, unconstrained by the laws of physics, was settled at
the bottom of the glass and gradually mixed with the champagne. I was also
excited by the Caterpillar cocktail; due to my penchant for absinthe, and consequently
doing something desolate. Unfortunately for this review, yet fortunately for my
wellbeing, I dropped it all over my knees and didn’t have enough money to buy a
new one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;">Avid Alice in Wonderland fans will remember when Alice and her
companions got in on the Two for Tuesday deal from Dominoes – the White Rabbit
crying ‘Oh dear! Oh dear! The pizza shall be too late’. ‘Too late for what?’
you ask. Who knows, maybe the rabbit actually managed to drink his Caterpillar
and that’s why he makes even less sense than a purse full of newts. At least, this
is how I remember it. Then again, my time with the green fairy may have blurred
my judgement somewhat. Unfortunately chain pizza restaurants have yet to reach
the staunchly independent Stoke Newington, so White Rabbit have had to
settle for the slightly less authentic, but still appetizing local pizzeria Il
Bacio Express. You can order in a range of antipasti and pizza in order to fuel
your Alice in Wonderland themed night and also seduce your companion with your sensuous,
grease-covered fingers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;">If this doesn’t put them off, lure them down into ‘The Rabbit Hole’.
For surely, if they were not impressed enough already, this basement club space
(open until 4am at weekends) will place them in no doubt that you are at one
with the innate workings of this city. They offer a range of theatre, burlesque
and club-nights on an exciting-looking schedule. The night, ‘Too Cute to Puke’,
sounds way too tempting to be real. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;">If this is all too fancy then the Rochester
Castle is round the corner - a prime contender for bleakest Wetherspoons in
London.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;">Look out for White Rabbit’s sister venue opening soon on Hackney
Road: Through the Looking Glass – yet another Alice in Wonderland style bar.</span>
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</div>
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<br />
O.C</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;">White Rabbit Cocktail Club, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;">125 Stoke Newington High Street, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;">N16 0UH<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;">0207 249 6748<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; line-height: 150%;"><a href="http://www.whiterabbitlondon.co.uk/" target="_blank">www.whiterabbitlondon.co.uk</a></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13370179933402108685noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2039611608873501489.post-8831148612241619262013-01-09T12:52:00.002+00:002014-11-11T14:09:07.769+00:00Nightjar<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Start Trouble’s magnum opus ‘Let’s Get Fucked Up’* pays tribute to the age which gave us Al Capone, the Canadian Whiskey trade, Boardwalk Empire and a plethora of London drinking venues in which the uncool likes of me and you can pretend to be cool. I am, of course, talking about the Prohibition. Where do you think you would have been in the Prohibition?<br /><br /> If you see yourself as a bootlegger making your millions trickling grain whiskey into the parched mouths of the booze-starved masses of Atlantic City, you’re probably the sort of opportunistic, proactive industrious individual who would not be seen dead in a speakeasy. I also don’t want to be your friend. Alternatively, like me, you may be well aware that you would have embraced the desperation, spent every last penny you had on overpriced spirits in a poorly-lit New Orleans basement while listening to a suspect pianist who only sounded passable because you’re drunk. Now, if even though it’s 2013 not 1924, and you’re in London not New York, that still sounds like exactly what you want to do anyway, this bar is perfect for you. <br /><br />While sitting in an empty pub in a council estate off York Way (yeah we get them wrong every so often so you don’t have to) the bartender told us that in his view Nightjar served the best cocktails in London. As my failing liver will attest, I place a lot of trust in bartenders’ judgement. On this occasion, my faith in a bar man’s advice led me, not to waking up in a skip for once, but rather to one of the best cocktail bars in the city.<br /><br />I won’t go into too much detail about the cocktail composition itself, largely because I don’t know how to spell half of the ingredients, let alone know what they are. I wouldn’t want our dear readers to be under any misapprehension that I am in any way qualified to talk about drinks, bars or how to be cool. My advice: try them for yourself, you won’t regret it. As I repeatedly elucidated to our lucky dates re: the Leroy cocktail: "holy fuck, this drink tastes like a pudding". Seriously it tasted like a lemon mousse. And it gets you drunk. <br /><br />One thing I do feel able to comment on with some authority is the presentation of the cocktails. Now I know that I’m a man who thinks fireworks are made by wizards and is still impressed by Art Attack, but I promise you that in spite of my own low threshold for amazement, these beverages are served with some panache. One drink came served with a flaming half coconut. The ‘Coalition’ cocktail was served in a pewter hip flask sitting on a bed of ice, trimmed with a few blades of corn in tribute to the grain whiskey we would have been drinking had this modern speakeasy not evolved to serve spirits which don’t turn you blind. If you don’t think that’s cool then you need have a good look in the mirror and reevaluate the decisions which led you to reading this nonsensical blog. If that look in the mirror hasn’t convinced you that this is cool then you’re either a) insane or b) cooler than me. Most likely the latter. <br /><br />I mentioned that the spirits used today are actually fit for human consumption unlike those of the real prohibition. This brings me on to one of the things which sets this bar aside from the many other prohibition themed bars in this city. On request, and provided you remortgage your house, you can try genuine 1920's prohibition whiskey. Obviously most of us will never take advantage of this facility but, as I like to say to myself when buying condoms: ‘although I won't get the chance to use these, I feel happier knowing that they're there’. <br /><br />*Our legal team has asked me to point out that my analysis of Start Trouble is based on speculation and an attempt to be funny rather than any musical knowledge or critical ability. We are not in any way endorsed by Mr. Trouble. He does sound fun though. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /><br />Bar Nightjar, <br />129 City Road, <br />London, <br />EC1V 1JB <br /><br />0207 253 4101 <br /><br /><a href="http://www.barnightjar.com/" target="_blank">www.barnightjar.com</a></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13370179933402108685noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2039611608873501489.post-9251751517569061382012-12-27T12:17:00.000+00:002014-08-18T11:59:37.388+01:00The New Evaristo Club (AKA Trisha's)<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The bars on this blog often have this sort of cultivated
illicit charm, they’re hidden, but being hidden was always sort of part of the
plan for them. All of them feature reasonably secluded entrances, a lack of
fanfare and yet surprisingly superlative settings. Not so the New Evaristo
Club, which looks like a particularly terrifying brothel in an Eastern European
country that’s only just getting Westlife. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
<br />
All the other bars seem to have the ‘hidden entrance’ vibe so that Time Out
will gush praise upon this ‘hidden nook’ seven years after it opened and starts
getting filled with G-Star and V-necks so deep you can see pubes. The New
Evaristo Club, however, seems to have done it because customers are nothing
more than a real hindrance to the business of getting fucking melted in a basement. <br />
<br />
The address is technically 57 Greek Street, I say technically because there’s
nothing to indicate that this bleak little corridor leading off Greek Street is
number 57, or indeed, that it’s anything more than the kind of place that you’d
only go to if you didn’t mind coming away having become an accessory to the white slave trade.<br />
<br />
Walk down the little corridor however (the threadbare red carpet and peeling
white walls all add to exclusivity of the place) and head down the twisting
staircase into the darkness and you’ll find another red door. Open it, and
behold the New Evaristo Club in all its glory. Or all its squalor. Depends on
your definition of glory really I suppose. I suppose the kind of glory that the New
Evaristo Club bathes in is the same kind of glory that gives the phrase ‘Glory
Hole’ its meaning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Apparently, The New Evaristo Club is a ‘Member’s Club’ and
there are stories of people being asked to sign in when they turn up. I have no
idea what this actually means for the actual running of the place, because as
far I can see it’s hardly fucking Dorsia and it’s never happened to me. Don't you love these in-depth insights we give you?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
The walls are coated in magazine articles or posters or pictures or newspapers
or something, I wish I knew, but unfortunately I don’t possess the power of
echolocation and so the murky blackness in this particular basement bar defeated
my only-human eyesight. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The service is something I can only describe as
‘Government-standard’. If you’ve ever been to the DVLA, or the Passport Office,
or had to deal with bureaucracy of any sort, you’ll know what I mean: the
customer is treated as if they’re nothing more than a chore. An unfortunate cog
in the wheels of of running a consumer-driven business. I find this hilarious,
and quite refreshing, especially as it means I don’t get called ‘Sir’, which
makes my skin crawl when I hear it, and makes me think of myself as some sort of
feudal Lord, acting like a dick and gorging myself on pheasant and
chaffinch-stuffed kestrels while my serfs starve. <br />
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As you can imagine of the kind of place that’s hardly ‘consumer focused’ there
are about three beers, a completely random selection of spirits that look like
they’ve been bought in bulk as some sort of lucky dip after a fire in a
warehouse, and a couple of bottles of wine. Mercifully, it’s pretty cheap and
there’s pretty much always somewhere to sit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now, the elephant in the room here. I can’t really review
this place without bringing it up. No, it’s not actually a brothel disguised as
a bar disguised as a brothel. Something worse. There are rumours about that the
New Evaristo Club is a Fascist bar. The thing is, I don’t know if this means
that it’s Fascism-themed, or if it’s Fascist-sympathetic, and I’m not entirely
sure if that’s a meaningful distinction. Also, more questions, how exactly does
one run a Fascism-themed bar? Are all the drinks named after horrible
dictators? Or every now and then someone’s taken out the back and arbitrarily
shot? If you’ve got any answers to any of the above, or would just like someone
to talk to, e-mail us (please someone e-mail us, we’re all such lonely lonely
men).<br />
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There are bottles of wine with Hitler and Mussolini on them, and I’m assured
that somewhere in the darkness there lurks a bust of Mussolini. I have
absolutely no idea whether this a concerted effort on the behalf of the owners
(which given everything else going on seems unlikely) or just a coincidence of
the décor. (If anyone would like to see my band ‘Coincidence of the Décor’
please get in touch).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Anyway, the New Evaristo Club is grotty, hilarious, dark (in
all senses of the word) and is thoroughly difficult to find. The New Evaristo
Club is a bit like spending Christmas with your Grandad; once you get past the
right-wing tendencies and gruffness, actually alright really. (Plus there’s a
constant sort of unpleasant smell to it). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><a href="http://twitter.com/Cleedophile" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" target="_blank">J. Clee</a></o:p><br />
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The New Evaristo Club,</span></o:p></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">57 Greek Street,</span></o:p></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">London</span></o:p></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13370179933402108685noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2039611608873501489.post-87802600747236556352012-12-05T12:25:00.000+00:002014-08-18T11:58:09.331+01:00Bourne & Hollingsworth<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 17px;">If you’ve ever really wanted to have a cocktail with someone’s great-aunt in the parlour of her semi-detached house in Bolton in the 1950’s, then you’re a fucking fruitbat. You’re also in luck here. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17px;"><br />The main, and in fact only, room of Bourne & Hollingsworth looks like a particularly twee Northern front room from a simpler time. To play up to this fact, all the cocktails and mixed drinks are served in delicate china teacups, or jars or milk jugs or one of those by-now-familiar vessels that all cocktail bars use. The flowery wallpaper, quaint needlework designs on the wall, and chairs that look like they’re moments away from being examined by a man in a garish suit on daytime TV all combine to give Bourne & Hollingsworth an extremely surreal feeling. <br /><br />Although initially this visual assault makes you feel like your eyes are throwing up into the inside of your head, it somehow sort of works. The lights are low enough that you don’t go blind from the clashing patterns and adds to the whole ‘I’m pretty sure I saw something similar to this re-enacted on Crimewatch’ vibe’. <br /><br />At this stage, I know what you’re thinking; this is all very well and good, but how will people know how cool and urbane I am if this bar is easy to find? Well worry not, Bourne and Hollingworth is rather well hidden. Like all the bars on this blog so far, it sits underneath something laughably mundane. In this case; a cornershop (I know, we’re as annoyed as you are to have broken away from ‘under a kebab shop’, but there’s only so much we can do). On the corner of the street, there’s some sort of black and white faux-shop front that looks like a piece of evidence from a horror film set in an orphanage, and in front of that, a black metal staircase leading to the basement. Admittedly, the horror-film-wall-photo actually says ‘Bourne & Hollingsworth’, but don’t worry, it looks more like a piece of street art commissioned by someone’s rubbish Dad than the entrance to a bar. <br /><br />Bourne & Hollingsworth does a very good job of hiding in plain sight; although it’s on a busy street, and even when the other pubs in the area are packed then there’re never more than a few people standing. It’s an intimate bar with a relaxed atmosphere, and it’s quirky and interesting enough to provide a conversation topic when you inevitably run out of things to say after the first thirty seconds of being there you fraud. <br /><br />As I mentioned earlier, their speciality is cocktails, but there’s lagers on offer as well if you’d prefer a delicious lager. The prices are reasonable for a cocktail bar just off Oxford Street, but if you’re expecting to pay less than about four quid a drink then you’re sort of on the wrong blog to be honest. If we start another one called ‘Ale Pubs for Tight Bastards’ I’ll drop you an e-mail. <br /><br />If I’m perfectly honest, I’ve never actually had a cocktail there, and all my companions have had wine or lager, so as much as I’d love to tell you how good the cocktails are, I’m at a loss. Although, even if I had tried one, any, or even all the cocktails, I’m a man who once ate a box of chalk thinking they were those delicious candy cigarettes so I don’t know if my judgement would be worth anything anyway. <br /><br />Anyway, to sum up, Bourne & Hollingsworth is an interesting and different bar that looks like the inside of someone’s house, and it will definitely boost your kudos amongst impressionable people. Mission accomplished eh? If you want to prove to people you know about these hidden pockets of secret London then head here. Equally, if you’ve secretly got some sort of creepy fetish for drinking in what looks like an old woman’s flat then whatever you do, get some help you pervert.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1x6wlg56rap2GJI2X7nsfTQlQlYfj4VRVwE6AgZwsjikHI010AVuadPhaOvZc22O1bJBx6tNoQLwI0cJZu9BnU5nZ1qXKfweyOOBY0hgsq35SgjtPKZLBp4nXabf0CQ8QC4iHgjD_Jww/s1600/Bourne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1x6wlg56rap2GJI2X7nsfTQlQlYfj4VRVwE6AgZwsjikHI010AVuadPhaOvZc22O1bJBx6tNoQLwI0cJZu9BnU5nZ1qXKfweyOOBY0hgsq35SgjtPKZLBp4nXabf0CQ8QC4iHgjD_Jww/s400/Bourne.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17px;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">As you can see from the high quality of this professionally-taken photograph; this blog is run by chancers. Also the interior of B&H.</span> </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17px;">James Clee<br /><br />Bourne & Hollingsworth <br />28 Rathbone Place <br />London <br />W1T 1JF<br /><br /><a href="http://www.bourneandhollingsworth.com/" target="_blank">www.bourneandhollingsworth.com</a><br /><br />020 7636 8228</span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13370179933402108685noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2039611608873501489.post-67380615108505286522012-11-28T12:18:00.001+00:002015-01-22T13:07:50.491+00:00Lounge Bohemia<br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Bohemia is either a 'historical region of the Czech Republic' or 'an area which contains a higher than </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">usual proportion of unwashed people'. Lounges are supposedly cosy and relaxing. This is a darkened </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">corridor hidden between the bleak kebab house; 'Corner Savoy', and an off-licence on the junction of</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Great Eastern Street and Shoreditch High Street which seems like it could put off all but the dirtiest </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">of bohemians. But do persevere...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Instead of being just some brothel, Lounge Bohemia will demonstrate to your guest that you </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">truly are in touch with the rhythms of this city, and know all of its secluded recesses. Although </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">of a similar ilk, it is also a step aside from the standard prohibition style bars that are edging into </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">the mainstream. A no-standing and appointment only policy (which actually works) increases this </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">mystique and your chances of impressing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The only nod to the name, as you enter and descend the metallic staircase, is on the walls - plastered </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">with newspapers. (‘Is that Czech?’ you say, wowing your date into thinking they’re hanging out with </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">an intrepid polyglot). Once inside, the lounge part of the name becomes apparent. Any worries you</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">had on entry are washed away as you are shown to your little area, water is poured, welcoming </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">nibbles are brought and you are left to discuss the fascinating menus revealed inside old hardback </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">books. Unless you’re actually a polyglot I’m assuming your Czech language knowledge goes no </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">further than recognising it, or at least pretending to after reading about it here. So keep quiet now. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Keep to the pages with the menu on. No one likes a show off.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The room and its alcoves, which with a little less care could so easily have a hint of the serial killer’s </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">dungeon about it, are the perfect arena for convincing someone that you know about the finer </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">things in life. The lights are low, but not in a sinister 'I’m-going-to-get-you-in-the-dark' kind of way. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The decor, despite being a cross between mid-century Eastern European brutalism and Matalan, is surprisingly </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">aesthetically pleasing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The drinks, and the small selection of gourmet canapés, really are some of the finer things in life. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Cocktails range from subtly delicious, sublimely simple cocktails to extravagant and flamboyant </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">pieces of performance art. Do remember to ask for a story if you get one of the special ‘Manipulative</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Mixology’ cocktails.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The communal nature of some tables could be seen as a blessing or a curse. Your co-drinker could </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">be put off by the cuddly couples in the seats next to you. Or, awkward looks may be sent your way </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">when, suitably impressed by your savvy awareness of the London drinking scene, your date agrees </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">to your proposition of 'making out' (I’d advise your letters of thanks to us to be anonymous just in case she </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">looks on here for her next date venue only to discover you and make that next date with someone </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">much cooler than yourself). So, judge or join in. Are you going to make </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">someone else feel awkward, or feel awkward about someone else? Is your glass (or bible, test tube, </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">or cigar case - all of which are used in Lounge Bohemia) half empty, or half full?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Either way, go to Lounge Bohemia and you’ll bask in the glory of others’ appreciation, wondering </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">what Bohemia is actually like, and whether all the men there have such astonishing facial hair as the </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">resident mixologist. All I know is, if Bohemia is anything like this I’m emigrating.</span></div>
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O.C<br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Lounge Bohemia<br />1E Great Eastern Street</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">EC2A 3EJ</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By Appointment – 07720707000</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.loungebohemia.com/" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" target="_blank">www.loungebohemia.com</a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13370179933402108685noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2039611608873501489.post-22050058426069795142012-11-21T14:25:00.003+00:002014-11-11T14:09:29.945+00:00Cellar Door<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Trying to get women to accompany you into a public toilet? We all know that game. With this bar they might actually enjoy it. <br /><br />It’s a cocktail bar. In a public toilet. The drinks make me think there may still be some good in the world. If you need to read more you haven’t understood this blog. <br /><br />We’re not going to pretend that this is a hidden gem that only the people who were starting to hit Clapton while we all thought Camden was cool can find. Even Timeout have heard of it. Then again, you’re standing on Aldwych, the Waldorf is expensive and packed to the rafters with underwhelming salads, and your options for cool, edgy or otherwise not rubbish are as few and far between as women in my bedroom. That’s where this bar finds its niche.<br /><br />Down some stairs into a disused public toilet, you feel like you could be heading into Lewis Carroll’s Wonderland if Through the Looking Glass was written by George Michael. Seriously though, you will rarely feel as cool as you do, seeing the crowds of theatre-land stare at the entrance with an apprehensive curiosity akin to the first time you heard house music, as you stroll down the steps with the confidence of Adele at the Brit Awards. <br /><br />As a man whose taste in drink is generally confined to warm, flat lager I’m not well placed to tell you about mixology and other cocktail witchcraft, however, I can assure you that these drinks are pretty damn good. I’ll take a Kronenbourg over a Csomopolitan any day of the week but anyone who buys me one of these is welcome to my hand in marriage (or at least a short and disappointing relationship). This bar makes the horror of absinthe seem like William Shakespeare’s summer’s day: lovely and temperate. And they have popcorn. <br /><br />The cocktail list is extensive and, unlike almost all other cocktail lists, not one of them sounds weird and horrible. There’s a reason why ‘classic’ cocktails get the luxury of being prefaced with ‘classic’; they’re very tasty. As a great philosopher once said: “if it ain’t broke don’t mess about with newfangled rubbish”. The cocktail wizard at Cellar Door has taken this advice to heart and the bulk of the menu sticks to old favourites. Divided by alcohol group you can choose whether you want paint stripper or sweet ambrosia in your cocktail. Disclaimer: by paint stripper I do mean a really nice gin as opposed to an even nicer gin. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For those of you who, like me, will try something new for the sake of having tried something new, irrespective of the merits or consequences, the house cocktails and seasonal specials are delicious enough that you’ll go to sleep content even if you don’t end up making the world better with whichever date you’ve persuaded to accompany you that night. You alcoholic adventurers might also consider the options of replacing the vermouth in you martini with whisky or even absinthe. All in all the menu offers you a range of tipples which you’ll want to drink rather than drinking because you think it makes you look cool. Disclaimer: they will also make you look cool. <br /><br />Experienced cocktail drinkers will understand the difference between a Southside and a Mojito. They’re both minty and limey and topped up with soda. Expecting to be underwhelmed I ordered a ‘Southside Royale’. Having experienced the crushing disappointment of the realisation that Burger King’s Chicken Royale is actually just a chicken burger, I was expecting nothing more than some limey, minty soda water with a hint of anti-freeze. <br /><br />Cometh the hour cometh the drink. A waitress wearing angel wings places my cocktail on the table. A few pints deep, taste buds numbed by nicotine, I’m expecting nothing. I take a sip because it’s there and it has booze in it and I’m worried that I might sober up. But what’s that? Surely not. Are they wantonly flaunting the line between genius and the kind of idiocy that only people like me can normally achieve? They are. Dear reader, they have replaced the soda with Champagne. <br /><br />I’m going to repeat: this bar is not only in a public toilet but they substitute soda water for champagne. If you need to read more you really haven’t understood this blog. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /><br />Cellar Door, <br />Zero Aldwych, <br />London <br />WC2E 7DN <br /><br />020 7240 8848 <br /><br /><a href="http://www.cellardoor.biz/" target="_blank">www.cellardoor.biz</a></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13370179933402108685noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2039611608873501489.post-40049690787624673582012-11-16T00:33:00.001+00:002014-08-18T11:57:59.518+01:00Mezcaleria Quiquiriqui<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Mezcaleria Quiquiriqui ticks all the right boxes for impressing people with your years-old, innate and complex relationship with ‘the Big Smoke’. Whereas really we both know that it’s more a symbol of your innate relationship with lazily trawling the internet in the middle of the night and bleak 4am wanks.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The entrance to this place is harder to find than a shiny Charizard, and we all know what a nightmare that is. The actual address is 184 Hackney Road because it technically sits directly beneath a kebab shop (gritty, huh?). However, the entrance is down an alley next to it called Hassard Street. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Hassard Street looks like the kind of alley that you can easily imagine smothered in POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS tape with ashen-faced pathologists staggering out of it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This all adds to your image as not only a suave, sophisticated character but also as some sort of earthy, street-smart urban cowboy. At the end of Hassard Street is a door with a bouncer standing outside what looks like a corridor from a Stanley Kubrick film. Go down there and through the misshapen, warped, peeling doors and you’ll find a lowly-ceilinged, dark, cramped little cellar: perfect. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There’s usually a DJ playing live music that sounds quite interesting. Then again, that really doesn’t matter because if you had reasonable taste in music you’d know actual interesting places and wouldn’t be needing tips from an internet blog to impress women. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /><br /> When you get to the bar, there’s a flipbook of individual cards with a description of each of the shots on it. They’re all exactly the same. They all taste like a mixture of Windolene and whooping cough. <br /><br /> Also, be aware that you’re not meant to shot them, even though you’ll want to. Apparently the proper way to drink mezcal is make absolutely sure that it completely destroys your entire throat and sits heavily in your stomach like over-aggressively siphoned petrol. <br /><br /> Quite a good thing about this place as well is the level of ceremony that comes with the mezcal. As if to apologise to you that they’re charging you £4.50 per shot for the kind of thing that would level even the hardiest of tramps, you also get (for some reason) a slice of orange sprinkled with chili powder. Now admittedly, that sounds fucking mental, and it sort of is, but it also sort of works, plus it adds to the whole ‘new experience’ vibe that’s going on here, plus you can pretend you totally know what’s going on. <br /><br /> So there you have it; Quiquiriqui is actually – on top of being a secret kerosene dungeon – is actually a really good bar with great staff. However, its primary usage is, obviously, to try and show off how cool you are. If you’re trying to convince people you’re cool, then meeting them here will make you skyrocket in their estimations. However, six mezcal in, when you’re trying to fight a window and speaking in tongues then you’re pretty much beyond redemption. It’s just a venue mate. <br /><br />James Clee<br /><br /><a href="http://www.quiquiriqui.co.uk/" target="_blank">www.quiquiriqui.co.uk</a></span><br />
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184 Hackney Road,<br />Hackney,<br />London<br />E2 7QL</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13370179933402108685noreply@blogger.com0