The Pride of Spitalfields, Shoreditch

It’s funny how busy you can get doing the drinking thing. The sharp-eyed amongst you will have noticed that I’ve been moonlighting recently as an online bar reviewer for Here is the City News. This has required me to become more ‘professional’ in my approach and cut down on the character driven reviews on this site that millions of people have yet to see. I’ll let you judge how successful I have been.
Nevertheless my private drinking adventures continue, most recently at the Pride of Spitalfields where the Northerner and I were joined by Derby County and the Dane for an afternoon tipple.
The Pride is a pub that takes you back to a different time and place – jellied eels, barrow boys and a good old fashioned knees-up. This pub is Chas and Dave to the Ten Bells LCD Soundsystem or Shoreditch House’s Kasabian.
Apparently it’s a Fullers pub and this is reflected in the relatively standard offering of drinks where Corona is classified as an exotic lager, and wine is for the brave. Or those people with a less sophisticated palate. But before I climb to high on my pretentious Shoreditch bar white horse, I should add that the place is a nice little boozer. The two small front bars are cosy. The bar staff are very friendly and efficient, and the locals certainly more earthy then you normal Shoreditch drinking den. Oddly given its proximity to Brick Lane it’s not very multicultural. Nor would you mistake it in any way for being fashionable. Nevertheless if you want a cosy conversation over a pint or four, this is as good a place as any.
One final word. The first time I came here I was accosted by some old gent at the bar who took pleasure in telling me that the only people who drank there were ‘coppers or gays.’ As I eyed him wearily trying to work out what, if any category he could fit into he got to his point.
‘And you’re clearly not a copper.’ Who says London isn’t still full of characters.

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.

The return of free drinks - City of London Club, Old Broad Street

Client entertainment, jollies, freebies or however you describe it, comes in many forms. In London you can up attend a fancy dress party and get drunk.   Or you can prepare a meal Hells Kitchen style and get drunk. Go ten pin bowling in funky Brick Lane and get drunk. Watch a major football or rugby game and get drunk. Take part, or witness a five aside Penalty Shoot Out competition with a former England goalkeeper and get drunk. Do you detect a theme here? 

The successful events manage to subtly sell a brand, product or service to clients while proving to be memorable social occasions. But of course not all of them work. I once worked for a FTSE 100 corporate where I had the misfortune to witness four very middle-aged senior managers complete with spreading bellies attempt a dance routine to Will Smith's Men in Black. While clad in black polos and wraparound Ray Bans. In legendary London night club Fabric. It was at best a little odd and at worst, very confusing. Oh, and it was very, very embarrassing. 

The credit crunch has put an end to most corporate gigs in the City, so it was with pleasure that I accepted an invitation to celebrate the first birthday of a fledgling consulting firm, at the esteemed, and very stuffy City of London Club on Old Broad Street. 

The City of London Club is a 19th century building sat in the heart of the financial district which with its grand but subtle exterior in stark contrast to its rather faded and tired interiors seems intent on depicting a nation living on past glories.  This theme continues inside the building where busts,  statues and pictures celebrate the great and good of Old Britannia, but are noticeably absent of anyone who has achieved anything since World War II. The party, if you can describe a gathering of mostly male, middle-aged, grey suited city workers as that, was relatively festive as though people had not enjoyed a free drink for a long time. 

However as a venue the club works very well. The hosting and service are not the slightest bit stuffy as you might expect but in fact very homely and welcoming. The wine which was very good was poured both generously and frequently. The canapes were delicious and abundant. And the place was buzzing as guests began to  size each other up as a potential buyers or employers, or both. There was also something wonderfully English about quaffing a glorious Bordeaux and chatting about the end of the banking system, while under the shadow of a huge, dare I say over-sized, portrait of Lord Nelson, with the Ting Tings playing on the sound system. Only in London. 

The City Club is certainly no Shoreditch House, and has more in common with the Groucho Club in style and ambience, then its East London peers. (I know Groucho Club regulars will rightly be aggrieved at that comparison, but I have very few members clubs to compare to). But the interior shoddiness somehow makes it more human and more accessible then the anomalies in Mayfair and therefore is to be recommended. Well the next time your suppliers have money to spend that is. 

Up on the roof - The East Room

Roof terraces are a particular passion of mine, and those that come complete with a fully stocked bar and cocktail waiter, preferably with a hefty dose of sunshine, are the perfect place to spend a summer evening. Wednesday’s unseasonably warm weather meant it was tools down early so I could meet the Northerner for a tipple at the East Room on Tabernacle Street.
The East Room happens to be my favourite bar in London, in no small part due to the fact that in a moment of madness they made me a life member. However the place has a lot more going for it then that. The roof terrace is not as stylised as the one on the nearby Shoreditch House, or as slickly managed as the rather bland Coq d Argent, and is all the better for that. The East Room’s terrace is smaller, less structured and given its lack of height relative to the nearby buildings, very, very urban. You can peer over the wall and watch graphic designers throw balls around their office, flirt and generally do everything but design. Or so it seems. The terrace also has its own little allotment in which they grow herbs. Just to add that rustic touch.
The crowd is generally very media and cool, although having said that, at the table near to us a group of American women were trying out their best Sex and City impressions - quaffing champagne and or cocktails, air-kissing galore, and speaking very loudly. Unfortunately for them the illusion was rather undone when they started debating which makes the best canned food- asparagus versus mushrooms. I kid you not.
Meanwhile a couple of Italian bankers behind us were slightly confused and bemused - they clearly thought they were going to Shoreditch House and were rather taken aback by the lack of celebrities. Which in my view is what makes the East Room a great place – no celebrities and no bankers, but maybe that’s just me.
And finally, in a feeble attempt to overcome the false advertising allegations made about the blog I did try a Bloody Mary – and pretty damned good it was too. Very spicy, and very, very strong. Near perfect really. Or maybe that’s just me.