Bar Termini, Soho

Crossrail makes me cross. So much of what I hold dear, sacrificed in the goal of getting to Hanwell or Hayes and Harlington in under half an hour. (Building a moat around London to keep out the Middlesex Massive might have been money well spent). Rampaging through the West End, this most unnecessary transport Jabberwocky is chewing up and spitting out the very bars and clubs that make (or rather, once 'made') Soho so special. Lost, the inimitably louche Black Gardenia whose door policy memorably specified "No jeans! No c***s!" Sayonara seminal gay sweatbox, Ghetto! So long, Punk! Adieu, The Astoria et al. And for what? Shiny shrines to Mammon as championed by London's myopic mayors. The newt-loving numpty and the Eton mess that ousted him have traded the capital's cultural capital for offensively bland malls where brandroids can shop for the same old shit available elsewhere. Sold to the highest bidder, Soho is being serially raped by spivs, grasping property barons who will presently be pimping more 'prime retail opportunities' as Denmark Street, aka Tin Pan Alley, the cradle of British pop music, is also razed in the name of 'progress'. Spiritually harking back to the same decade as that doomed, delightful thoroughfare's heyday, the 1950s, Bar Termini is a rare nugget amid the nauseating urban blight. Tony Conigliaro's understated new bar - his first since the similarly bijou 69 Colebrooke Row in Islington - is sheer joy for those nostalgic for the peroxide blonde, stiletto-heeled glamour of Soho circa The Krays, albeit with a classy, retro-modern edge Ronnie and Reggie would not recognise. Inspired by those chic buffet bars common to Italy's grand railway hubs ('termini'), this first class carriage, all slouchy high-backed banquette, looks the palle di cane - as I once translated 'the mutt's nuts' to a table of baffled Milanese business associates. At Tony's trad marble-topped counter, suave signori - handsome in pristine white tuxes - serve up a slice of La Dolce Vita from dawn until late. The menu is concise: (Illy) caffeine fixes and sugar rush pastries, Peroni, Prosecco, two wines, £1-a-pop panini, cheeses, tomato tartare and salumi. Any latter day Marcello and Anita will find elegantly presented drinks served with a Tony C trademark twist. His negronis include delicate rose petal, or perky pink peppercorn takes as well as a beefy Beefeater gin-based classic version. Aperol spritz (£8) is nuanced with rhubarb cordial and a soupçon of almond blossom informs a trad Bellini. Savour the experience while it lasts. For how long before Old Compton Street's soul is sold to the Devil incarnate: fast-buck property developer filth?
7 Old Compton Street W1D 5JE http://www.bar-termini.com

Hoxley and Porter, Islington

'A mythical Victorian steam express from Cape to Cairo that brings together Colonial Poirot, Egyptian noir, and surrealist jungles’: that’s part of the febrile PR puff about at this new Islington ‘cocktail and dining adventure.’ Perhaps its marketing wallahs have been at its ‘whatever doesn’t kill you’ cocktail - a ‘far-flung drink’ that aims to throw you by changing colour from blue to bright purple? With its edible absinthe-coated scorpion - er, because I'm in training for I'm A  Sub-Z List Celebrity; Get Me Out Of Here? - this hoochy peculiar reminds me of drunken experimentation, when I was a student, with whatever booze was to hand. It's a candidate for my ‘Dud Drink of 2013’ award. Capable head barman Mikey Pendergast ought to be above such gimmickry. Here, his more convincing ideas, fixed by enthusiastic staff in fin de siècle attire, include Baron’s Tipple (overproof rum, lime, apricot jam and guava juice), Belize bellini, and a smooth TT Sazerac that prefers Santa Teresa rum to the New Orleans classic's rye. An off- menu Remember the Maine is indeed one to remember, but it deserves a better mise-en-scène than this Carry On Up The Congo/ intrepid explorer malarkey. What's 'fresh and unique' on a press release is déjà (trop) vu and better executed elsewhere in my book - at Mr Fogg’s in Mayfair, The Chelsea Prayer Room, or even House of Wolf just a couple of blocks north for example. Wines start at £17 and food, at pub prices, includes pig’s cheek with chorizo pea and broad beans, wild mushroom risotto with pecorino and truffle oil, buffalo mozzarella and halloumi tart, and vanilla panna cotta among the ‘fine “British” fayre. If you board an express that's steaming up Upper Street, perhaps stop off at Slim Jim's Liquor Store, Public House and 69 Colebrooke Row before alighting at Hoxley and P, old chap.

153 Upper Street N1 1RA www.hoxleyandporter.co.uk 

Photography: Adam Beasley