Hoxton royalty - The Queen of Hoxton, Shoreditch

A friend of mine is fond of saying, "who says Rick Astley is coming back, as far as I'm concerned he's never left!." And the same might be said for seventies and eighties soft rock - one of the more maligned genres of my not so short lifetime, seems not only to be back, but fully embraced by the hip and the beautiful of London town. And few bars are as hip or beautiful at the moment as The Queen of Hoxton located in the heart of Shoreditch. This place used to be Industry up to about 8 months ago - a place that never quite got the balance right between aspirational cool and City boy drinks venue. A case of one plus one not equaling two.

The Queen of Hoxton has gone down the 'too cool for school' path and is all the better for that.

The Northerner and I have been there several times and have been struck by how they have the balance just right in terms of urban self regard, and very friendly service, backed up by an eclectic mix of rock, hip hop, disco and dance. Something to cater for all ages - even mine.

The clientele are check shirted boys with skinny jeans and converse trainers, and girls in party dresses vintage of course - well those who aren't mirroring what they boys are wearing. Drinks are your classic cocktails, fashionable lagers (Mexican, Californian, Argentinean) and new world wines, which combined with the hip young things and edgy / retro music make for a fun and frivolous little bar. Apparently the place is celebrity central for those who are into that Hoxton / Shoreditch cool thing, however there has been noone of note in my recent, and frequent visits. Then again, who exactly am I right?

QOH is a great London bar, and one I plan to return to a lot. A friend of mine has commented recently that the bars I tend to big up on this blog tend to be the antithesis of what I personally am about. By which he meant, hip, fashionable, designer hangouts with an emphasis on youth. If you accept that (slightly insulting) synopsis then its true that QOH is all of the aforementioned. However because its relatively undiscovered as such, and I have enjoyed it every single time that I've been - something which not many of its competitors can claim I'm gone to give it my own little gong for Best Bar of 2009. As my man would say in hushed reverence to the mighty Rick Astley - good things come and go, but when greatness strikes, it should be recognised.

Happy New Year troopers.

All hail Mexican cool - Boho Mexica, Shoreditch

When you think of Mexican restaurants images of sombreros, tequila shots and fajitas come to mind. And not in a good way. Well you won't find any such paraphernalia at Boho Mexica in Spitalfields, one of the new wave of hip Mexican joints that have appeared in London over the last year.

The Northerner and I were up for a bit of Friday night lights in Shoreditch, so after kicking off at the delightful Queen of Hoxton (to be reviewed later in this blog) headed onto Boho Mexica to sample from what looked a delightful, and surprisingly cheap menu.

Located in an old Chinese restaurant, Boho (on this night anyway) was half dining, half pre-Xmas party. After briefly considering crashing the seasonal bash we took the surprisingly mature option for us and went to our table.

Thank goodness we had booked as the popularity of this place is something else. Helped in part no doubt by the continued support of Time Out magazine, but obviously due to the fact that it is pretty damned good.

And so it proved. The menu consists of appetizers, a tacos bar (the soft corn tortillas), antojitos, tortas and tapas, ranging in price from £3.95 to £6.95. Not only is the food cheap but its delicious - our Carnitos Tacos (slow cooked pork tacos), De Pezcao (sauteed sea bass tacos) and Enchiladas de Mole (chocolate and chilli sauce chicken with rice) being the standouts of the eight or nine platters we sampled. We washed it back with a cracking Argentinian Malbec and yours truly even found space for a dessert (Copa Nevada - cinnamon and vanilla cream with lime yest meringue) and the obligatory margarita to round things off.

This place is one of the loveliest restaurant's I've been to for a while. Great food, warm friendly service, and a very festive atmosphere means it works as both a romantic and 'friends night out' venue. Plus its fashionable and hip. Mexican restaurants being cool. Who would ever have thought that.

Czech your drinking - The Luxe, Spitalfields Market

There are big nights and then there are ridiculously big nights. On what was my second visit in as many weeks to The Luxe in Spitalfields we'd gathered together a crew of occasional and frequent imbibers to celebrate all things Friday.

John Torode's - as in Smiths of Smithfields and occasionally MasterChef - latest bar has copped more then its fair share of criticism much of which is hard to understand. For a start its a very beautiful venue with a birdcage type exterior enhanced by high windows and funky, modern furniture. The Luxe's design is very much in keeping with the original Spitalfield's market albeit successfully updated for the noughties.

Second the service, whether at your table or the bar is slick and charming - there's not too much waiting around at this place. And finally it has a buzz reminiscent of when Smiths of Smithfield's first opened. It's not by any means hip, but it successfully strikes the balance for those city workers and wannabe hipsters for whom the other pubs in Commercial Street and Brick Lane are a little too grubby.

The first time I visited the Luxe was on a Monday night on which it had enough of a crowd and ambiance to justify drinking on the earliest school night. By the second visit we were at full-on Friday mode, with birthday parties, party girls and boys, and us - the occasionally motley drinking crew that included such luminaries as the Northerner, Lady Devon, Young Elvis, the Engineer, the Caister Boy, Betty Boo and the Architect and the Senorita to name but a few - meant I was never going to get off lightly.

And that turned out to be the case as, instead of stopping at three to four of the 6% Czech beers, Young Elvis and I powered through what must have been a dozen or so, and behaved accordingly. The Northerner wasn't best pleased. After all, she'd only had five caipirinhas.

Finally I called time, probably not a moment to soon, stumbling off into the night, and leaving the pretty young things to have some fun. Nevertheless I do think the Luxe is a very good addition to the Smithfield's portfolio and a welcome alternative to the awful banker bars of Bishopsgate. Not that you want too many more bankers there. Nor, if you take into account how I felt the next day, do you want to overdo the Czech beers. Don't say you haven't been warned.

The Portuguese come out to play- Bairro Alto, Lisbon

Losing luggage is not a great way to start a holiday. This is exacerbated if you happen to be in a country where the men are 1) considerably smaller then you 2) dress much better then you do and 3) most importantly tend to wear a very 'fitted' style (read muscle shirts) . Tight stuff. Fortunately Lisbon is one of the best party towns the Northerner and I have visited, with bars and food haunts to more then compensate for any wardrobe mishaps. So despite looking like a new arrival on Old Compton Street, we attacked the social scene with abandon and chose to spent most of our evenings in Bairro Alto - Lisbon's answer to Shoreditch / Hoxton and the Lower East Side.

I can't begin to name the bars we visited so I will try and describe the scene for those of you who have not visited the area. First, unlike Shoreditch or the LES in New York; the Bairro does not have a daytime thing going on with lots of boutiques and shoppers, cafes / restaurants etc. It does have them, but they re dotted around the place, hidden behind or next to what look like doorways into peoples homes. In fact, during the day, the area is litter and graffiti strewn (the latter is at least artistic), and very quiet. You are just as likely to bump into a 'care in the community' straggler as a confused looking tourist. Sometimes they are one and the same person.

The Bairro comes into its own later on, as it is a genuine night-time haunt with most shops opening from the afternoon until the late evening, and bars hitting their stride from 11pm . Ditto the restaurants. Tucked amongst the streets, there's a gay quarter, a fado area (traditional Portuguese singing - not to my taste); and endless little tucked away bars each with their own music style and funky interior. And full to the rafters of young people drinking like there's no tomorrow. Which I must admit was a surprise, even to two hardened socialites like ourselves. We tend to think of the Northern European coutries as the binge drinkers, and the Southern Europeans as being more restrained. Not so in Lisbon where shots, caipirinhas and mojitos were knocked back frequently and at great speed. In fact I made the mistake of asking for a vodka / cranberry for the Northerner. What I got was a half-pint of blackberry juice and vodka shot. Watered down with more vodka. I kid you not.

Three nights on the trot of 3am sessions certainly took their toll, but at least we got to sample everything on offer.

If you haven't been to Lisbon or the Bairro Alto I recommend you give it a try. It's fun and very festive and you can still get a seat in a restaurant at midnight. How civilised. One tip though. Keep an eye on your luggage.

Regal cool - The Princess of Shoreditch

The once much maligned gastropub concept is now a fully accepted and important piece of London's social tapestry, and many pubs are continuing to develop and push the concept to new extremes. In the most positive sense. One of the best examples of the Britain's answer to the French bistro is the Princess of Shoreditch, which the Northerner and I were lucky enough to dine at the other night.

Celebrating my recent 21st (plus one or more) we kicked off the night with a few drinks with the gang (more of that in another blog), before heading off to this recently refurbished, 18th century boozer.

Located in the hub of the Ditch, just behind the Hoxton Hotel, the Princess benefits hugely from it's prime location, and the fact that for all intents and purposes its an old boozer. With a twist.

That twist is in the form of it's food, which although not cheap, is top of the range in terms of quality and choice. After ordering a deliciously crisp Picpol de Pinet (one of Langedoc's finest) we set about the serious business of eating.

The Northerner started with the scallops while I tested the foie gras. Neither of us were disappointed - the scallops were fresh, nicely seasoned and cooked on the tender side. In other words, perfect. While the foie gras, with an accompaniment of poached plum and brioche was as heavenly as it sounds. Assuming you're not a vegetarian of course.

For mains the Northerners chose the lamb rump with pak choi and chorizo in the mix, while I went for the pork belly and black pudding. Again both were perfectly cooked to order - tender towards pink - well seasoned and delicious. Not a scrap left on those plates.

Finally we finished with an apple and plum crumble and a creme brulee, which again were exceedingly good and comforting in equal measure. Although the Northerner's crumbles are of course, a bit better.

Given it was a Monday night ,the place was still buzzing and the service was faultless. In fact the Princess left us with nothing to complain about. Very unusual for us.

So a gastropub that goes straight on to my 'must go again' list. Next time we'll take some friends lest people think I make this stuff up.

Finally, I / we have noticed that Time Out seem to run the same reviews that I do, pretty much at the same time. Admittedly their readership is oh, some 200, 000 people more then this little old blog, but for the record - it's a coincidence. Although I have noticed some student journo types casing my house. Hmmm....

Halloween on trend - Home House, Portman Square London

Probably the most American of celebrations after Thanksgiving is Halloween, an event that is now firmly established on the London social calendar. Yet its been something that I've studiously avoided, until last year in New York when I realised how much fun it is dressing very badly and dancing 'in character'. With that in mind the Northerner and I duly accepted the invitation from Betty Boo and the Architect to join them for scary frolics at the rather exclusive members club Home House in Portman Square. If you're going to go to an upmarket club, you might as well look awful. A logic that the Northerner and many of our other friends do not share.

Admittedly Halloween is not a normal night, and as the Northerner quickly pointed out - hardly representative of the club. However, fancy dress aside, you still get a pretty good impression of the place, which I think is worth sharing.

Home House is the former abode of the Countess of Home - hence the posh location - which in good London fashion was restored and turned into a drinking den. It features what I believe house nerds call drawing rooms - four of them in fact - and a mix of antique and modern designer furniture. All of which seem to be unnecessarily low, and a more uncomfortable then you'd imagine. Then again, I was wearing a PVC Michael Jackson outfit.

The clientele are West End / West London upmarket and, on party night glamour personified. In fact the party was one of the best I've been to. Superb outfits, a stonkingly good band, actors in horror character, delicious cocktails, a wonderful DJ set, in a beautifully restored Georgian townhouse complete with an English country garden. When did I get so upmarket.

Betty Boo and the Architect don't frequent the place as much as they used to, given they're also members of Shoreditch House, which, amongst other things, is closer to where they live. However they're very lucky indeed to have two wonderful social options at their disposal. I wouldn't be able to say one is better then the other - rather they're equally superb but still different. In a good way. We're very lucky to have two friends willing to take us to these places. Although I think next time I best lose the 'Thriller' look.

Six of the best - Six Restaurant, The Baltic, Newcastle

Heading up North can be an emotional experience for the Northerner. More then once I turned around only to find her getting all misty-eyed over concoctions such as 'parmos', half and halfs, chips and curry sauce and other delicacies unique to the North East. However as she is more then ready to shout about, the NE of England has its fair share of beauty, culture and refinement, all of which I feel is encapsulated in the Baltic Flour Mills building in Gateshead, now better known as an art gallery, and home to the wonderful Six Restaurant.

Someone once described this as being a Geordie version of the Oxo Tower, but the man was clearly an idiot, as the place is far superior to the Conran joint by the Thames. For a start, the views of the mighty Tyne bridge, with the sun setting in the distance are something to behold. And the food, in terms of service, quality and price, far exceeds anything that Mr Conran is serving down south.

We were there for a Sunday lunch, and after taking drinks and, in that quaintly Northern way, reading the menu in the bar, we were taken to our seats plum in the centre of the restaurant. Floor to ceiling windows allow for great rivers views; the furniture is modern without being over designed; and there is plenty of space despite catering for what looked like 50 covers. No need to worry about waiting staff or fellow diners backing onto your table. The clientele are Newcastle's finest (not an oxymoron) dressed to the nines, shouting to the ceiilngs and drinking with the abandon that makes me so fond of the North. The service is attentive without being fussy. And the food is good. Very good.

The Northerner had local crab to start while I indulged in some mussels with white wine sauce and garlic. We then did the relatively unusual (for us anyway) and ordered the same main - roast beef with all the trimmings. The beef was rare and well seasoned; the gravy was thick and full of flavours and the Yorkshire puddings were the size of Newcastle stadium. And very tasty. Desserts of chocolate brownie and a peach melba were delicious, and as with everything else, of a generous proportions. But here's the real surprise - starters and desserts cost £4 each. Mains for a tenner. We spent more on our bottle of wine (a lovely New Zealand Pinot Noir) then the combined courses - which is as it should be but never, ever seems to happen down south.

So definitely better then the Oxo Tower, and clearly good reason to ignore the idiot who said it. Who, by the way, was me. Say no more.

Groove is in the heart - Pure Groove, Smithfields Market

Hybrid shopping experiences have been the rage for a while now. Retailers with coffee shops, tea rooms and occasionally bars. Coffee shops with hairdressers. Pubs with vintage clothes shops. You name it, they've tried it, usually to good effect. Although I draw the line at estate agents cum cafes. However the classic combination of music store and bar is nearly as old as I am, yet still so winningly effective. And none more so in good old London town then Pure Groove in Smithfields Markets. The Northerner and I dropped in on Friday night when the venue was hosting a DJ session by the Lost Boys (I think that's what they were called) and the place was humming. Pure Groove markets itself as an every-changing venue that includes record shop, art gallery and cafe / bar, but on Friday night it was a well worked combination of them all with a little bit of pre-club thrown it. The clientele are the Smithfield creative set of graphic designers, and film and advertising types, and (on this night anyway) very male. But all in a laidback funky way, as opposed to football loving lads.

The drinks are your standard offering of semi-exotic lagers (read that as Asahi and Corona) and spirits, mixed and served with the enthusiasm and panache of a student bar. And I mean that in a good way.

We knocked by several drinks and watched the crowd shift from animated conversation to bobbing about grooving and dancing as the beats and the beers kicked in.

This is the best Smithfield bar I've been into in a while now, and complements the equally strong Old Red Cow pub down the road. I like this bar a lot and will definitely go back again. If you like the funkier side of things I recommend that you give it a whirl.

The Sterling Pub, The Gherkin Building

The Gherkin is one of the most iconic buildings in our capital and a wonderful and relatively recent, addition to the London skyline. Or so you would think, although it proved a tad confusing for Heavy D when I suggested we meet for drinks at the downstairs bar - The Sterling. Where is the Gherkin? he asked. Well, try the large, gherkin shaped building which you can and every other person in the square mile can see from your office. Honestly.

Anyway, having overcome Heavy's navigational challenges, me and Young Elvis rocked down the to the Sterling for a cheeky after work drink to celebrate his recent offer of a job in Hong Kong. I'd never been before. Don't worry, said Elvis, it's great in summer. Except of course this is London in October so the benefits of the outside space, as pictured, are not immediately obvious.

So inside we went ,where the 90% male, suited clientele were settling into that Friday session of lager and thinking about ladies. The latter of which they were clearly in the wrong place for. Heavy finally arrived, having managed to find a colleague who was actually bigger then him, and immediately began remarking on the lack of women. It is a city bar I quipped, what do you expect. Nevertheless what the Sterling is, or was, lacking is not so much women, but something far more important to a bar. An atmosphere. The place itself is all clean lines and modern furniture, but as in a newly refitted All Bar One, rather then Phillipe Starck. The drinks are your standard mix of lagers, spirits and wine by the pint. After a couple of hours of this party madness, and with the Don (who I was meant to be meeting) apparently stuck in the Wharf, I bade my farewells.

The Sterling has a lot going for it - location, great service, and in summer it's probably a sun trap. However unless you're someone who genuinely enjoys being surrounded by suited and booted men from the middle to lower echelons of banking and finance, I'd steer it a wide berth. Maybe there was a lot more to Heavy being unable to find it then I give him credit for.

Old school with old friends - The George, London Bridge

Apparently bitter and ales are very good for colds. This is according to the Rock Star, who although not a medical man, is the son of one and a highly seasoned drinker so in many ways perfectly qualified to comment. I bore that in mind as the Northerner and I, cold ridden and a tad hungover, headed to the tourist trap that is the George in Borough High Street near London Bridge, and amongst other things, prides itself in its collection of bitters et al.

We were there to meet Little Boots (not the pop star, but my friend who has the smallest feet I've ever seen on an adult) and her hubby the Greek God who were over from Australia for a work trip. I hadn't been to the George before but everyone I know seems to have and talks it up big time. And now that I've been there I'm not sure why that is the case.

The George has all the trappings of Ye Olde English pub. A 17th century coach house that is full of nooks and crannies, the place does have character. Traditional (not gastro) pub grub, a beer garden and an impressive range of beers seems to keep the punters happy. They even serve wine in those small bottles that I thought you only got on planes.

Yet it pales in comparison with the delightful pubs of Borough Market - the Rake et al - and it lacks the views of its fellow tourist traps overlooking the Thames.

That's not to say that we didn't have a good time. Little Boots and the Greek God seemed intent on drinking their way through their jetlag - and doing a good job of it might I add. But given that the George is hardly likely to suffer through any criticism by me, I'll mark it down as one for experience. Old school in every sense of the word.

Stop the press - Luytens, Fleet Street

A sense of deja vu is common amongst those of us who spend too much time in bars and restaurants. Sometimes places look and seem eerily familiar only for you to realise that they are part of a 'chain' albeit a subtle one (read, different names) Often a venue will simply rename and redesign itself as a supposedly hip new spot - which invariably is never the case. However Luytens on Fleet Street - the spiritual home of British journalism - triggers a different emotion altogether as it occupies the site formerly owned by Reuters. The world's largest news agency and media giant which was also my employer for some six years.

Heavy D and I were out to celebrate his move to the Barbican and he suggested we go to this relatively new addition to the Conran portfolio. And I must say, I was impressed. First upon entering the cocktail bar, you notice that they've enhanced what was actually a rather shoddy interior whilst still retaining many charming artifacts to reflect its journalistic heritage - pictures of Julius Reuters himself for example. Moving to the back of the building where a friend of mine and her data management team used to reside, is now the modern white-on-white decorated restaurant. You can tell its upmarket by the fact that there are two waiters / waitresses to every table, an old school retro British menu with a twist, and prices that make you hesitate before you order.

The Heavy one kicked off with an Assiette de charcuterie, which was a sizable and very tasty portion of the great and not always so great of the meat world. My lobster mouse was light, subtle and wonderfully flavoured. I have to admit I had been unsure as the whether the dish would succeed. More fool me. For mains I took on the suckling pig with crackling - moist, perfectly seasoned and near pink perfect, while Heavy hit the Roast Rabbit, bacon and mustard which he declared as successful.

We rocked through a gorgeous new world pinot noir (Chilean I believe?) and a sherry to round off the night, both recommended by the sommelier and both matching expectations.

The place was full of the city types that most people now despise, but who were clearly immune to the credit crunch as thy ordered drinks and food with abandon.

It's not a place I would go to celebrate a special occasion - it certainly isn't romantic - and if anything its let down by being too 'city'. However that's being picky as it does what it sets out to do very well, all of which is made easier by the wonderful and attentive staff. My old Reuters buddies are now keen to try it. I recommend they go at least once. It's a vast improvement on the old staff canteen.

Exceeding expectations - Shoreditch House, London

For an old bar hand like myself most of the hyped places I visit tend to at best fall a little short of expectations. Not so Shoreditch House which the Northerner and I finally checked out recently to see what all the fuss is about. Frankly, the fuss is warranted as the 'Ditch' is beautifully designed, sizzingly atmospheric and topped off with the best view from a bar / club that I have seen in London town. It's no exaggeration that the cityscape panorama on offer matches anything you might see in New York. And in fact, that is the thing about the place. It's very New York albeit in the heart of Shoreditch. What more can you want from a bar?

We were up there to catch up with our 'new friends', the Architect and Betty Boo who we met at a fashion bash a few weeks back. After taking care of a few bottles of champagne to celebrate the Architect winning a battle with a former employer and me losing one with HMRC, we took in some people watching around the pool - the highlight of which were a gang of guys, looking resplendent in shirt, tie and jackets with small tight fitting denim shorts to provide that bit of drama. And lest you found yourself wondering how their 'outfits' worked , it wasn't too long before they had shed them completely and were launching themselves speedo clad of course, into the pool.

We headed down to the 5th floor for some fine Australian Cabernet sauvignon and a mighty fine dinner - which despite me getting pan fried cod with pesto instead of the pork I ordered, was delicious. The Northerner who did get the roast pork said I was unlucky as it was perfectly seasoned and slightly rare - just how I like it.

At our communal table we were sat with a Naomi Campbell lookalike and her tall OTT fashionable American hairdresser friend, while on my side were two of the most obnoxious European investment bankers imaginable who apparently 'know Nick' and were reeling off complaints by the dozen. To their credit the staff managed them back with ease - after all, they weren't famous, simply rich - which made me like the place even more.

I can't actually think of anything to be negative about - a constant criticism of this blog. The atmosphere is great, views - spectacular, and the staff - very charming and efficient. Just like in New York.

I'm not a member, and don't imagine I ever will be, but if I could I would. It's not better then my beloved East Rooms, but has that extra glamour and frisson that you get when style, fashion and celebrity are under, or in fact on top of, the same roof. Nothing wrong with that.

DKNY Fashion's Night Out, Bond Street

You've got to hand it to American retailers - they do retail marketing and PR better then anybody. After all, they invented it. But it still makes me wonder as to why is it that the Americanos - supposedly puritanical and unhealthily obsessed with the body beautiful - rather then the Brits, still know how to throw a stonking, champagne and cocktail fueled party like no one else. What I'm talking about here is American super brand DKNY, which celebrated the New York inspired Fashion Night Out with Vogue Magazine on Thursday September 10 2009 with a DJ led party in their Bond Street store on that night.

Of course this is not a fashion blog, I leave that to the Northerner and her wonderful ReDesign for Life to work the superlatives on what's on trend this season. However as my experience tells me where fashion people go, drinks and parties are quick to follow, and this globally coordinated party event in DKNY stores across the world, saw the Bond Street shop turn into a funkier then funk, bar / club for the evening. Working in partnership with the uber-hip Bungalow 8 the DKNY crew hosted an evening that was meant to be about the clothes. I believe the UK Vogue editor was on hand to offer styling advice to anyone that looked like they needed it. However, you give 150, mostly women or gay men fashionistas free champagne and gin and vodka based cocktails for the evening. Throw in some DJ spun 80's tunes and what you get is a full on party, complete with dancing, shouting and flirting. This is why I love London. 

This is a weird blog to write in one sense in that DKNY is not a bar that I can recommend that you visit - it's a store that many of you probably will have been into. However for one night only it turned into Bungalow 8 on Bond Street and became one of, if not THE, place to be last week. I believe its what young people now regard as a 'pop up bar'.  So what I would say is try and get on the mailing list, which anyone can simply by shopping there. Just so you can get invited to the next bash. After all if an unfashionable fella like me can get invited, anyone can. And if you think I'm being falsely modest here, let me leave you with this thought. I was, without fail, the only person who the photographers did not want to snap. And only one person stopped to talk to me and give me a card - for styling advice. Enough said. Register now.

Venturing out of the City - The Olive Tree, Bath

As a general rule, the Northerner and I don't venture too far from London town to socialise. And if we do, we're talking Paris, Marrakech or New York as opposed to Leeds, Ipswich or Bradford. Nevertheless with 'staycations' now very much on trend, as us being as affected by the credit crunch as any other social butterfly we decided to take a long weekend in the beautiful Georgian city of Bath. We'd been here once before and had been more then a little taken with the stunning architecture, quaint riverside scenery and greenery and of course the Roman spa, but had struggled to find much of a social thing going on. What a difference ten years makes.

Alongside your normal chain bars are gorgeously restored old pubs, funky tapas and cocktail bars, and wonderful restaurants. And we had the good fortune to be staying at the best hotel in town - The Queensberry, with what is (according to Bath 'siders', Bathers?) THE best restaurant, The Olive Tree. Now okay - there are a couple of Michelin star restaurants in Bath nowadays and The Olive Tree did receive it's vote by the locals in 2008. But when we went there on a chilly but clear skyed Saturday evening there was no mistaking that the place is popular. Bookings are required.

Having said that, it's location in the basement is not as good as it could be. The hotel has the most wonderful reception rooms that one would expect from knocking three glorious Georgian terrace houses together, and its a shame for the diners that this space hasn't been allocated to the restaurant. But that's being picky. The ambience is all low lights and soft jazz music. The clientele are well-heeled Bathonians and those lucky enough to stay at the hotel, and the service is impeccable and charming.

The food is great. I started with Pork Belly and Langoustine and the Northerner did crab risotto with tempura of soft shell crab and courgette flower. Simpler then they sound, the dishes were wonderfully presented and perfectly executed. Beef with dauphinoise potatoes and halibut with pancetta and peas and chive mash were eaten with relish as we only reluctantly offered each other a taster. Desserts of peach melba and raspberry sorbet with a twist of cheese cake, and a charlotte of blueberry, raspberry and blackberry were indulgent without being overly sweet or fussy. We wash it back with a delicious Valpolicella which they put in their mouth-watering sweet and sour section. And they were right.

The place isn't cheap, but nor is it prohibitively expensive, and we rounded off the evening with a port or two in one of the lovely reception rooms. A perfect evening ended was given a slightly bizzare twist when, an admittedly very drunk couple decided to share with us their extra-marital fling secrets. They did have the good grace to buy us another drink for our troubles. And people wonder why we don't venture far from London.

Shoreditch Styling - Callooh Callay, Rivington Street

There are some bars that take your breathe away in terms of visual impact,brilliance of thought and ambiance. And Callooh Callay (yes you heard that correctly) on Rivington Street in Shoreditch is one of those. Picking up the mantle from where the now legendary Loungelover left off, Callooh is is probably the most stylishly innovative London bar this fella has been to in a good few years. And trust me, that covers quite a few bars. 

What am I talking about? In no particular order any place that has a wall of cassettes decorating the entrance to and interiors of the toilets; twenties' gramophones re-engineered into Tiki punch drinking vessels; a retro seventies bar protecting the DJ booth (as in the sort your parents aspired to have in their house); and best of all, a 'through the looking glass' wardrobe that acts as a door to the back rooms; is already doing everything right in the looks department. 

But the innovation extends beyond how it looks, and onto the cocktails we ventured, where once again Callooh came up trumps. After perusing the menu our tasting session began in earnest. The Northerner helped herself to a Hisbiscusaurus (tequila based with apple), Nettle Fizz (Gin, blackberries and Prosecco) and Rocking all Clover the world (Gin, raspberry and rhubarb bitters), which were delicious. I knocked back an Ale of Two Cities (looks like an ale, but with feijoa vodka, bitters, lime, apple and malt syrup) Ready Steady Shake (passionfruit vodka, creme de peche and citrus bitters) and Delicious Sour (courvoisier based) and finally and Afternoon Twee (gin, blueberry, fruit bitters). They were all, without exception delicious and perfectly executed. Flavoursome without tasting overpoweringly alcoholic - despite the fact that most of them obviously were.

We chatted to Richard, one of the founders of the place who was charm personified, and explained that the place, which opened last November, and soft-launched in February was now beginning to pick up momentum - indicated by the taxi loads of beautiful people that rocked up over the course of the evening. I already plan to book my next party there and will be dropping him a line very soon. I can't say enough good about this place except to check it out for yourself. Although don't go too soon. Clearly I want it to stay a 'secret' for a little bit longer.

Back up on the Roof - The East Room Roof Garden

One of the challenges of writing a blog dedicated to your nightlife is avoiding repetition. Despite the fact that there are thousands of bars, restaurants and pubs in London town it stands to reason that you won't visit them all And of course there are some that become favourites, often merely for the reason that they are close to where you work or live, that you visit time and again. And there are places that you love, and with that busy London work thing going on, these are where you go to for that after work 'breather'. For my good self this includes close to home favourites like the Florence and Prince Regent in Herne Hill, and great funky pubs such as The Golden Heart and Ten Bells in Shoreditch. And sometimes a place is so good that you actually part with hard earned cash and become a lifetime member, and it is the East Rooms, part of Milk and Honey group.
And so with the recent weeks of glorious sunshine the Northerner, Heavy D and I have been making the most of that membership. Assuming that you like roof garden bars - and I have yet to meet anyone that doesn't - there are several things that make the East Room's stand out. It's a working functioning garden - they grow herbs, fruit and the like up there which they serve in the restaurant downstairs. On sunny evenings they crank up the best BBQ I've come across in London town, which given my Antipodean heritage is saying something. It's probably a combination of very good ingredients (burgers, sweet corn, sausages, marinated chicken etc), and a man who actually cooks, rather then burns or heats food, that makes the food so memorable. It also has a 24 hour licence in the weekends which means that it’s full to its brim with party people whom, despite being part of a members club, are surprisingly friendly. But then I guess most people are after record temperature hot days, an Ashes victory and several ice-cold beers.
There’s probably no need for me to say anything else about this place as not only is it so popular that membership is about to be or is already closed, but I also have a small army of ‘friends’ queuing up to join me for drinks there. And trust me; it isn’t because of my conversation. One word of warning – this place is so good that Heavy himself – a man who parts with money as willingly as the All Blacks do a rugby world cup - is thinking of joining. You have been warned.

Junky Styling Launch Party, - The Future Gallery and Soho House, London

Events don't get much cooler then a fashion book launch party, and so it proved when the Northerner invited me as her 'Plus One' to the designer's behind Junky Styling's bash to celebrate Wardrobe Surgery at the Future Gallery in the West End. I shan't talk to the fashion side of the evening, as the Northerner does it much better then I ever could in her wonderful blog ReDesign for Life but instead will focus on what I know - the drinks and eating part.

The Future Gallery sits in that odd corner of London near Leicester Square between Charing Cross Road and Long Acre - tourist central with dodgy kebab houses, cheap and awful 'cocktail' bars and minicabs aplenty. However the Future Gallery with its cool white interiors supplemented by a high fashion crowd, a bar serving free Courvoisier ‘mule’ cocktails and Japanese beers, topped off by towering models wearing the wonderful Junky Styling creations is the antithesis of tacky. With a pumping UK hip hop soundtrack, and beers and cocktails flowing the atmosphere was festive in the extreme and all of the guests were glamour personified. Well nearly all, as it seemed yours truly was the ONLY person not to get his picture taken by the two floating photographers. Philistines.
Later in the evening and still game for more we headed on to the legendary London haunt Soho House with our two new friends of the evening, the Canadian and her partner the Architect for drinks and late night dinner. Those of you who have never been there may not realise that there are actually 'two' Soho House's in London. The real Soho House, is the original members club on Frith Street above Cafe Boheme, complete with cool bars, roof terrace and celebrities. Lots of them. However there is another part of Soho House that sits above the Boheme Bar and Kitchen on Old Compton Street which seems to be strictly for corporate gigs and private (non-members) parties. Having been to both venues over the years I can tell you that they are a world apart, despite the denials of the Soho House ownership. Fortunately for us it was the former, original version that we went to, and on a steaming Thursday night in Soho, the place was buzzing. At one stage I went to comment to the Northerner that the celebrity count wasn't what it used to be only to note that she was talking to a Spice Girl. Maybe its just me. We took a drink in the bar before sitting down in the restaurant to do the wine and dinner thing. The details of that stage of the evening are a little hazy but the wine that the Architect chose, as recommended by the sommelier was superb ( a variation of a French Pinot Noir) while the pork that the him and I had (served 'pink') was tender and perfectly seasoned. The Northerner and the Canadian opted for the fish which was obviously great as sharing didn't seem to be an option. Oh and it was very reasonably priced too. In fact the whole place left you nothing to complain about, which no doubt explains why it is so incredibly successful. The perfect end to the perfect evening in London. I think that says it all.

Poetic Justice - The Water Poet, Shoreditch

There are three things which I tend to dislike in a pub. In no particular order they are; venues with an all male / suited clientele; Fosters (or a similarly cheap lager) on tap; and a large Sky Sports screen. Lad pubs in every sense. Each of these elements on their own is sometimes tolerable, but two or even worse all three condemns it to a place that shall not enjoy my patronage. And I’m sure you can appreciate the impact of that protest on the brewery industry.
My first impression of the Water Poet near Spitalfields market was on a visit with Heavy D and the Rock Star and it struck us that it was a beautiful old fashioned East End boozer whose owners had foolishly taken down the Lad pub route. Sky sports screen, wall to wall ‘suits’ and Stella on tap. Although Heavy seemed to like it. I went back again a few weeks later and still, unable to get past the throngs of lager swilling bankers in the front bar, left with the same impression. Why does the City insist on ruining potentially great venues?
However I am nothing if not persistent, and after a pleasant afternoon of shopping around Brick Lane with the Northerner I decided to give it one more try, albeit in a weekend. And thank goodness I did. In the weekend the place is transformed into the scruffy cool Bohemian type pub that is hidden beneath during the week.
The interior which is all maroon and leather with tatty and restored pieces of furniture has several spacious rooms consisting of the front bar, lounge bar, pool room and a private side room. While the garden bar, which is probably the most spacious within the confines of the City square mile, is all urban industrial in style yet relaxing in ambience. Plus it is a suntrap, which is what you want in any garden bar. Apparently the do a superb Sunday lunch but we were too late to try the food thing. Nevertheless a good bottle of NZ Pinot Noir and a nice bit of people watching seemed to keep any hunger pangs at bay.
So I stand corrected and concede that the Water Poet is more then worthy of a visit, and may even become something of a regular on my pub circuit. But I would wait until the City boys have moved on.

Taking a Swedish break - Fika, Brick Lane

I first went to Sweden on a business trip in the late 90’s and there were two things that made a lasting impression on me. One was the snow. It was first time in my sheltered excuse of a life that I had encountered the heavy white stuff and sub-zero temperatures – the former of which was very pretty; the latter very cold.
The second was the phenomenon known as ‘Big Wednesdays’ whereby shiploads of beautiful Scandinavians (are there any other kind) for some reason choose this particular night to get drunk. Absolutely rip-roaringly drunk in fact. And not just the slurring / uneasy on your feet kind of drunk, but the stumbling, collapsing rolling around in the snow sort of stupor that you normally associate with connoisseurs of Tenants Extra. Astonishing but kind of fun.
One thing that did not leave an impression was the cuisine. I dined at some very good restaurants and even did the reindeer steak thing which was quite nice, but overall there were no dishes or meals that have stayed in the memory bank.
Stumbling across the delightful looking Fika on Brick Lane I looked forward to it changing that perception.
With its soft earth colours of brown and green, and furniture that looks like it’s taken from a very famous Swedish furniture retailer Fika is a comfortable and relaxed little place. After reviewing the Scandinavian organic take on a menu, the Northerner and I agreed to go for their speciality, the Planka – a dish served on a plank accompanied by smoked, pressed potato, gravy and a tomato. Intrigued I ordered the salmon variety and the Northerner went for the Kyckling (chicken) which were accompanied by a hollandaise and a chilli infused lemon sauce respectively. The Northerner’s chicken was well seasoned and flavoursome, while my salmon was cooked perfectly – i.e. slightly rare and in itself delicious. However the potato was a let down, lacking in flavour and with a peculiar texture. While my sauce was overpowering but a tad bland – not a good combination. I tried one of the Swedish Mariestads beer which was flavoursome and very high in alcohol content. No doubt it would work a treat on Big Wednesday. The Northerner eschewed some of the eclectic wines on offer (Elderberry or Strawberry wine anyone?) and opted for a French rose which was crisp and dry. Fika is not expensive by West End standards, but certainly not a cheap and cheerful and could probably best be described as an aspirational café rather then an out-and-out restaurant. The food was satisfactory rather then memorable and I would go again, but maybe as a drinks and nibbles night rather then the full dining experience.
'Fika' is according to our waitress, the Swedish expression for what we would call a coffee break, but really it’s a social interaction that Swedes take very seriously. Given my experience of Big Wednesday I can confirm that they definitely do take that form of social interaction very seriously, and perhaps that's the sort of approach I should take the next time I chance upon Fika.

Rakish charm - The Rake, Borough Market

Good things, according to a hackneyed old phrase, come in small packages. A view which might be applied to both my destination and my companion on a sunny Friday evening in London town; although I suspect the latter aka the Rock Star, might be bemused by the description. However the venue, The Rake in Borough Market has no such qualms and what a nice little find it turned out to be.
Although I can hardly claim it to be a 'find'. After all the Rake in its relatively short reinvention as beer bar extraordinaire has picked up a host of awards, including the Class Bar Awards 'Best Beer Experience' and the Time Out Best Bar Award. In fact I've been reading about it for a few years now and was more then a tad embarrassed after having made several half-hearted attempts to find it and wondering if in fact it had been closed, only to find it a mere 20 metres away from Black and Blue. A place I've frequented only about 20 times over the last year. Nevermind, find it we did and settled into sampling the wares and to find out what all the fuss is.
Well the fuss is justified. First and foremost it has something in the vicinity of over 100 beers, with a healthy selection of wine and ciders to boot. And as per the photo below, there is some seriously good beer going. The Rock Star and I hit a couple of pints of Veltin which pulled off the neat trick of getting us very drunk, very quickly while still tasting good. Remarkable. Then of course is its Borough Market location, which has become a social destination in its own right over the last two years. However unlike its fellow market bars, the Rake is a sun trap that is also relatively free of traffic and noise - gold dust in these parts. And finally the service and the ambience oozes charm and is very efficient that makes it relaxing and enjoyable. Which is what you are after in a pub. Finally to the issue of size, which seems to be a regular cause for complaint on the other blogsites I've read about this pub. It is small but they do serve you quickly. I'm sure it gets busy from time to time, but thats just pubs in London right. Small with rakish charm. I think that about captures it.

Naked coffee - Nude Espresso, Shoreditch

If there's one type of person that I find more generally annoying then an Australian it's a New Zealander. Self centred, self satisfied and generally selfish; and that's just their strengths. There's only so many conversations you can have about rugby, Crowded House, Hobbits and ahh....rugby before you realise that that old theory about island's isolating the mind may have some substance. Admittedly I'm being a little unfair. Many of my good friends are of the Kiwi bretheren. And of course, I'm one of the indigenous ones. However one thing I will give my compatriots is that the few things that they do well, they do very well. Fantastic in fact. NZ butter is in my humble opinion the best in the world despite the protestations of Johnny Rotten. The lamb of course is world renowned. And only Kiwis could focus on two wine grapes - Sauvignon Blanc and Pinot Noir as it happens - and develop an internationally recognised and acclaimed brand.
But something else that had certainly crept under my radar has been the emergence of NZ as a force in coffee, or more particularly coffee bars. This is weirder then it sounds. We don't grow coffee beans in New Zealand, and unless my university history degree is letting me down, I don't recall us ever showing any 'form' in the coffee culture stakes. Australia with their large Greek and Italian communities, definitely. But New Zealand - full of farmers and failed rugby players? Give me a break. Now NZ readers of this blog will no doubt complain that its always had a vibrant coffee scene. But the fact is that what amounted to Kiwi cafe culture was originally one street in Auckland and one in Wellington. Not exactly little Italy.
But in London town, NZ run coffee bars are celebrated as among the cause célèbre of the genre, with Flat White, the Milk Bar and the Sacred Cafe all making their mark in the West End. Meanwhile out East there is the glorious Nude Espresso which I popped into last week whilst my company was preparing for a fire. As you do.
Nude Espresso, just across the road from the Truman Brewery on Hanbury Street, is in the heart of London's hipsville and the clientele are your creative industry favourites of graphic and fashion designers, interspersed with shop owners, craftspeople and funky Japanese tourists. The 'converted Victorian terrace is spacious and funky without feeling over-designed or trend conscious and the staff are all warmth and charm. But of course people come here for the coffee and you won't be disappointed. The Flat Whites - a double espresso with 'flat white' milk overlaid was apparently 'invented' in the Antipodes. Whether that's actually true, they certainly have been adopted as their own by the ANZAC countries, and are the benchmark for any kiwi coffee bar. Nude Espresso's are superb. Beautifully flavoured with just the right mix of coffee to milk. Easier said then done as any Starbuckers will tell you. The food is simple but organic with the feta cheese scones and toasted foccaccia sandwiches (chicken in my case) being pretty tasty. I didn't try the cakes or cookies (damned diet) but they certainly looked the part.
The place is owned by Kiwis and staffed by Australians who seem intent on overturning my prejudices by being charming, gracious and very, very friendly. All of which combine to make it a great little coffee bar. One to check out if you're ever out East.

Stairway to Food Heaven - Upstairs Restaurant, Brixton

In Auckland in the eighties and nineties there used to be a nightclub called Staircase. And if memory serves me correctly it was a terrible place – bad music, bad look, bad entertainment. However it did have three claims to fame. First it was Auckland's most famously gay club. Not much competition at the time, but this is NZ we're talking about. Second it was occasionally hosted by a one-legged 50's rock n roller who did a mean piano. And third, it played a part in launching the career of a bona fide celebrity in Russell Crowe, or Russ le Roq as he was known then. Each of these elements on their own sit at odds with the 80's Auckland of my nostalgia, and all of them combined make the Staircase seem rather out of place in the capital of Polynesia.
Many years on finds me segue waying rather awkwardly into somewhere equally out of context with its surroundings but which also makes a virtue of its stairs - the underwhelmingly named Upstairs Restaurant in Brixton. Fine French cuisine doesn’t just sit at odds with Afro-Caribbean city, it’s a complete anomaly. Nevertheless Brixton has moved on a shade from its drug fuelled clubbing scene of yesteryear (just a shade mind you) and Upstairs has been around since 2005, so maybe it was time to give the place a chance.
And that we did last week when an erstwhile crew of the Northerner, the Rock Star and his other half Betty Boo for a cheeky champers and dinner date. Upstairs resides ‘speakeasy’ style, in a converted town house just off Acre Lane, and the contrast with the street and its surroundings is dramatic. Heading up the stairs you are greeted by a groovy little bar, before ascending once more into the intimate, romantic space that works as its dining room.
Taking in the minimalist set menu (2 courses for £22, 3 courses for £26) three of us settled on the grilled goats cheese and summer vegetable starters, while the Rock Star devoured a divine looking (and tasting apparently) veal and foie gras burger. For the mains we covered all bases, with Betty Boo taking in the Pea and Girolle risotto, the Northerner and the Rock Star choosing the Sea Bream and Sauce Viere, while yours truly settled on the Duck Breast with Cocotte potatoes (whatever that means). Having a sneaky sample of all of the mains I can say that the presentation, portions and most importantly flavours were superb. My duck was the best I’ve had outside of France for a long time, and the fact that we were all equally reluctant to share our food indicates how good it was. And how greedy we are.
Desserts always had a hard act to follow and my choice of Chocolate and Ginger crème brulee was even too rich for a chocolate fanatic like me. However the Vanilla Panacotta was light fluffy and flavoursome while the Summer Pudding certainly looked good – which was as close as anyone was prepared to let me get.
We washed it down with two bottles of French red wine, which the Rock Star chose so I’ll blame him for any inconsistency. Nevertheless they were pretty good nick, and noone wept when we receive the bill, so I’ll assume fairly priced.
Upstairs is a wonderful little place to eat, certainly better then anything neighbouring Clapham has to offer and not as clichéd as other French style bistros in the SW / SE corner of London. And maybe I was wrong to suggest it sits at odds with its location, and perhaps it enhances and complements the surroundings. Whatever - no Russell Crowe no drug-fuelled clubbers (that I noticed) just great food, atmosphere and service. In Brixton even - who would have thought.

The Long Good Thursday - 1802, Canary Wharf

I recently watched the Long Good Friday, the wonderful Bob Hoskins and Helen's Mirren film, and was struck by two things. First, the fact that it must be one of, if not the best British films of recent times. It's certainly the best gangster movie despite what the former Mr Madonna thinks. And second, what an awful, rundown god-forsaken place that London was back then. I know, it's only a movie, but other documentaries have confirmed that the place was a dump - a far cry from the Cool Britannia era that marked the beginning of my London life. Of course this can be a controversial view. Particularly among the cockney and fashionista crowds that I know, who adore London past and present with the reverence one might bestow upon a rock star or similar. However one area which everyone agrees does not enjoy the best of reputations is Docklands, now rebranded and famous as Canary Wharf - the star of the Long Good Friday, and the self-appointed 'Hong Kong' of London.

I was out there last week to 'celebrate' KZ's leaving bash from a very well-known media company which she held at 1802 - arguably the best bar in that funny part of the world. 1802 which was originally a rum and sugar warehouse, has since been given the conversion treatment and is now a highly stylised bar and restaurant which weirdly also doubles up as a museum. Only in London.

What makes 1802 unique in these neck of the woods is that its one of the only non-chain bar / venues in the area, and you can tell. A cool DJ spinning his discs while city (as opposed to pretty) young things knock bar exotic lagers and very decent wine makes for a nice bar. Best of all is the West India Quay location which means loads of outside space set against a 'Hong Kong'esque backdrop make it a very pretty little drinking place. I haven't eaten there yet - not many people I know have, but those that have swear by the food, and given the ample evidence of their expertise in gastro matters through their thickening waistlines, I'm happy to accept that. KZ had as ever attracted a sterling crowd including such Wharf luminaries as the Don and the Magician for whom age, marriage and children seems to have had little if any effect on their social lives. Outstanding.

But back to the bar. The wharf isn't everyone's cup of tea, and one has to admit that despite the frequently festive atmosphere, particularly on the Quay, the place can be a little... sterile. However 1802 is a great spot for a bit of drinking alfresco and it certainly heats up later on. I have been many times before. I no doubt will visit again.

Vintage Stuff - The Green, Clerkenwell

Listening to feedback is not one of my strengths. As per the tabs at the base of this blog, if you don't think I'm funny, interesting or cool, then 1) I assume you don't know me; 2) you haven 't heard or read me; 3) you have a problem; or 4) a combination of points 1, 2 and 3. However every so often you have to doff your proverbial cap to someone who has both superior knowledge and experience in your chosen field. Thus it was that when I met the Design Journalist - who has an impressive record of writing and editing in broadsheet newspapers and quality magazines to her name - I thought I should pay attention. 'Nice blog but you should write about the food' she said.

And in an instant the editorial direction of this blog had changed and food from here on in, would receive equal billing with drinks. Despite the diet.

So on a warm Sunday afternoon in which the Northerner and I had spent hanging with the funky and pretty young things at the Clerkenwell Vintage Fair, we decided that we needed to find a place to rest our wary legs, take a drink or three and hopefully a spot of lunch. We stumbled on The Green in Clerkenwell - a fabulous little corner pub which came complete with three hip and funky bar staff / waiters, a rock n roll charged jukebox and best of all the promise of a 'legendary Sunday lunch'. Music to the our hungry ears. And the food was definitely very good if falling slight short of legendary. The Northerner's roast chicken seasoned with fresh herbs was succulent and flavoursome. I opted for the pork (apparently it's on my diet), which despite the fact that I had to leave the crackling was nicely seasoned and perfectly cooked. The roasted stuffed apple was a nice touch. Oh and any pub that gives you five (yes five) roast potatoes each plus a healthy smattering of greens and near perfect Yorkshire puddings is worth another visit. Desserts of rhubarb crumble and ice cream, and seasonal strawberries and cream were equally top notch.

The pub itself was full of well-off 30-somethings who can afford and choose to live in what is an undoubtedly affluent area - they seemed to be recovering from or topping up their hangovers which gave the place a buzzy atmosphere. Something which was amped up several notches when by chance we bumped into Heavy D, his bro the Photographer and my new friend / cum critic the Design Editor. A couple of raucous rounds and attention-demanding stories later and I don't think anyone was in the mood for stemming the flow of drinks, much less leaving until common sense prevailed. But back to the Green, which is a lovely little pub, and merits at least a visit for the food alone. Did you see I mentioned food again? Who says I don't do feedback.

Fishing in the Market - Applebees, Borough Market

Dieting is an ugly word in the small New Zealand town where I'm from. People don't talk about or understand the concept. They certainly don't do it. So when I met the Northerner and Heavy D at our old favourite the Golden Heart for a couple of after work sharpeners, and explained to them that yours truly was 'counting calories', they were sceptical to say the least. 'It's a health thing' I claimed as I sipped on my cranberry and slimline tonic and looked longingly at their lime topped lagers.

Disbelieving friends aside, the other challenge I've encountered is finding 'good food' to eat that meets my carefully prescribed menu plan. When bread, red meat and chips are off the menu it tends to eliminate a lot of my favourite casual eating haunts.

Fortunately fish is one of the recommended dishes and happens to be a personal favourite, so having sufficiently bored my two friends with my nutritional conversation points , the Northerner and I rocked down to the wonderful Borough Market and dropped into Applebees.

This place does fish, shellfish and more fish with a serving of steak thrown in for good measure. No hip or pretty young things here, but a good collection of locals and people celebrating Friday night lights, which gave it the necessary buzz that the Northerner and I look for in a post-drinks eating place. The food was superb, the drinks were top quality and fairly priced, and the service was flirtatiously inefficient which worked just fine for the tipsy clientele. It's not as loud as nearby Black and Blue, as upmarket as Roast, nor as busy-crowded as Wright Brothers Oyster Bar, but it's a fine little venue nevertheless, and a hands down winner on the fish front. Whether it worked for my diet will be revealed in Monday's weigh-in.

The best of the best - Kaoe Bar in Athens

It's all Greek to me, is an expression that I've never fully understood until my recent two week jaunt in this wonderful country. The Northerner and I were there for one of her best friends wedding, which took place on the truly beautiful but quiet island of Andros. Given the opportunity we turned it into a full on bar, beach and island hopping tour that included Syros, Mykonos and of course Athens.

And of all the wonderful bars that we visited Kaoe was the best. In fact it was the best bar that the Northerner and I have visited in years. Honestly it was that good. Of course looking at the (deliberately selected) picture you may not see the appeal of a place with two elderly men sitting outside a tiny cafe / bar in a mechanics yard. But that is the point. Let me explain.

Before I get into writing about this bar, have you spotted the deliberate spelling mistake? If you look at the photo you can see the name of the bar peaking through in what looks like Kaoe, but in Greek is Kappa, Alpha, Phi, Epsilon - the Phi being the o with the strike through the centre. As I can't get that character on my keyboard I've had to spell it in English. Apologies to you grammarians who seem to constitute a rather large percentage of my readership.

Kaoe is located by chances across the road from the wonderful boutique hotel that we stayed in, Ochre and Brown at 7 Leokoriou in the hipper then hip Psyrri district. Think Shoreditch in the late eighties / early nineties, or the lower East side back in the day and you have Psyrri. Kaoe is set in a courtyard the entrance to which is 'guarded' by an elderly gentleman, his vintage shop and his Alsatian. The bar shares the space with a furniture maker, bronze mason, second hand radio shop, record / CD shop and a small block of apartments. And by day it is what it is - a working, functioning part of the city. However by night it is transformed. The courtyard, where the workers and local residents park their scooters becomes the main space of the bar, the apartment block becomes a screen, and the place comes to life as Psyrri's artist community and hip young things enjoy superb drinks and a great atmosphere set against a backdrop of screenings and some funky retro DJ sets. It is the sort of place that the desperately cool in Dalston or downtown Manhattan would love to try and create but just cant. They simply don't have the raw materials of an artisans and artists working side by side that a crumbling city like Athens does. Is the bar a little contrived? Possibly. But what bar isn't. This place was so good that we went there twice in two nights.

Finally you can't seem to Google it, spell it if you have an English keyboard, and therefore find it. So if you want to go I suggest you find the O&B Hotel and take you directions from there. It's all Greek to me - makes sense really.

Greece is the Word - Syros, Mykonos, Andros, and Athens

So the plan was to continue writing this blog while on my annual two weeks of 'forced' vacation - which this year happens to be in the Greek islands.

Sadly the three S's of traveling - sunshine, socialising and slurring have played havoc with my 'creativity' and the writing has simply not happened.

So be it. I shall pick up the blog upon my return to the fair isles where I will pass comment on the wonderful tabernas, bars and clubs; the dancing on Syros, the gay piano bar in Mykonos, Ramrods, the nightclub that does what it says on the box, and best of all a genuine 'big fat' Greek wedding on the island of Andros, home to Greece's shipping magnates.

It doesn't get better then this said the Northerner. And I have to admit that she's right.

Speak to you soon. In a week or so.

Yours truly

Pitcher and Piano, Bishopsgate

Defining exactly what it is that makes a bar or pub bad can be tricky. One person’s upmarket and cool, is another person’s overpriced and pretentious. One person’s ‘party atmosphere and dancing’ bar is cheesy and laddish to others. However one thing that everyone seems to agree on though is that chain pubs are bad.
This is perhaps unfair. For many years I loved a now departed chain of pubs that worked a pun into their name to wonderful comic effect – come along and have a Firkin good time went the marketing. So clever. Yet the Northerner and many other people I know despised them with venom. Other chains such as Jamie’s, Wetherspoons, Davy’s and the like have all drawn their fair share of praise and scorn in equal measure. Although everyone I know dislikes All Bar One – conservative, repetitive and bland, they are the Coldplay of bars.
Of course it’s easy to knock chain bars. The very concept of replica-fit drinking haunts conjures up images of Starbucks and McDonalds, and sadly many of these chains were the pub equivalents of those two American institutions.
One chain that has been around for as long as I’ve been in this glorious country is the Pitcher and Piano and on Friday we schlepped across to the Bishopsgate branch to for the leaving drinks of the Cricketer. A popular young man is our Cricketer and he attracted a good turnout, all overcoming their concerns at his choice of venue. P&P on Bishopsgate is very much in the ‘party atmosphere and dancing’ camp, with cheap drinks a plenty, loud cheesy music, and boys and girls dressed to the nines for a bit of after work fun and flirting. And it depends on your take on what I’ve just said as to whether it can be declared a good or bad bar, but regardless the place was certainly full of atmosphere as my colleagues and I veered towards the disgraceful side of being drunk. There are no pretty young things or urban hipsters here. There are few if any people over 30, and even less over 40. There is a lot of shouting, and dancing that looks like stumbling, and stumbling that looks like falling. There are big rounds of drinks complete with shots and cheap champagne. Whether any of these ingredients make it a good bar I’m not sure. The Northerner and Heavy D most certainly didn’t think so. But it is a fun bar, and I guess that’s all you can ask for from a chain.

Birthday blues – Club Gascon and Vinoteca, Smithfield Markets

Birthdays aren’t what they used to be. When we were younger we would go out with a gang of friends on a Friday night (regardless of what day your birthday was) and buy or be bought drinks until we fell over. Chips, burgers or food from a petrol station was the closest thing you had to a meal. Then the next day, severely hung-over we would try and convince our parents that our studies /part-time job were going well but not to bother with a present as we needed cash for ‘books’.
Nowadays the ‘gang’ are often busy tending to partners, careers and in some cases children. The parents don’t want to speak to us lest it remind them of how old they actually are. And with an age and in some cases a waistline, heading towards or north of 40, one tends to think twice as to how much noise you want to make about the event.
Heavy D’s annual coming of age nearly slipped me by if it hadn’t been for my social lifeline that is Facebook (fact, guys, never, ever remember their mates birthday’s unless it falls on a significant date like Xmas or payday). ‘I don’t want to celebrate’ he groaned. Well too bad as I did, so under duress the Heavy one agreed to meet me in Smithfield’s for a night of drinks and eats.
After a couple of sharpeners at the Red Cow, we headed down to Club Gascon for an aperitif or two. We were joined by Heavy’s brother the Photographer, who is as thin, fashionable and edgy as we are large, unfashionable and uncool. He was on cracking form and he regaled us with stories about which celebrities and or sports stars are / are not gay (all of them apparently) and the perils of life as a pictures man ,while eying up the pretty young boy things in the bars. Quality fella.
Gascon is a beautiful place with a reputation to match, and although we only did wine and starters there it didn’t disappoint. Superb food and drinks, and a very relaxed, albeit quiet, atmosphere. It’s definitely a place to impress a first date as its quite romantic. However given the lads were not on a date or in the slightest bit feeling romantic we rocked around the corner to Vinoteca on St Johns street.
This is ostensibly a wine shop that serves food but that description doesn’t do the place justice. The place has the ambience of the best French brasserie and pulls of that neat trick of sitting you close enough to your fellow diners that you can almost hear their every word, but not so close that it’s an inconvenience. The food was superb, the wine was gorgeous, and the service, despite being from New Zealand, was pretty damned good also. I focused on knocking back a beautiful bottle of Chablis while the brothers Grim debated endless points about their childhood. So a good night had by all.
I must try Club Gascon for dinner, but my pick of the two is Vinoteca for its more rustic feel and buzzy atmosphere. And I won’t be waiting for my next birthday to go again.

Drinking prohibited - Jamaica Wine House and Prohibition, the City

This weekend may have been the tipping point. When I finally concede that going out drinking and partying hard all weekend is a young person’s game. A game from which a person should retire graciously not disgracefully. A game that isn’t good for you.

The only problem is that it’s so much damned fun - so enough of the remorse and on with the recap. Friday night lights saw a motley crew of Heavy D, the Engineer, the Running Man and yours truly descend upon the wonderfully misnamed Jamaica Wine House. In tow were two guys from work, who by virtue of being born in the eighties were boy band like compared to the aging rock star that we were in both physique and style. The Jamaica Wine House is not the type of place I imagine you would find in Jamaica. Nor is it a ‘Wine House’ in the traditional sense, but a lovely old fashioned pub. However apparently it is on the site of London’s first coffee house from back in 1652 and apparently the ‘new’ pub is 19th century. So like all things English – it’s very old. It’s also very, very good and the gang and the boy band settled into a hearty male-bonding session based on talking about ourselves. The foundation stones of any good drinking session.

The boy band departed, probably in search of someone younger and more interesting people to talk to and the remaining crew kicked on for a nightcap or three at Prohibition on Bishopsgate. Prohibition is a bar in the genre as Strawberry Moons and Abacus – cheap drinks, cheesy music and a good times atmosphere. Cool it most certainly isn’t but it’s the sort of place that is common across the UK with the main difference being that in the London variety people tend to come straight from work. So suit city then. I was criticised Braveheart recently for not saying anything bad about any bars I reviewed, as if to imply this was a bad thing. I will give him this then – Prohibition, as with the rest of its brethren, is not a great bar, but it is a lot of fun, and a good place to indulge in some serious partying. But be warned; it's a young persons game.

Living in Sin – Living Room and Strawberry Moons, Heddon Street

I had I had never heard of the expression ‘commuter belt’ until I arrived in the UK. It took me a long time to realise what it meant, and even longer to know people who aspired to, or worse did actually live there. Yet as I sat on a train to Epsom over the weekend, I was still none the wiser as to why anyone on earth would want to become part of that scene. I mean it’s not the city, and it’s definitely not the country, but it isn’t really the suburbs either. Rather it’s a collection of people who like semi-detached houses, Chinese takeaways, 4 X  4’s, Waterloo train station and shopping in Waitrose. In that order. Plus someone even tutted at me when I went to open a beer on the train. I mean tutting – who ever does that in real life?

However it is obviously good for kiddies (why people who live in these areas say kiddies instead of kids or children I’ll never know), and given the houses that these people live in its very good for barbecues. Thus the reason I found myself at the Quiff and Texas Embassy girls place for a superb afternoon of sunshine, drinks, and several variations of meat, not to mention some pretty damned fine company. However after several hours of the Engineer and I enlightening (or some might say boring) the other guests on the intricacies of rugby, Heavy D declared time and we headed into town to meet his dear friend Radio 4 for a cheeky vino at Living Room in Heddon Street.

Living Room is one of those bars that I have spent many an evening in with the Northerner given its close proximity to fashion city, and it is a splendid place. I’d never been on a Saturday before mind you, and was pleasantly surprised that the normal collection of Mayfair suits and fashion buyers had been replaced by good natured tourists and overloaded shoppers all enjoying the al fresco drinking and general ambience of the street. The bar serves a great selection of wine by what seems the pint, and has some nice laid back ‘lounge bar’ music going on which isn’t as bad as it sounds. The place is hardly hip but everyone pays a lot of attention to how they look which seems to pay off. By coincidence I even bumped into the Don who was on a night out with an ‘acquaintance’. Whatever. It was good to see him and after bading farewell to Radio 4, we rounded off the night at the atrociously down market Strawberry Moons where we caught up with the Don and his ‘acquaintance’. This bar is an institution and with its cheesy music, oversized cocktails and fun and frills mix, it’s a hen party magnet. Which of course tends to attract a certain type of fella. Ånd after several hefty beers Heavy and I decided to call it a night after the staggering realisation that we had finally stumbled upon a bar too downmarket even for us. And given that I have spent a night at the Reflex in Cardiff that is saying something.

But the Living Room is definitely a great watering hole, and Heddon Street on a sunny evening is a superb place to soak in all that’s good about the West End. And even dear old Strawberry Moons held up well in the spotlight. Although I suspect a lot of their patrons are from the commuter belt.