Demon And Wise/ The Arbitrager, The City

Hiding behind The Old Lady Of Threadneedle Street's skirts, new bar The Arbitrager is considerably smaller than I imagine the average oligarch's bank vault or Tom Cruise's closet to be. An arbitrager is traditionally a bod who deals in bonds, shares, commodities and the likes. The stock to buy into at this Square Mile bar-ette is liquid gold, as in a dozen or so doable London brews from the likes of Beavertown, Crate and Brixton to slake parched traders' thirsts. "Sold to the man in the bowler hat" for around the price of two shares in Barclays Plc (263p a piece as markets stand today). I'm more interested in investing in what lies below, however. Demon and Wise, the Arb's sister bar in the next door basement specialises in cocktails. When I visit at 9.30pm-ish, 95% of its demob-happy punters have pushed off, probably pished, to catch trains home to Hemel, Horsham, Hatfield and Hell, leaving this steamy (as in overheated) Steampunk Barbarella basement to me, an even older old soak (yes, such vampires do exist) and two simpatico Italian barkeeps - one of whom is clearly barking, having relocated to Barking or some such sad slum from Sardinia, such is Londra's lure in the eyes of the sort of young EUers UKIP would rather we not host. D+W is owned by The Hide, that useful hoochy hole-up in SE1. Prices, however, are more mohair and silk pinstripe than Bermondsey barrow boy at £11 (plus service) for my Monkey Shoulder-based Blood and Sand or a Tapatio Blanco-informed Flamingo from a list that is big on London gin: Portobello Road No.171 the preferred pour in Champagne-informed twisted G and T, Market Maker. Other recipes rope in rare and vintage Armagnac, malt whisky and the likes of Martini Gran Lusso; but at £16 +, such exotica will leave me in the red at Barclays. If only I'd stuck to my first ever job - something in the City - I could have bought this bar fifty times over by now or, like old boy on the next school, be hanging on in there for a gold-plated carriage clock before retiring to watch reruns of Four In A Bed, permanently bladdered in a Broadstairs bungalow.

27A Throgmorton Street, EC2N 2AN 3774 7654 www.demonandwise.co.uk 

The Sun Tavern, Bethnal Green

I rather like the cut of the Discount Suit Co geezers' cloth -  http://tinyurl.com/l6dj4fc. So, I'm in like Flynn to try on their new outfit for size. That'll be an old cloth cap Bethnal Green boozer re-tailored to suit that faubourg's inky, beardy, Brylcreem-y boys - indistinguishable from the original Sun's patrons, back in the day when local songbird, Marie Lloyd (pictured), was wowing them in the cheap seats at nearby Sebright Music Hall with a rousing chorus of Roll Out The Barrel. The barrels rolled out here are local-ish...and deeply drinkable. Crate. Partizan. Pressure Drop. Beavertown. Talking of Beavertown, the bar's Peaky Blinder interior - dark, deconstructed, dissolute - recalls the sort of louche East End taproom where muffs and molly boys for hire would give it up for a port and lemon and a shilling, "kind sir", up the back alleyway...so to speak. Port (white) and lemon appear here in shippers pie plant (along with gin, pink grapefruit and rhubarb cordial), one of various fixes, fine at £7.50. Served in pewter tankards, ideas such as apricot brandy grog, the bogcutter, contain Paddy moonshine; the bar being big on poitin. (Question for the PC police? Can I still say "Paddy"? As I'm 100% Jock, I'll risk it). Adroitly dispatched off-menu requests - negroni/ old fashioned - confirm the boys behind the bar aren't merely decorative. "Check out the talent!" beams a blonde bird waiting for Jacques de Sores to appear (rums from Cuba and Martinique, Velvet Falernum, lime, honey water and Angostura charged with prosecco, £8). Welcome to The Sun, a Page 3 stunner! 
441 Bethnal Green Road E2 0AN www.thesuntavern.co.uk