The Folly, The City

"Tuesday is the new Thursday," said the hunky Australian waiter as he took us to our table. And judging by the number of people out celebrating in the Folly on this particular Tuesday, I think he was right.

The Folly is part of the Drake and Morgan group that has brought us The Refinery, Parlour, Anthologist, and The Drift. And of the group (barring the Parlour in Canary Wharf, which I have yet to visit), The Folly is by far the prettiest.

It's located across the road from Monument Station, right next to the House of Fraser. An unlikely location, you might think, but we’ve learned from their other venues to never underestimate this bar group. Situated in what was most likely a retail shop, the Folly is spread over two levels. At street level is the bar and restaurant, which has gone for Victorian garden chic, with its garden lounge and flower shop, hanging chairs and birdcage enclosed cocktail bar.

The Folly also has a more intimate subterranean level built around its cork-fronted bar, with raised vault seats making it feel very Shoreditch-like. It even has a ‘pop-up’ shop offering all manner of seasonal delights.

I met the Devon lass there, and we decided to take advantage of the autumn menu. So after a couple of delicious cocktails mixed by yet another resident hunk – a gin an elderflower mix each followed by a whisky sour (bourbon) and amaretto sour each – we went to our table.

To start we had the crispy squid with ginger-pink peppercorns and citrus mayo – which was the perfect combination of spice and sweetness, crispy and moist – and duck confit and Dijon mustard toast - which was chunky, rich yet not too heavy. For mains, the Devon lass went for the skinny beef burger, which practically meant it came without the bread or the fries. So in my mind not a burger at all, but it was mighty tasty nevertheless. I tried the Thai green fish curry with coconut milk, ginger and lemon grass. It was a hearty portion that included two fillets of fish – one was salmon and I think the other sea bass, it was hard to tell. But that’s not to take anything away from the dish, which was delicious. For desserts we went for the lemon peel crème brulee, which was subtle, light and citrusy, and the chocolate fondue with marshmallow lollipops and shortbread biscuits, which was the complete opposite. More like something you would expect at a children’s birthday party. It was very well executed, but a little too sweet for my tastes.

We washed it down with a bottle of NZ Pinot Noir Pencarrow Estate Martinborough, 2009 which worked wonderfully with our courses.

The waiting staff were charm personified, and as my companion noted, rather easy on the eye. The numerous punters were a mix of City types on a Tuesday night bender, and pretty young things out on the pull. Which makes you think that perhaps our waiter was right. Tuesday is the new Thursday.

The Hospital Club, Covent Garden

Covent Garden is a funny place. If you venture into the tourist trap that is the market square, you will find many of the worst pubs, bars and restaurants in London. Yet a few streets back are some of city’s best shops, and tucked in between the theatre land eateries is arguably its hippest members’ club.

The Hospital Club on Endell Street was developed with London’s creative set in mind. The club was founded by the very cool Dave Stewart of the Eurythmics, and very wealthy Paul Allen, the co-founder of Microsoft. Unlikely bedfellows in most peoples minds, but its hard to argue with the result.

Built on the site of an 18th century hospital, the club wears its creative credentials on its sleeve, and houses a television studio, music studio, screening room, restaurant and art gallery. But what makes it more than an overpriced media suite is its styling: From the art gallery-like reception area, up to the restaurant and relaxation space, the Hospital Club combines mid-century furniture with noughties art pieces to great effect. You feel like you are in London’s creative hub, which after all, is the point.

I was dining there as a guest of the Producer, who owns a video and event company, and fortunately for me is a member. After a cheeky aperitif in the bar, we headed to our table for lunch. We shared a bottle of Pinot Grigio, which is not normally a grape for me, but worked a treat on a warm September afternoon. The Producer opted for the scallops to start, which he reported as tender and flavoursome. I went for the eel salad special – a controversial fish to many of my friends, but one that I find delicious. This was no exception, although I could have done with a bit more eel and a little less salad. For mains the Producer selected the poached pollock in a chorizo broth, while I went for the king prawns and chips. The former was hearty, with the paprika-flavoured sausages combining well with the meaty white fish. My prawns were tasty albeit a little messy. But that’s no cause for complaint. For desserts, the Producer went for the homemade rum and raisin ice cream – a flavour I don’t like, and this version, although well made, gave me little cause to change my opinion. I opted for my new favourite fruit, the flat peach, which was baked and served with vanilla ice cream. Much better.

The waiting staff had that combination of charm and good looks that makes you wistful for your youth. They can be a little casual, particularly in the bar area, but they are always friendly.

The crowd were mostly, but certainly not exclusively, men. However, these punters were head-to-toe media cool. It was no coincidence that there was a London Fashion Week bash in the bar the night before. This place certainly has style.

As a restaurant, there are much better places in London to visit, however as an overall experience, the Hospital Club takes some beating. It’s relaxed, but with the right amount of cool quotient to make you feel the sense of occasion. And it's certainly a far cry from the tourist trap of Covent Garden market

HIX, Soho

I love Soho. While other areas come in and out of fashion (Islington and Notting Hill being noticeably out, and Shoreditch on its way), Soho always has, and probably always will have, that thing that makes it special.

The mix of people - fashionistas, designers, musicians, film makers, market traders, retailers and tourists – and venues - bars, restaurants, and high street and sex shops - is what makes this area London’s true melting pot. You even have a large residential population to complain about the noise and disorder.

So it’s no coincidence that probably the best restaurant I have been to recently, HIX, is located right in the heart of Soho in Brewer Street. HIX has been brought to us by Mark Hix of the Hix Oyster and Chop House in Smithfield, Hix Oyster and Fish House on the coast of Lyme Regis, and HIX Restaurant and Champagne Bar in Selfridges, London. HIX in Soho is his unofficial flagship restaurant, and given his sterling reputation and some great reviews, we decided to use the Northerner’s birthday as an opportunity to check it out.

First, as with all of his other restaurants, it’s a good-looking place. The basement cocktail bar, Mark's Bar, feels very New York (or, as the Northerner suggested, the sadly departed East Rooms) with its tin ceiling tiles and state of the art cocktails. Never one to turn down a drink, we started with the John, John & Tom Collins, and cutely named Mark's Blunder.

The J&T Collins is a mix of Bols Genever, Beefeater London Dry Gin and Jensen Old Tom Gin built over crushed with freshly squeezed lemon juice, caster sugar stretched with soda. The gorgeous Italian barman thought it wasn’t a good aperitif. The Northerner disagreed, as it packed the satisfying kick of a traditional G&T, with the drinkability of homemade lemonade. It was delicious. Mark’s Blunder combines Somerset Kingston Black apple aperitif stirred up with Aperol and is lengthened with sparkling wine. Apparently this is a good aperitif, but it was a little sweet for my taste. However, I still drank it easily enough.

For lunch, I went for the pigeon on toast, which was sweet-meaty flavoursome, and had mixtures of soft and crisp in texture. The Northerner’s duck salad was nearly as good – it was cooked to rare/pink perfection and was a hearty serving. For mains I chose the rib steak from the five slabs of meat presented to me. It’s big in size, and bigger in well-seasoned flavours. However, the Northerner’s whole Dover sole pan fried in butter trumped it. It was perfectly cooked and melt-in-your-mouth flavoursome. For desserts, the Northerner’s fennel tart was much better then expected. Who would have thought that such an aromatic herb would work so well in a dessert? My blackberry jelly was gorgeous to look at, and rich-berry sharp in flavour.

We washed it down with a bottle and a carafe of La Flor Malbec, Mendoza, Argentina 2010 which was reasonably priced at £30, and complemented all of our courses just fine.

The punters were surprisingly mostly male, suited and booted, but very much of the media rather than the banking persuasion. The staff were charming on the verge of being outright flirty, but very efficient and easy on the eye as well, which helped.

HIX isn’t cheap. We ended up spending north of £200, but some places justify a big budget and this is one of them. Much like Soho, I can’t see this place going out of fashion.

Poppies Fish & Chips, Spitalfields

I put it down to the Mad Men effect. The advertising-based story set in Manhattan seems to have inspired a new wave of retro in recent years that has made that era cool.

Everything from the clothes your parents wore to the furniture they bought has become de rigueur styling for the modern urbanite. This influence has extended to Britannia, as anyone who is watching the wonderful BBC news drama, The Hour, can attest. And this fond remembrance for the '50s and early '60s has spilled over into our eating and drinking, with the tea room renaissance in full flow, and that staple British diet of fish and chips getting the retro experience in the form of Poppies Fish & Chips.

Based in Spitalfields (where else?), this place has form. The family that own it have been serving fish and chips in the East End since 1945. In what otherwise might have been seen as a cynical marketing ploy, they have stuck to their traditional cooking roots, but embellished the experience with '50s styling. So the walls have pictures of British entertainers, a restored jukebox thumps out old rock 'n roll hits, and the furniture, interiors and uniforms of the waiting staff are all in keeping with the era. There are even cockney rhyming slangs on the walls which veer it dangerously close to being cheesy tourist rather then cool, but the East End punters save it from that fate.

But what about the food? Given I was dining with my usual partner-in-dining (a.k.a. the Northerner), I knew that Poppies was about to come under severe scrutiny. The best fish and chips we’ve had have been either up north or in our local chippie that is Olley's in Herne Hill – tough competition on the foodie front. We both opted for the haddock and chips (my serving being large) with a side of mushy peas and curry sauce. The first thing to disappoint us was that the fish and chips weren’t freshly cooked but served straight out of the warming cabinet. This is fine in your average street chippie, but not so when you’re paying from £9.90 to £11.40 for a serving. And while the fish particularly was nice enough, the chips were a little greasy and not salted. Mushy peas is a speciality of the Northerner’s mum, and unfortunately Poppies seemed like they were straight out of the tin rather then homemade. The curry sauce was also a little runny compared to what we’re used to up north. The texture was more gravy then curry.

We tried the house Merlot and Sauvignon Blanc, which were good value at £2.90 each, and the service was sharp and friendly in the way the way that British Italians are. And the place is definitely popular, as the punters on the night we went were mostly Shoreditch hipsters. So it definitely has the cool factor. But I think it is a little let down by the cooking itself. Perhaps there are some things that are better left in the past.

The White Swan, Fetter Lane

I am pleased to report that salt is making a comeback. For years it seemed this staple seasoning (for most of us of a certain age) was on the way to being banned from cooking altogether.

We all heard the arguments as salt was blamed for everything from obesity to diabetes, with a healthy (or not) does of high cholesterol thrown in. The knock-on effect was that people stopped cooking with it. Not only did you get meat without seasoning, but things like chips were served sans salt. Surely a sign that the world was going mad. To be fair, you could argue that in many cases salt was being used to hide cooking sins - particularly in the pub industry - rather then enhance dishes. However, it is no coincidence that the revival of seasoning happened at the same time as the rise of the British gastropub.

And arguably the best components of this now-established form of dining are the Martin brothers, Tom and Ed. These guys are the dream team behind such gems as The Botanist in Sloane Square, the Gun in the Docklands and the recently opened (and reviewed) Chiswell Street Dining rooms.

However, my first experience of the sibling's magic touch was the White Swan near Fleet Street. And it was with pleasure that the Northerner and I took a stroll down memory (or in this case Fetter) lane to revisit the Swan. Housed in what used to be the Mucky Duck pub, which was as good as it sounds, the Martins transformed the White Swan into a stylish drinking and eating establishment. Dark brown woods and snug booths give the downstairs pub an almost rural feel. You half expect a group of ramblers rather then local barristers to drop by. In the upstairs restaurant, lighter shades of white, crisp linen-topped tables, and iron-framed windows make it feel like a public school dining room, albeit without the stuffiness.

But it was the food that first brought us here all those years ago, and again it didn’t disappoint.

The Northerner started with the fine tart of mackerel, baby onions, black olive tapenade and balsamic, which was sharp and wonderfully, well, tart. I went for the Crubeens - an Irish food made of boiled pigs' feet deep fried and crumbed (in case you’re wondering), which came with sauce gribiche, endive and fried quails eggs. These were perfect in texture and gorgeously moreish - the quails eggs working wonderfully with the rich pork meat.

For mains I opted for the slow-cooked lamb, smoked anchovy, cos lettuce and pheasants eggs. To my surprise this came served in the style of a Caesar salad, but certainly didn’t lose anything as a result. To the contrary the lamb, lettuce, egg and anchovy combination was delicious and it benefited from the lightness of its salad style. The Northerner had the lightly poached sea trout, peas, bacon, baby onions, lettuce and pea shoots. The trout fillet was steak-like in size, and cooked to pink perfection. The accompanying sauce was by her palette a little salty (did I mention seasoning had made a comeback?) but flavoursome nevertheless. We shared an Eton Mess for dessert (in keeping with the public school theme) which was fruity and not too sweet - a common flaw with this particular concoction. We drank a bottle of Salice Salentino 2006 which was light and spicy, and the perfect complement to our meal.

The staff were charm personified, and so considerate that they even asked if we wanted them to ask some of the other diners to keep quiet. It makes a change from us, opined the Northerner. The ambience is formal and slightly stilted, and while we had a lovely time, you’d be hard pressed to claim it is romantic. I think a little bit more in the way of background or mood music wouldn’t go astray. Perhaps the White Swan is missing what its food so obviously has: a little bit of seasoning.

The Drift, Bishopsgate

Isn’t London just so New York nowadays? And I’m not just talking about the increase in diners, coffee shops and Jewish-styled delis, but the skyline, which amongst other things, has made the opening shots of The Apprentice such compulsive viewing.

The latest addition to the cityscape is the Heron Tower on Bishopsgate, which is a stones throw from Liverpool Street Station. At 46 floors and striking to look at, the Heron wouldn’t look out of place in the Big Apple. (OK, so it’s a little small by US standards). And, of course, with a new building comes a new venue - in this case, The Drift Bar.

The Drift has been brought to us by Drake and Morgan, the team behind the roaring successes that are the Folly, Parlour, Refinery and Anthologist bars. Spread over two floors, the Drift follows their template of industrial style décor and fittings - with heavy lashings of stainless steel softened by the dark brown furniture. Floor to (high) ceiling windows complete the urban affect, but it still manages to be warm and welcoming. The music is loud, but not in a disruptive way, and the mood is festive and buzzing. The punters are all suited and booted, enjoying London’s next big thing, and to our surprise, there was a celebrity in the house that night in the form of Pixie Lott. And no, I didn’t recognise her, but fortunately my friends are much cooler then me.

The staff, in common with the other bars, are all gorgeous in a fresh-off-the-catwalk way, and charming to go with it. They subtly up-sell their cocktail range, and are knowledgeable about the food and drinks on offer. They are a tad slow in service, and the downstairs bar in particular seemed to have more people collecting or cleaning than actually serving. But I’m sure that’s something that a logistical tweak will sort out.

We checked out the upstairs restaurant and started with an antipasto board to share, a selection of cured meats, sun-ripened tomatoes, and balsamic baby onions and marinated Puglia olives with traditional handmade breads. This was both delicious and plentiful. (Dare I say, it was a American-sized portion.) For mains, my colleague tried out the crab and crayfish linguini tossed with white wine, chilli & lemon. This was nicely cooked with generous helps of crab and crayfish. I opted for the beef burger on a toasted brioche bun with a side of slaw and fries which was good pub grub, cooked to medium-rare perfection. We were in a white wine mood and the South African Long Beach Sauvignon Blanc did the trick. But it’s a comprehensive wine list and we really should have tried some of the others. Next time, I guess.

Because there will be a next time, as the Drift’s mix of sophistication, vibrancy and industrial styling is a welcome relief in a part of town that is relatively bereft of decent drinking spots. In fact, you could say that the Drift is the sort of bar that you might find in Manhattan. And that can only be a good thing.

One New Change Champagne Bar, St Pauls

It shows the regard in which we hold Champagne in that we so often use it to describe an aspirational lifestyle. By which, we normally mean hobnobbing with celebs at openings or private members club, dining at the finest restaurants, and travelling first class.

It's amazing that what is essentially a bottle of alcohol has so many positive connotations attached to it. I mean, when did you ever hear anyone talk about a Pinot Noir lifestyle, or Sauvignon Blanc? The only other good appropriation of alcohol to describe someone that I can think of is lager lout. And that is hardly complimentary.

But Champagne has pulled off the unique trick of becoming more accessible, yet remaining exclusive. And a key factor in this has been the emergence of Champagne bars as a venue in their own right. A relative newcomer to this game is The Champagne Bar in One New Change – the posh new shopping mall next to St Paul’s.

The Champagne bar is brought to us by Searcys; the group that has the sister bar in Paddington Station and are also behind 40/30 in the Gherkin. Occupying a corner inside the first floor of the mall, The Champagne Bar is elegant and vibrant. The bar itself sits at the centre, adorned with champagne glasses (what else?) and encircled by cream leather high stools. Dark brown wooden floor tiles are offset by light brown furnishings, which are broken up by exposed dark brickwork. Soft mood lighting completes the affect, which is almost romantic, although the Northerner thought it felt more like a hotel bar.

The staff are incredibly charming and knowledgeable, which is just as well given the extensive drinks menu. Eschewing the cocktail variations of the fizzy stuff, we took their advice and sampled a few champagnes by the glass. Given that we prefer the dry stuff, our charming host recommended the Brut – Lanson Black Label to be exact, which was a delicious drop – dry and biscuit-like. We then went on to the Vintage stuff. The Lanson Gold Label Vintage 1999 is 49% Chardonnay and 51% Pinot Noir, and was quite stunning. While I wouldn’t go as far as to call our palates sophisticated, even we were able to detect the honeyed finish. Delicious.

The Northerner then tried another Vintage Lanson Gold Label Brut 1999, while I gave the Bruno Paillard Brut Premiere Cuvee NV a whirl. Both of which were very good, but paled in comparison to the stunning Gold Label Vintage we’d tried earlier.

To eat we had a few of the nibbles – chorizo, caprese, almonds, French sausages - which were lovely, if not a little small in plate size. We also shared the roast duck with mash, which was melt-in-your-mouth perfect, and compensated for the sizing issues of the platters.

As expected, the Champagne Bar isn’t cheap, but with drinks by the glass ranging from £8.50 to £13.50, it’s hardly extortionate. But perhaps I’ve worked in the City for too long.

The place where the Champagne Bar doesn’t quite work is in its location. A lovely little bar is made to feel not quite so special when you are sitting across from the likes of the North Face, Eat and Banana Republic. This is by no means denigrating those aforementioned shops, but it reminds you that you are in a shopping mall, which is not an experience that works for everyone. It might have been better if it were on the ground floor next to Jamie Oliver's new place, and I’m sure I’m not the first person to think that.

Perhaps I’ve got it all wrong, and that the Champagne Bar is playing its part in making Champagne accessible for everyone. But maybe that’s where that other descriptor - of champagne socialist - came from.

Courtyard at 51, 51 Buckingham Gate

"Blame it on the rain," sang the much derided (but for my money, grossly under-rated) Milli Vanilli. And that’s what was going through the mind of this bar reviewer as I braved monsoon conditions en route to St James' Park to attend the preview of 51 Buckingham Gate’s Summer Courtyard of Music.

The evening definitely had promise. Marketed as The Summer Music Season, the hotel have booked a series of dinner events at which the likes of The London Quartet, and Soprano Bella will perform a selection of opera, and West End classic and contemporary musical theatre.

This is all scheduled to take place in the courtyard to the rear of the hotel, which with its cobbled paving, purple and green shrubbery, mood lighting and Victorian fountain, makes you feel like you have snuck into some posh Lord of the Manor’s back garden. So far, so very Downtown Abbey.

But sadly, the Wimbledon effect took hold in that rain delayed play. Or rather transferred us from the romantic setting of the garden to one of the formal event rooms inside the hotel.

We were welcomed by the signature '51' cocktail aperitif - Tanqueray gin shaken with grapefruit juice, and topped by what is clearly the most fashionable juice right now, in the form of St Germain elderflower liqueur. Refreshing, crisp, and packing a good alcohol punch. The three-course dinner started with a Greek salad - and for the carnivores amongst us a gin braised lamb shank in an olive passata - with char-grilled Mediterranean vegetables and a truffled herb mash as a main. It wasn’t the best lamb shank I’ve ever had in terms of flavour, however the gin braising worked a treat, and the truffled herb mash was good comfort food for the winter-like conditions. The highlight was the iced honeycomb parfait with mandarin compote, topped by confectionary bumble bees. A nice mix of sweetness and citrus sharpness.

The entertainment was West End-style fun with the London Quartet showing off their musical dexterity, and the Soprano Bella, her vocal skills. However, the highlight for this barfly was a 15-year old lad who apparently had come from Britain’s Got Talent. His renditions of Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin-style classics got the crowd tapping their shoes and singing along. So much so that they brought him back on for an encore.

So what the rain had threatened to ruin was rescued by a young man singing old classics. Not so much "Blame it on the Rain" as "Blame it on the Boogie". As you can see, there’s a good reason that I’m not a music critic.

The Chiswell Street Dining Rooms, Moorgate

There's something to be said for tapping into the start of a trend. For example, the gastropub revolution in the UK that began in the mid-nineties with the now legendary Eagle on Farringdon Road.

The Northerner and I were fortunate enough to be there (or there about) when those pioneering pubsters decided that stringy roasts and overcooked veg was not what punters were looking for. Cue French brasserie-style cooking taking a grip on the UK's pubs, and nearly every home in the country being familiar with exotic offerings such as fishcakes, Thai curries, and moule frites by the end of the nineties. The flipside of this revolution was the spawning of the gastro chains - All Bar One, Slug and Lettuce, et al. But I'll leave that particular gripe for another day.

Two of the finest proponents of what was a once derided, but now celebrated, culinary art form are Tom and Ed Martin, the brains behind the superb offerings of the Gun in Docklands, the Botanist on Sloane Square and my personal favourite, the White Swan, in Fetter Lane.

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Their latest offering is the Chiswell Street Dining Rooms in Moorgate. Housed in the original home of the Whitbread Brewery, the team have done a great job of turning what was a fairly rundown space into something quite special.

The green exterior makes it look like any other City pub. Entering from the bar side and you can see the transformation, from the leather-topped (and vibrantly busy) bar area, through to the vast dining room. Hues of green and brown dominate the interior from the polished fitted wooden floors through to the modern yellow-green leather chairs. The original windows have been restored to give them, in the words of the Northerner, a school building finish, albeit with a restaurant twist.

On the night we visited, the punters were very City, with a mix of well-heeled Europeans who were probably staying at the connected hotel. The waiting staff were charm personified and very good looking to boot. I know it shouldn’t make a difference, but it does.

The Northerner started with potted ham hock, parsley and baby gherkins which was rich but light, perfectly seasoned and filling. I went for the Lincolnshire smoked eel, with celeriac remoulade, Charlotte potatoes and beetroot. The eel was simply fabulous and the sweetness of the beetroot complemented it perfectly. For mains, the Northerner had the grilled Cornish sole with dill butter and tender stem broccoli which was moist and melt-in-your-mouth in texture. I went for the stuffed Middlewhite pork loin, accompanied by Clonakilty black and white pudding and a roasted Braeburn apple. The combination of these flavours worked perfectly. The pork loin was well seasoned and delicately cooked. The herb infused white pudding and blood rich black pudding were delicious. We shared a blueberry cheesecake and yoghurt for dessert which was marshmallow light and rich berry in flavour.

The charming Sommelier recommended a bottle of Shiraz from New Zealand’s Elephant Hill Estate in Hawkes Bay, which had the dryness of your big French wines, but the lightness that you usually associate with a Pinot Noir. Divine, in other words. We also started with a few cheeky champagne cocktails as you do, which were perfect aperitifs.

The Northerner and I can be a tough crowd when it comes to eating out, but we had to admit defeat on that front. There was nothing which we could criticise. Apparently it’s pulled more than 140 covers a day since it opened in early June. With the quality of food and service they deliver, you can see why. It’s good to know that some trends are here to stay.

The Chef's Table, Tetbury, Gloucestershire

For those of you who watch A Place in the Country (and the chances are that if you’re reading this, you probably do) will know that the Cotswolds rates highly as a destination for City types in search of a rural home. Commutable and chocolate box picturesque, this part of the country seems to encapsulate everything good about England, albeit in a very Richard Curtis way.

Yet it was a part of the world that neither the Northerner nor I had visited. To prove we’re nothing if not eager to try out new places, we followed ten sun-filled days swimming in the Adriatic Sea off Croatia with a weekend break in Tetbury in the heart of Gloucestershire. We were drawn to the town by the amazing art-meets-fashion ‘bed and breakfast’ that is Oak House Number 1. Owned by the charismatic and charming Gary and Nicola, you will struggle to find a more romantic place then this. And is was they who recommended, and kindly booked us into, The Chef's Table, which is run by the Michelin-star chef Michael Bedford and his wife, Sarah.

Housed in a former antiques shop (of which there are plenty, might I add), The Chef's Table combines a delicatessen/food shop/fishmongers at ground level with a bistro spread over two floors. We dined upstairs where you find an industrial-sized open kitchen where Michael and his chefs cook from a short blackboard menu.

Whetting our appetites with a cheeky glass of prosecco, and some freshly baked bread and olives, we went for the homemade prawn bhaji with a lightly spiced red lentil dhal and the Cornish lobster and pea risotto for starters. The Northerner’s bhaji was subtly spicy and worked well with the dhal. It was cooked to perfection without a trace of oiliness. My risotto saw the sweetness of the peas combining nicely with the rich flavour of lobster. It arguably lacked a little seasoning but that is being picky. For mains the Northerner went for the roasted wild halibut with broad beans, and the crab and parmesan gnocchi. The fish was moist and firm - while the gnocchi was delicious - the sharpness of the parmesan merging brilliantly with the succulent crabmeat. I went for the roasted Gressingham duck breast with confit leg, a tatin of butternut squash and a baked English onion. This turned out to be a feast-sized dish, with the confit leg and duck breast challenging my normally voracious appetite. Nevertheless it was a lovely dish for which the onion provided a sweetness that offset the game flavours of the duck. For dessert we went for the soufflé which was light and subtle sweet and just what we needed to round off a big eating night. We drank a bottle of the Bagordi Rioja 2008 which was superb, so much in fact that we ordered an extra glass to round off the evening. (But perhaps that’s more a reflection on us.)

The Chef's Table also offers a cooking-as-theatre experience that comes about through the bar-style seating for some of the diners. However there are no Gordon Ramsay-style tantrums here, in fact it’s the opposite with it being so calm and quiet that you don’t quite believe it’s a working kitchen. The waiting staff are friendly and helpful, as you would expect in a place of this quality, and the prices are very fair with the mains mostly falling around the mid-teens mark.

However, it is a little quiet. I know might sound an odd thing to criticise it for, but the staff seem to speak in near whispered tones, and to my memory there was no background music. So while it is a lovely place to eat, and we most certainly enjoyed ourselves, it wasn't a place full of fun.

But then again, perhaps I’ve been in London too long where you get used to noise that borders on chaotic wherever you are. Maybe the Northerner and I need to sign up for that Place in the Country.

Hawksmoor, Spitalfields

Going out with your work mates can be a challenge. Going drinking is easy. You just pick the bar that is the least offensive to the majority of the imbibers. That’s how All Bar One, Corney and Barrow and other chains operate - by offering a safe, if not slightly boring, environment. Dining with your colleagues is different.

For a start, you have to take notice of people’s dietary requirements. Do they like fish? Can then handle spicy? Are they vegetarian? Are they semi-vegetarian? (Given we work in the City I tend not to consider options for vegans.)

Then you get into the question of ambience – is it fashionable enough? Is it too fashionable? And in these credit crunched times - is it appropriate? After all, these are colleagues, not clients.

With the trend heading back towards all things carnivorous, in recent years premium brand steakhouses have thrived on serving clients, punters and colleagues alike. Arguably the best out there right now is Hawksmoor of Spitalfields, and more recently Covent Garden.

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Hawksmoor derives its name from Sir Christopher Wren’s sidekick, which implies that it’s not quite of the first order. Nothing could be further from the truth. This is a much-raved about restaurant, and with good reason.

Hawksmoor’s exterior is misleadingly anonymous, which is a long-winded way of saying that it’s understated. If it weren’t for the punters inside, you might be going into a reprographics shop rather then a restaurant. The interior is simple but pleasing. Wooden chairs and tables are packed closely together and are framed by white washed walls and exposed brickwork features. There is a long wooden bar to the rear with leather-cushioned stools packed snugly together. You’ll get to know your drinking partner quickly enough. The music is noted for its absence, but not required as the buzz of diner chat and cutlery gives it a French brasserie-style ambience.

But people are here for the food, and that’s what this review will focus on. The starters include my favourite of bone marrow and onions, delicately fried and presented with the original beef bones and toast. Soft in texture and subtle, yet offal-like in flavour. It’s not to everyone’s taste, but I love it. A companion went for the pepper squid which had been flash-fried and seasoned with chilli, salt and pepper. It packed a nice punch and was perfectly cooked.

For steaks I went for the 600g Sirloin (medium rare) which was well seasoned and melt in your mouth delicious. For the first time in my life it was too much for me to eat in one sitting. Fortunately Hawksmoor does a great ‘doggy bag'. My colleagues tried rib-eye and rump variations which were smaller but equally as flavoursome. We washed it down with a few bottles of NZ Main Divide Pinot Noir (does New Zealand do any other kind of red wine?) which was light and peppery and perfectly complementary to the mains.

The staff are friendly, casual but very efficient. Service is swift and always charming. The cocktail boys are a force in their own right. The champagne-based Hawksmoor Fizz and gin-based Bombay Double are two of their better offerings.

Despite its cusp-of-Shoreditch location, the punters are City. So much, in fact, it's why Hawksmoor has never been a favourite of the Northerner's. There are far too many bankers for her liking. But the sheer quality of the food on offer more than compensates for Hawksmoor’s City-ness. And let’s face it, at the very least you can take your colleagues there.

40/30 Bar, 30 St Marys Axe

How do people manage to keep abreast of the number of private members clubs in London? And by 'members clubs', I’m not talking about your gentlemen-only, port-quaffing, cigar-puffing gigs that attract the same sort of people that enjoy fox hunting.

What we actually have are a whole host of venues aimed squarely at the readership of this site. Well, at least the ones who aren’t quite ready for pipes and slippers.

In the City alone, we host the trend-defining Shoreditch House, the edgier Milk and Honey group, and the more urbane Number 8 clubs. Yet there are plenty more on the horizon with the soon-to-be launched Gresham Street, and the recent discovery (for me, anyway) that is the 40/30 Bar in The Gherkin.

While I’ve always known there was a venue atop of this landmark building, I didn’t realise it was part of a private members club. Technically it’s known as Searcys Club, The Gherkin (Searcys actually being an upmarket catering company), and it pitches itself as the City’s most exclusive private members club, restaurant and Champagne Bar. But don’t they all.

Nevertheless, it doesn’t take much to imagine that if anything, 40/30 will have a good view. Well, for once I am going to agree with the PRs behind this place when they say that the views from the glass dome are simply breathtaking. If anything, that does it a slight disservice. The space on top of the Norman Foster-designed Gherkin that houses the bar is an architectural wet dream. The striking contrasts of the sky and London’s cityscape are framed by the iron girders that Foster’s engineers have forged into the dome. On a clear day you can see the best views I’ve ever seen across the city, taking in all four corners of London. The view is so impactful that it is very hard to resist spending your first 20 minutes madly snapping ‘look at me’ pix on your phone before uploading them to Facebook. But maybe that was just me.

However, you don’t go to a private members club just for the view. The bar staff are incredibly charming and very efficient. Given that it seats around 200 people and the night the Northerner and I visited it was at capacity, the team coped admirably with an excitable and thirsty crowd. We attacked the cocktail menu, and started with a couple of the Champagne variety – Gherkin Fizz with Amaretto, Blue Curacao and lemon juice; Apple Vice with Grand Marnier and apple. They were crisp and refreshing.

We then sampled two Martini cocktails – Aromatic Elixir with Tanqueray, Amaretto, LBV Port, lemon juice and strawberry puree; and the La Boheme, with Ketel One vodka, elderflower, Chambord and cranberry juice. They were both superb concoctions and we had to show considerable constraint not to have a repeat round.

Fortunately we tried two more from the long drink range, the Elderflower Collins with Hendricks gin, elderflower, lemon juice, sugar and soda, and the Mai Tai with Pamero Especial rum, Orange Curacao, orange juice, lime juice and sugar. Now, the only other time we had tried Mai Tais was in Hong Kong for the Northerner, and the legendarily-bad Covent Garden cocktail bar that was Long Island Ice Tea for me. I think it's fair to say that neither of our experiences were good. Well 40/30 overturned years of accumulated prejudice by producing a Mai Tai that was stunning. I don’t often recommend trying a particular drink, but I will in this case.

To make sure we didn’t make complete spectacles of ourselves we did sample some of the bar snacks, of which the grissini and dips (mayonnaise and green pesto) were particularly moreish.

40/30 isn’t cheap but it's not wallet busting, either. Cocktails hover around the £13 mark, which might sound steep, but for the quality and that view is money well spent.

The punters are very City – lawyers, insurance brokers, and of course, bankers. You won’t find any fashionable young things here. While the ambience, no doubt triggered by the views, is laid-back cocktail lounge. This is striking contrast to the nearby pubs and bars, which have a more frenzied atmosphere.

Searcy’s also has a club lounge on the 38th floor, a restaurant and private dining rooms for punters or execs looking to entertain in style. So far so perfect, but there is one thing that is a little odd.

To get into 40/30, you have to go via the main reception to the Gherkin. The entrance necessitates that you have a full security clearance, which actually means going through metal detectors and bag x-ray machines. You half-expect the security guards to ask you to remove your shoes. And while this is fine early on, if you were coming from another bar or restaurant later in the evening and feeling a bit ‘fresh’, negotiating the entry might prove a little bit tricky. Because after all isn’t one of the main joys of being in a private members club being the ability to drop in any time you like? There’s a lot be said for an old fashion door person to greet you. Perhaps the traditional members clubs haven’t got it all wrong.

Skylounge and Lobby, Mint Tower of London Hotel

I do not know many people who like estate agents. In most people’s estimation, they sit alongside tabloid journalists, parking attendants, and nightclub bouncers in the low-life pecking order. They’re still a shade above investment bankers, of course.

However, there is a reason that they are held in such low regard (estate agents, not bankers). Who else promises you an exclusive viewing of a property...with another couple? In what other industry can someone try to sell you something in excess of quarter of a million pounds, but only let you see it twice - for 15 minutes each time? In the dark. And where else do you meet people who have reinvented the English language as part of their business. OK, I admit, the last could apply to bankers, too.

But estate agents do have their purposes, most obviously around the brokering of properties. And they operate around certain dictums that are hard to argue with. The first is that location is everything. The second is that you can’t put a price on a view, a rule that SkyLounge, the rooftop bar in the Mint hotel, follows to the limit. Any place that takes in Tower Bridge, the Gherkin and the not-quite-finished Shard in one panoramic sweep has a head start on the competition. Factor in the Thames (admittedly at a tight angle), Canary Wharf, and the skyscraper in Elephant and Castle that nobody seems to know the name of, and SkyLounge is out-in-front, heading into the back strait.

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However, if bars were only about views, then we would all be drinking on the top of mountains. Situated on the 12th floor of the Mint in Tower Hill, you need to factor in the hotel impact when rating this bar. And although the Mint Hotel is several steps above a Holiday Inn or Ramada, it is not a Four Seasons. The main hotel reception aspires to Philippe Starck-like glamour, but actually comes across as...bare. After taking the lift up to the bar, you are reminded that the clue to this place is in its name: Skylounge and Lobby. To make sure that every viewing spot possible is taken advantage of, they have installed seating along the glass-windowed corridor to the bar. Which is all very well and good, except it feels like you are drinking in the hotel lobby rather than a bar.

Things improve when you arrive in the actual cocktail bar. The staff are attentive and very efficient, and they offer a good range of rather expensively-priced drinks. Two cocktails – the Sky at Night (blackberries and kiwi shaken with Bombay Sapphire gin, and Haymans Sloeberry liqueur served tall with elderflower cordial and pomegranate juice) and the Thames Timeout (fresh raspberries and basil leaves muddled through Zubrowka Bison Grass vodka, Passoa liqueur and raspberry berry puree topped up with rosé Champagne and served in a chilled martini glass) stood out as personal picks, although you won’t get much change from a twenty for them. We settled for the house Champagne, which was fairly priced and appropriately dry. The bar is enhanced by the two outside decked areas that give you the opportunity to take in those fabulous views al fresco. Perfect for a summer evening.

The punters were your mix of City drinkers muddled in with hotel guests. This is not a fashionable set, but there was plenty of that cheeky chap charm about the place to compensate for those in search of pretensions.

The trick to any good hotel bar (an oxymoron in my book, but I’ll continue) is to make you feel that you are in a funky independent cocktail club rather than an appendage to a skyscraper. Skylounge doesn’t quite pull that off just yet. However, for killer views and a pre- or post-dinner drink, you could do much worse than this place. And at least it hasn’t been taken over by estate agents.

Aurora Restaurant, Soho

When does a place officially become a favourite? The restaurant you always fall back on when you’re in the area or are making a recommendation. The pub where the bar staff recognise your face. The nightclub where the bouncers greet you with a nod and a smile.

We all have them. Some of them come about because they are so good we can't resist returning. Others are because they are convenient. Aurora Restaurant in Soho belongs to the former camp. It’s a restaurant that the Northerner and I have been to many times over the years, and never once has it let us down. We have followed on that by recommending it on to friends. A big deal, in the Northerner’s world, who similarly have been impressed enough to recommend it to their friends.

Aurora is tucked away in one of the more fashionable corners of Soho that is Lexington Street, and its customers reflect the location. Media, advertising and fashion types flock to this place and give Aurora an energy that is uplifting but unpretentious.

The restaurant is located in a cute Victorian cottage set over two levels. At street level, there is seating for around 20 diners in a space that some might call intimate, but others might describe as crowded. It's easy to feel like you’re part of the adjoining dinner. (Which is fine so long as neither you nor they are on a date.) To the rear is a stunning courtyard garden which is perfect for a long summer evening. There is a downstairs (read: basement) area that can be booked for private functions, and is used as an extra dining room in winter. I actually quite like it. With its eclectic design, it feels like you are in someone’s house rather than a restaurant. The Northerner is not quite so enamoured and prefers street-level dining - a point she has made on more then one occasion.

The menu is changed monthly, but can be best described as that catch-all basket which is Modern European. On our most recent visit, we started with salads of feta marinated in mint and red chilli on cannellini bean salad with cucumber, red onion and sultanas with salsa verde, and pan-fried black pudding with wilted spinach, red onion and dried cranberries on grilled aubergine and Puy lentils with red wine Balsamic reduction. Which were delightful.

For mains, I opted for a pork chop, spinach and mash which was much more appetising then this sorry excuse for a reviewer has described. The dish was perfectly seasoned and succulent. The Northerner went for the pan-fried sea bass which was melt-in-your-mouth perfect (her words).

There is a comprehensive, but not overwhelming, wine list that never fails to disappoint. Prices are fair, with most of the wines falling into the £15 - £30 camp. New worlds are mixed in with European stalwarts, with a white French Burgunday (2004) and Châteauneuf-du-Pape, Domaine du Grand Veneur from the same year available for punters who want to spend over £50. We settled on a Montepulciano d’Abruzzo, Frentano – Abruzzo, Italy (2009/10) that came in and £18.50 and went down a treat. So much so that once the bottle was finished we ordered another couple of glasses - just to be sure of course.

The owners and staff are charming, relaxed and welcoming. They are occasionally too relaxed for our UK sensibilities and can be a bit casual. Also, while the food is very good, it is not by any means innovative. You won’t get any surprises at Aurora.

However these are minor criticisms in what is a consistently good dining experience. That Aurora has been with us and flourished since 1995 is testimony to its quality, versatility and price sensitivity in what have been interesting times. Nearly 10 years ago, the Observer’s restaurant reviewer Jay Rayner declared Aurora ‘the perfect antithesis of a Conran enterprise’. I’m not sure if by that he meant it officially became a favourite place of his, but that, along with all of the aforementioned factors, certainly works for me.

The Laughing Gravy, Southwark

The Laughing Gravy, 154 Blackfriars Road, Southwark

Its funny where this job takes you to. When you first set out to be a bar reviewer you envisage that your evenings will be spent at the West End’s finest establishments quaffing champagne with celebrities whom you regale with Oscar Wilde like witticisms and anecdotes. Your celebrity grows and you become a brand in your own right, off to live the life of a Jamie Oliver or Gordon Ramsay.
The reality of course is that for every high profile event, bar and club you visit there you are asked too there are 10 to 20 places that you review simply because you are there. Some of them are even south of the river.

The Laughing Gravy (isn’t that the most brilliant name) is one such place where I ended up as part of a result of some research into a new business idea. I was accompanied by the Author and her partner the Wine Merchant whose brain I was picking, and as it happens, who supplies the aforementioned restaurant.

The Laughing Gravy occupies the ground floor of an original Foundry building. A cheeky little bar greets you with the 50-seater restaurant to the rear. Wooden tables and chairs, cream coloured walls and skylights instead of a roof, give the place a relaxed ambience.

The head chef Michael Facey has worked alongside the likes of John Torode and Mark Hix and their influence is apparent in the menu. The food on offer is an English take on Mediterranean fare. Our starters included Aubergine Gratin with Montgomery cheddar crust and olive, caper and cherry tomato salsa which the Wine Merchant declared delicious. The Author and I went for the Chicken Liver Pate with farmhouse crostini (lifted by strips of green pesto), red onion dressing and pea shoots. The pate itself was smooth and rich with a hint of a liqueur. Although the waitress said it was alcohol free. So much for my sophisticated palate.

For mains we opted for the Sea Trout special with spinach and fried potatoes which was flavoursome and cooked to perfection. The Author took on the salmon and smoked fishcake – large, meaty and rich – with herb pickled cucumber and a side of chips.

For desserts the Author and the Wine Merchant tried the Rhubarb crumble with pistachio ice cream. Sharp fruitiness offset by a flavoursome yet light ice-cream. I went for the Laughing Gravy chocolate fondant brownie with vanilla ice cream. The crumbly biscuit texture, deep chocolate flavours with a hint of mint was lovely if not a little sweet to my taste.

We washed it down with a beautiful bottle of Grand Caprice from France. Its a favourite of my dining companions and easy to see why. I didn’t think you could have a big but subtle wine, but Caprice proved me wrong.

The service is friendly if not a little uneven. The waitress was lovely but slightly off her game. Perhaps she was new. However Jon the owner who was out front-of-house was charm personified. You could imagine that he has quite a following.

The Laughing Gravy is out of the way, and this is from someone who lives in nearby Brixton. Its apparently equal walking distance from the Young and Old Vic. Equal but far then. This is one place I might never have found on my own, or driven past it if I had. However that would have been my loss. It just goes to show. Every so often it’s good to eat south of the river.

Brawn, Bethnal Green

Brawn, Bethnal Green, 49 Columbia Road, E2 7RG

I live under the illusion (or is it delusion) of being fashionable. I perpetuate this by drinking at the right bars, buying catwalk-influenced clothes and having a partner – the Northerner – who is downright on-trend, stylishly cool. Sadly there are many things about me that give it away. The fact that when I wear those aforementioned clothes I look more M&S then Brick Lane. The music I listen to ranges from middle of the road to naff. And perhaps most shamefully for a reviewer, I never, ever seem to get to a place when it’s at its media-frenzied peak. Fashionably late in other words.

Fortunately along with the Northerner I have a collection of cool friends including the Architect and
Betty Boo who drag me out of my City-based muddle to visit places that are highly desirable. And the other week, after a cheeky bottle of wine at Shoreditch House (see the namedropping I did there) we headed to Brawn - the enfant terrible of Terroirs in Charring Cross.

Brawn is located on the site of an old café which the Northerner thinks used to be a school, on Columbia Road – the weekend home to a flower market and east-London’s cool set. The Northerner is right about most things, and her logic is obvious with the school theme extending to the chairs, tables and windows, albeit with a designer twist and the staff, many of whom seem about GCSE age. But perhaps that shows how old we are getting. However they are charming, fashionable and chatty. Intrusively so opined the Northerner who took umbrage at one particular youngster who seemed to have an opinion on everything of which she was only too happy to share.

The clientele (calling them punters would do them a discredit) are a mix of East London hipsters and well-heeled foodies from across the capital here to check out the Next Big Thing. Some of the older Islington set seemed a little unsure as to what they had signed up for. And I ‘m not sure that the menu made them feel any more comfortable.

Brawn sets out its stall by describing its menu as being ‘cloudy reds, murky whites and loads of pig.’ We were warned by our dining companions that the Tête de Veau, or calf’s head, was exactly what is said on the box. We decided to pass on that little treat. As is the fashion nowadays we ordered separately but shared across the table. Starters included the King Prawns with chilli and Gremolata – fresh, zesty and divine; Shetland Mussels, Leeks & Bacon that were delightful; and Dorset Clams with Lemon & Coriander which were melt-in-your-mouth flavoursome.

Our mains included Choucroute, Montbeliard Sausage & Horseradish; the main component of which is a sausage made of pork (what else) smoked over sawdust. This is a dish that the Northerner said sounded more interesting then it actually was, and the final product was more frankfurter then chorizo. I tried the Boudin Noir (Black Pudding) which was soft in texture and nicely flavoured although it lacked a little bit of bite. A subtle rather then big flavoured dish. The Architect went for the Pigs Trotters which slightly disappointingly were presented terrine style, however according to him was sharply seasoned and crumble like on the tongue. Just how he likes it.

As with its mother restaurant, Brawn specialises in natural or biodynamic wines – they’re unfiltered which according to the chatty waitress enhances the flavour. I had a delightful 2009 Chardonnay, Domaine de l’Ocre Rouge which made me think that she might be onto something. However the bottles of 2009 Ventoux La Gérine, Domaine Ferme St Martin Rhône that we knocked back put pay to that idea. I know that we operate in a greener world and these wines are more environmentally friendly then traditionally produced drops, but I think there’s a reason that they are filtered. The texture rather then the flavour was enhanced. This gave the wine a smoked look, but to my and the Northerners palate, a taste that was well… off.

Brawn is outrageously popular right now and deservedly so as it’s perfectly packaged to meet the needs of London’s fashionable and food set. However sometimes it feels like its trying too hard when it really doesn’t need to. Being fashionable isn’t all its cracked up to be.

Barrio Central , Soho

Barrio is a Spanish word meaning district or neighbourhood. However in the US barrio is more commonly used to refer to lower-class areas with largely Spanish-speaking residents - the Latino equivalent of a "ghetto". Islington, which for those who don’t know it is North London’s answer to Clapham and is anything but a barrio. A once vibrant, multicultural and artistic areas in 80’s / early 90’s London, by the noughties Islington (and Clapham) had descended into MOR, Starbuck loving blandness.
Yet both areas still have sprinklings of bars, cafes and restaurants that speak of a once fashionable past before the bankers and estate agents took control. And one such bar is Barrio North in Islington which proved such a hit with the few locals who weren’t pushing prams or sipping Soy Chai Lattes (young people in other words) that the owners decided to head to the big city lights and open a Soho version - Barrio Central.
Barrio Central sets out to celebrate all things Latino. The venue itself is split over two levels – at street level is a tightly packed café / restaurant serving a mix Latin and Caribbean dishes. Meanwhile at basement level is the bar / club area which is long and narrow, and looks like it has been decorated by someone for a dare. By that I mean there are big lashing of colours and kitsch here, which they pass off as being bright Caribbean hues. And the shocking lime green fake rock wall (yes really), mix and matched brown tiles, white picket fence, carnival lights and Hispanic memorabilia give the place a pop-up feel to it. This is a good thing because Barrio Central is certainly festive.
This spirit flows through to the punters who are your mix of fashionistas, advertising / design / PR agency crews, with your music and film set thrown in for good measure. In other words, Soho’s creative’s who swarm to the Barrio to drink and be merry, and without too much persuasion, break out into dance. And the latter is easily achieved by a thumping and eclectic DJ / soundtrack which includes everything from old school Beach Boys and Chuck Berry, through to 90’s hip-hop via the Wu Tang Clan, and every other pop or dance genre in between.
The drinks menu which is designed as a very cool seven-inch single cover consists of a generous smattering of New World red and white wines (Argentinean, Chilean, American and Spanish) and some interesting lagers amongst the usual suspects – Palma Cristal from Cuba, Quilmes from Argentina, and Alhambra Negra from Spain. There is also a massive selection of cocktails although most punters prefer to stick to the classic mojitos and margaritas. They certainly tickled the Northerner’s fancy on the night we were there.
The staff are laidback and charming in that Soho way, while still managing to be super-efficient. You don’t wait too long for drinks and the team all multi-task and manage their space effortlessly. I know it seems funny to compliment a bar for something which should come as standard, but take it from this barfly – it doesn’t.
Barrio Central is not perfect of course. It can be crowded, seating is at a premium, and it get’s hot. So hot in fact that you imagine that summer would be a challenge. But then again you are unlikely to bump into an estate agent, have to step over a stroller or see anyone sipping a frappuccino. I know where I’d choose to go.

Enoteca da Luca

When I first arrived in the UK from the third world islands of the South Pacific that I call New Zealand, I chanced upon a new and innovative way of eating food. Tapas was a concept unheard of in early nineties Polynesia (which becomes obvious when you see the size of people down there) and as a food style quickly became a favourite of mine. Of course as a fashion, tapas quickly went the same way as those other foodie trends such as Pacific Rim and restaurants that specialised in sausages (I kid you not), but not before a whole swag of cultures including Japanese, Italian and some Middle Eastern countries, had taken their spin on this quintessentially Spanish concept.
Nearly 20 years on and the only non-Iberian restaurants still beating the small plates drum are Italian, and one, Enoteca da Luca in Devonshire Square, is doing it better then most.

Enoteca means wine bar in Italian, and this place offers the blessed grape drink by the truckload. The emphasis is Italian (the Piemonte, Tuscana, and Veneto regions particularly so) with French wines also featuring strongly. However for those who prefer New World, Australia, Argentina, South Africa and New Zealand are also represented across the reds and whites. They offer most wines by the glass, and while none of the offerings are cheap, they are priced to suit all budgets. Well City ones anyway.

The place itself is a set in one of the refurbished warehouse blocks that makes up Devonshire Square. The interiors are straight out of that other nineties concept known as industrial modern. Floor to ceiling windows and office-like glass doors welcome you to a relatively small space with exposed brickwork and a combination of ‘standing’ tables (with high chairs for those who want to sit) and smaller tables for couples. The small bar, which is really a grocery counter, is backed by white tiles, fronted by a fridge complete with cheeses and cured meats, and guarded by a vintage meat slicer. So far so continental.

The piece de resistance is the high ceiling racked up with wine bottles – for drinking rather then display – for which the staff happily deploy and scamper up the ladder as required. This brings me to the service which is incredibly charming and familial - everyone is welcomed as a lost sibling. This is just as well as it can be a tad slow. Table service is always great; however the team are so friendly with many of the locals that the time between ordering and getting your drink can seem an age. This is not the best place to pop in for a swifty. The punters are mostly City, but of the wine bar rather then pub school. Which is just as well as Enoteca is not a place for beer lovers with only bottled Peroni on offer. The food – the aforementioned Italian styled tapas – is delicious if not a little pricey. And funnily enough it is this point which with my critical brethren have picked fault with Enoteca. Which I can see to a point. But despite its failings, Enoteca is a great little bar which if you can step out of your City mindset and relax, you just might enjoy. It may not be at the cusp of fashion. In fact, in many ways it sits comfortably behind it, but for a very good glass or two of wine, where you can get good chat and unwind, Enoteca delivers. Who knows, in ten years, this type of bar might even make it to New Zealand.

Proud2 at the O2

Superclubs were meant to be a thing of the past. Made famous with the likes of Studio 54 in the seventies, these cathedrals to dance went on to become aspirational destinations in their own right. The UK was at the leading edge of the superclubs scene, from the Ibiza-inspired Cream and Pascha, through to the south London behemoth that was the Ministry of Sound (probably the defining club for my generation), and more recently to the late '90s/early noughties Clerkenwell institutions of Fabric and the now-departed Turnmills. However, in noughties in London, a combination of social and cultural changes including new licencing laws and the emergence of the British pub as a late night social option had an impact. These factors, in addition to the property boom which made building these larger-then-life establishments so expensive, saw a shift back toward the smaller (and arguably better) clubs. Take a bow, East London. But fashions are nothing if not cyclical, and since 2006, the British entrepreneur Alex Proud has combined the modern cabaret-burlesque movement with a super club twist to give us Proud Camden, Proud Cabaret, Proud Chelsea, and most recently, Proud Brighton in 2010. According to his PR, all of the venues bear the hallmark house style of vintage cool and retro entertainment. Let's see about that. So onto his latest venue, Proud2, which has taken over the now defunct Matter in North Greenwich. Proud2 positions itself as experience akin to Las Vegas meets Ibiza, something which isn’t immediately obvious given that it’s located in the 02 shopping centre. Undaunted, Proud2 has taken on many of the trappings of the superclub with confidence. For a start, it’s huge, as in a big top/circus tent way which in scale at least reminded me of a corporate Christmas party venue (albeit one from the pre-credit crunch era). The club is split over three levels, with a number of cocktail and lounge bars in which you can chill out, admire the entertainment, or do the arty photo-shoot thing that nowadays seems to be a pre-requisite for every launch or seasonal event. The centrepiece of Proud2 is the ground level dance floor/gig venue which is flanked by a 50-foot bar to the rear, and full-sized staged at front. This pulls together the Vegas-like experience, whereby you can flit from a cocktail bar, to a live gig, and then on to a lounge bar all under the same roof. The only thing that’s missing is a casino. The opening night crowd were a mix of indie-cool youngsters, and Time Out following tourists looking for London’s next big thing (although to summarise the punters in two short lines is a challenge, given there were about 2000 of them). Proud2 pulled out all the stops in terms of entertainment, with the indie bands Mystery Jets and The Bees playing live, and the likes of Friendly Fires, Henry Holland and Horse Meat Disco taking to the decks. There were also trapeze artists and circus acts aplenty to add to the overall visual experience. The resulting ambience was incredibly festive and buoyant, as you might expect from people excited to be the first to try out a hip new venue. The service was outstanding. Not a big deal, you might think, but from the numerous and very friendly door staff, to the charming and incredibly efficient gals in the cloakroom, the Proud2 crew made sure that you didn’t have to wait for very long for anything. OK, the bar staff seemed to have been picked more for their cheekbones than their experience in serving drinks, and the women clearly had to be comfortable wearing little more than a corset, stocking and suspenders (interestingly the men didn’t have to make a similar show of flesh). But there were enough of them to overcome any technical shortcomings they may have had – like taking an order. The location, however, is a challenge. It’s not so much a matter of getting there, as a combination of the Jubilee Line plus the Proud2 crew’s innovative shuttle bus service for the after-midnight crowd will make sure that everyone arrives and gets home in reasonable comfort. However, it feels a bit odd starting your night traipsing through a near empty shopping mall. Plus the fact there is very little else around Proud2 except the 02 Centre itself makes it feel like you’re at an outpost rather then in the hub of hip London. But these are surely the complaints of an aging City barfly, because to be honest, I am not and never will be Proud2’s target audience. And the punters who were there on opening night were the types who are not worried about all night partying on a school night, or when - and how - they will get home. In other words, they are young people for whom fun is the start, middle and end objective of any night. And with that in mind Proud2 delivers. Pretty much like the original superclubs.

Bistrot Bruno Loubet, Clerkenwell

The culture of the celebrity chefs is a recent, but now constant, feature of UK life. Those at the very top of the foodie chain enjoy considerable fame and fortune; perhaps not in the same league as actors and rock stars, but certainly on par with top footballers.

However, the subtle but important difference is that when you go to see Chelsea or Manchester United play, the likes of Drogba and Lampard, or Rooney and Giggs will be on the pitch. The same is not true of a celebrity restaurant, the owner of which seems to spend more time in front of the camera then in the kitchen.

The much revered (by critics anyway) Bruno Loubet is cut from a different cloth. Loubet is a chef’s chef whose return to London last year from a 10-year stint down under was greeted by some of the more renowned restaurant reviewers with a frenzy akin to that which heralded David Beckham’s move to Real Madrid. And when Loubet opened a brasserie in the eternally on-trend Zetter Hotel in Clerkenwell, the sense of anticipation was almost palpable.

One year on and with the hype now settled, the Northerner and I were joined by two of our favourite dining companions - the Economist and the Buyer – as we headed over to St John's Square to see whether the noise was justified. For a start, Bistro Bruno Loubet looks the part. Upon entering the Zetter you are transported to a Parisian-style brasserie. And not in the Café Rouge sense. Situated on the corner where the square meets the street, the place benefits from high arched windows, dark brown wooden floors, and bistro chairs and tables that lifts it from being a mere hotel restaurant into something far more inviting. Its good looks are complemented by the great service of its mostly male waiting and bar staff, who are as charming, efficient, and as appropriately attentive as they are attractive. The punters are your mix of the more erudite City dwellers (read: fund managers) and local professionals, with the odd hipster thrown in. The atmosphere is slightly subdued, but in a warm and relaxed way that is welcoming rather then stuffy.

But what about the food?

We began with pre-dinner nibbles of olives and Parmesan shortbread – the latter being sharp, perfectly crumbly, and incredibly moreish. For starters we opted for game terrine, Wood Pigeon and foie gras pot au feu salad, and Guineafowl boudin blanc with pumpkin barley. The boudin blanc was mousse-like in texture and full of subtle game bird flavours that were balanced nicely by the barley. The snippets I stole from our companions’ terrine and foie gras proved that they were both as rich and fully textured as you would want.

For mains, the Economist opted for the saddle of hare, cooked pink and almost venison-like in its depth of flavour. The gals both went for the baked cod fillets with tomatoes and fennel – the latter being a favourite ingredient of the Northerner. Again, they were cooked to perfection, moist, well-seasoned and melt-in-your mouth flavoursome. I opted for the piglet confit with a cauliflower and prune gratin and braised lentils. The gratin was a triumph for unusual flavour combinations, while the lentils were very good. The only disappointment was the pork itself, which surprisingly was a tad dry.

We couldn’t resist desserts, and between us knocked through the white chocolate and passion fruit mousse with strawberry sauce; the sharpness of the fruits offsetting the sweetness of the chocolate. Our companions both went for the Valrhona chocolate marquise with caramel and salted butter ice cream, which was very nice indeed. The Northerner chose the thin apple tart with crème freche and cinnamon ice cream that was clearly delicious, as none of us were offered so much as a smidgen of a taste.

We washed dinner down with two bottles of Vacqueyras Freres 2003, which were chosen by the Economist as he knows a thing or two about wine. This choice proved no exception, being well-balanced and not too big for any of the dishes.

And to top off the experience, throughout the evening we saw Loubet himself working away at the pass in the kitchen, with not a Gordon Ramsay tantrum or Jamie Oliver mockneyism in sight. Which proves that the old ways can still work.

Bistro Bruno Loubet is a wonderful restaurant, romantic, casual and fun in equal parts, and succeeds in lifting the aspirations of the hotel that houses it. It's not cheap – our bill was a little north of £300 for four people – but it is very good. Plus you have the added bonus of seeing a famous chef that still works the kitchen. Go quick, as I understand they’re a dying breed.

Two Floors, Soho

One of the questions people often ask me is why I insist on focussing on City bars. After all, as these folks are quick to remind me, there are many great bars all over London which clearly I either haven’t been too, or simply haven’t heard of.

Well, New Year and new start then. And given I spend just as much of my social life in Soho and Shoreditch (not to mention those great suburbs south of the river), I thought I’d start in with the West End institution that is Two Floors.

Located just off the recently and quite wonderfully revamped Carnaby Street, Two Floors does what it says on the box by being set over two floors – ground and basement level. The ground level bar is all Soho cool. Dark green walls are offset by the darker brown lounge-style furniture and tactfully placed mirrors. The bar staff have stepped straight out of Wallpaper Magazine, or graphic design school anyway. They are matched in styling by the equally hip clientele, which serves as a reminder to those who care to forget that Soho, rather then Shoreditch, was the original home of London chic.

The basement bar has been branded as Handy Joe’s Tiki Bar. But don’t expect any jangling ukuleles or Mahiki Bar ‘irony’. This is a bar that doesn’t take itself too seriously, and besides a smattering of bamboo and palm trees - and one of the smallest actual serving bar spaces in London - the basement is all urban intimacy. Which is a euphemism for saying it is crowded, a testimony to both the layout of the place and its popularity amongst Soho’s hipsters.

However, Two Floors' saving grace is the shared courtyard area on the Kingly Court side, which gives it that year-round extra space that punters need, so long as you don’t mind occasionally having to step around confused tourists looking for M&S. it also helps that the staff complement their good looks with good service, meaning that punters don’t have to wait long at all to get their rounds in.

The drinks themselves are all reasonably priced and are your fairly standard Soho fare, with a range of New World and lower priced European wines, and beers that include Red Stripe and Camden Hells on tap with Kirin, Estrella Dam, Samuel Adams and Negra Modelo by the bottle. If you’re after an alcohol-infused injection of energy, the Dark and Stormy (rum and lime) cocktails are particularly good.

If you’re looking for a good start, or even end to a night out in Soho, Two Floors is as good a place to go as any.

Big W

Nightjar, Shoreditch

There's a certain glamour attached to the Prohibition era - the Charleston, gangsters, illegal speakeasies. In credit-crunched Britain, one could argue the time is rife for our own bit of '30s-style indulgence, and this is a challenge which Nightjar has taken up with aplomb.

The Nightjar is a speakeasy-style cocktail bar that, from its drinks menu and interior to the music, attempts to recreate the mood of that era. The speakeasy feel starts with the entrance, which is located just north of the labyrinth that is Old Street Tube station. Tucked away amongst the caff’s (café’s would be misleading) is a non-descript door on the edge of the roundabout. The only clue that it is a cocktail bar on the night I arrived came from a couple of shady looking bouncers loitering outside. At least I think they were bouncers.

Once you find the entrance, a small flight of stairs takes you into a venue that’s straight out of downtown Manhattan. The drinking den consists of dark wood furniture and black leather chairs and booths, and is framed by a copper-panelled ceiling and large mirrored murals. Subdued lighting, dapper bartenders, and a gorgeous waiting staff continue the illusion of serious glamour.

But the Nightjar is more than just illusion with a cracking resident band, Benoit Villefon and his Orchestra, which offered up a mix of Chanson Francoise, Russian folk, Latin dance, and swing. These cats (as they like to be called) were all seriously charismatic and musically very funky. The audience was a mix of hipsters and creative types who clearly enjoyed the retro aspect of the night. In fact, one group of young women went whole hog and donned flapper dresses for the evening, which despite how it might sound, came across as stylish as opposed to hen party.

The cocktails are simply heavenly. They are classified into Pre-Prohibition, Prohibition and Post War-era drinks, from which one can only assume that they didn’t invent cocktails during the war. Or that they weren’t any good. The Northerner and I were joined by the Editor for the evening, and we indulged across the eras. Pre-Prohibition Morning Glory Fizz (Scotch, lemon, lime, absinthe, sugar syrup and champagne) and Prohibition Between the Sheets (cognac, rum, triple sec, lemon and gomme syrup) were particular favourites of mine. Big drinks but perfectly balanced. The gals opted for Post War The Wibble (gin, sloe gin, muroise, gomme syrup, grapefruit and lemon) and Airmail (rum, honey water, lime and champagne) which they declared delicious. We also sampled one of their signature drinks – the 24 Volt Cobbler (cranberries, maple syrup, lime, bitters, mixed berries liqueur and red wine) which was unusual but very tasty; and the English Mule (gin, lime, vermouth, ginger liqueur, and gomme syrup) which was rich and delicious. Other drinks on offer include a full selection of reasonably priced Old and New World wines and two of my favourite bottled beers – Greenwich Meantime London Lager and Blue Moon Wheat Beer.

Nightjar is the brainchild of Roisin and Edmund, who from a bar perspective, have a great sense of style and celebration. Of courses when you’re visiting anywhere as a reviewer you are subject to a little bit of extra attention, but I think its fair to say that these two are charming regardless of who you are. While their retrospective nod to a bygone era works so well you half expect them to roll out barrels of moonshine. But perhaps that’s one for next time. Or the time after that...

Abacus Bar, Bank

Guilty Pleasures are now a ubiquitous part of London’s nightlife. You know the drill. Take a once-famous nightclub, dress it up in ironic décor, and play music that you might love and even own (Toto, Foreigner, the Kids from Fame), but would never admit to. (Well certainly not to anyone that you were trying to impress.)

And in the City of London’s bar world, there is one place that is without doubt a ‘guilty pleasure’. Everyone I know has been at least once, and too a person, they’ve enjoyed it. But you’ll never hear them shouting it from the rooftops. In fact, people are embarrassed to mention it, and when pushed, claim hitherto unknown friends have dragged them there. Or they were in desperate need of a late weeknight drink. Or they got lost…

That certain bar is Abacus, located right in the hub of the City next to Bank station. So what is it about this place that makes the loud amongst us suddenly meek?

Looking at it objectively, Abacus has plenty to offer. At street level is a cocktail-cum-lounge bar where the mostly suited-and-booted male clientele chat in that uniquely City way, where their eyes focus on everyone except the person they are with. And downstairs is the bar/nightclub which with its charts-led soundtrack and cocktail-infused happy hour, creates an atmosphere that is festive to say the least.

So what’s the issue? Well, there aren’t many bars quite like Abacus. Actually, I correct myself. There are plenty of bars like Abacus in the North or the outer areas of Greater London, just not in the City. Because Abacus, along with the departed (and much-lamented) Prohibition, were bars designed with one objective. Euphemistically, it could be described as a place where people go to meet each other, but in reality, it's what Americans call a ‘pick-up’ bar. That’s right, most nights of the week from Wednesday onwards, Abacus is rammed full of (mostly) single people, drinking half-priced cocktails and dancing with abandon.

The dress is mostly office wear, although women occasionally indulge in a party dress and what seems like a gallon of the latest celebrity-branded perfume. The men, who are equally indulgent on the after-shave front, step out in the latest that Top Shop or Hugo Boss have to offer (depending on their age, of course).

The bar staff are friendly and ultra-efficient, especially at happy hour time, while the bouncers and waiting staff are all charm. Which is something that you can’t say about Abacus’s rivals. This is just as well, as the recent holiday season saw what is an always-bustling bar get even busier as hordes of post-Christmas drinks City workers gravitate there to strut their stuff.

So Abacus might not be to everyone’s taste, but it serves its purpose in providing a fun and flirtatious venue very well.

You might note that in this review I haven’t given my normal interiors description, or gone into detail about the food or drinks on offer. In fact, I haven’t really acknowledged that I’ve even been to Abacus. It is a guilty pleasure after all

Catch at the Andaz Hotel

Readers of the diatribes I pass off for reviews will be aware that I’m not a fan of hotel bars, and I tend to be similarly underwhelmed by their restaurant counterparts.
The caveat, of course, is that when the Northerner and I travel, we often eat in these restaurants, with the Malmaison in Edinburgh and the W Hotel in Istanbul being two examples of how well these places can work.
Closer to home, Catch Restaurant in the Andaz Hotel has a new chef in the house - Martin Scholz - and a new take on their seafood offering. Well, that‘s what the PR says anyway. Aesthetically, Catch certainly looks the part. Located in a not-entirely-desirable-but-very-convenient location just next to Liverpool Street Station, Catch features Grade II listed interiors (including some seriously bling chandeliers), seating for 70 diners, a Champagne bar, and an interesting crustacean on display.
The food in keeping with its nautical theme is based around all things seafood, with shellfish that includes three types of oysters, British-sourced river and sea fish, and for those not on a budget, Russian caviar. Signature dishes on the menu include smoked and cured Cornwall sea trout, barley crumble and saffron pear, and steamed 'Gigha Island' halibut, accompanied by coppa ham, truffle jus and Jerusalem artichoke.
My companion, the Hockey Playeress, started with the steamed mussels, while I went for clam chowder with foam. Despite four mussels being unopened and thus cast aside, she declared the rest of them delicious. My chowder was flavoursome, creamy in texture, and generously rich with clam, giving them that bite which other restaurants often fail to deliver.
For mains she went for the aforementioned steamed halibut, which was perfectly flavoured and seasoned with just the right texture. I unwittingly went for the chef’s recommendation of the crispy fried zander (apparently similar to the perch) done with pumpkin puree and a black pudding grissini. The fish was pan-fried to perfection, and complemented the puree very well. Black pudding grissini - which I subsequently discovered is like a breadstick - was delicious in its own right, but possibly a little bit overpowering for the accompanying fish.
We washed it down with a bottle of Gavi di Gavi which was crisp, dry, and full of flavours. It was the perfect accompaniment to our meals. We decided to pass on desserts and settle for coffees - not because we weren’t tempted, but because we were well fed and satisfied.
The atmosphere of Catch is warm but subdued, veering more toward formal than social. The clientele is mostly suited and booted City workers, which is hardly surprising given its location, with the odd hotel guest thrown in for good measure. The service is charming, measured and knowledgeable, a combination that I hadn’t encountered in a London restaurant for a while.
Catch works because it serves great food, in a convenient location and is underpinned by great service. It’s not the world’s liveliest restaurant, and I’m not sure if you would describe it as romantic, but to its credit it manages to avoid the feeling like a hotel restaurant.
Which is a good thing.