Groove is in the heart - Pure Groove, Smithfields Market

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

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

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

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

Birthday blues – Club Gascon and Vinoteca, Smithfield Markets

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

Little Colombia in Brixton - Coma Y Punto, Brixton Market

I have never been to South America, so nearly everything I know about the continent is based on what I've seen on TV. So Brazil is samba, caipirinhas, Copa Cobana and beautiful people. Argentina is the tango, malbec, steak and beautiful people. And Colombia is ... drugs and beautiful people. Of course that's a ridiculous thing to think, but I think it's fair to say that Colombia has an image problem.

Rolling through Brixton Market on Saturday and the Northerner and I were a tad hungover after a session in two of our favourites the night before - the Old Red Cow in Smithfields and Brazas in Tulse Hill - and I most definitely was in need of food. And plenty of it. 

The market was rather untypically crowded with tourists - clearly Time Out has been going large on promoting Brixton - which meant that many of our favourite eating spots were full of people with backpacks or cameras or both. Fortunately the Northerner remember a cafe which we now know as Coma Y Punto, sitting in the heart of what is Little Colombia in South London. 

There's a hackneyed old phrase that says you can tell the quality of the place by the people who eat there, and the fact that Coma is full off Colombians - old and young, family groups and couples - is testimony to the wonderful South American ambience, and hearty portions of top quality Colombian food on offer. The portions are simply massive, yet our slender South American co-diners seemed to demolish their plates with ease. The Northerner and I started with a divine shared starter of Yuca fritters - I'm not quite sure what they are, but they're delicious, before attempting and failing to complete our mains. These dishes that included fried fish, pork belly, beans, corn bread, salsa, avocado, more yuca fritters and the best sausages I think I've ever tasted. And trust me, I've eaten my share of sausages. Something that is very evident when you see me.  The food was simply superb ,and the South American family ambience, complete with a large plasma TV showing a very long video promoting Colombia (what else) was lovely. You can't get a beer or wine there, but that's not the point of the place. You  get great coffee, and you get to practice your Spanish with some lovely Colombians. Time Out voted this place one of the better Cheap Eats. I'd go as far to say as its one of the best. But maybe I'm biased. 

The Old Red Cow, Smithfield Market

The newly, beautifully refurbished Old Red Cow in Smithfield Market was not the place I would have expected The Quiff to choose for his birthday drinks. But then again, he didn't, I did. And if I say so myself, what a great little venue. With it being on the city side of Smithfields it runs the risk of being over-run by lawyers, bankers and their bretheren from the suited profession. Instead it was packed to its admittedly rather small rafters with graphic designers, film makers, printers and other creatives all of which served to further emphasise how deeply uncool the Quiff and me are.

Despite it being over two floors, everyone seemed to migrate upstairs where a free jukebox encouraged a random selection of Phil Collins, Elton John and David Bowie, which was a lot better then it might sound. The Thursday night crowd were definitely in preclub mode, or perhaps pre-payday suggested the Northerner, as impromptu singing , dancing and hugging broke out in the groups of pretty young things that surrounded us.

Apparently they do a superb Bloody Mary but technical glitches and an overrun bar staff meant I settled for the beers which were fine. The Northerner rated the house red as very quaffable, which was obvious given the way her and Big D demolished the bottle.

They also do great food according to a couple of people I spoke to, but no-one seemed to be in the mood for eating. The Old Red Cow is a place for drinking and unwinding and the couple who run it have the charm of old school Rovers Return landlords with the coolness and style to match the clientele. A good combination, and a good boozer.