Ognisko, Kensington

This timewarp-y joy is located around the corner from a Kensington dungeon I regularly frequent. Next time I'm about to submit to untold torture there, I intend to, first, hit the bar at Ognisko and steel myself with a brace of its stiffeners. Two brain-blaster drinks down the hatch; even the worst punishment a psycho sadist can mete out - root canal at the hands of my dear dentist, Brian, directly across the leafy garden square from Jan Woriniecki's Polish restaurant - should be a doddle. A year after it became possible for Joe Public to access the grand stuccoed townhouse members of The Polish Hearth Club have monopolised since the 1940s, I'm finally here. Poland's cuisine - with apologies to any of that land's 39 million populations or whichever one of its 37 million ex-pat plumbers may, in future, tend to my U-bend - ain't top of my list. But its best vodkas very much are. Monumental martinis enlist some of the country's finest rye and potato distillations: Chopin; Sobieski; Belvedere; Potocki et al. Served in chilled coupettes, they are text-book perfect. And lethal as a KGB agent's bullet. On which note, the formal room, charmingly old school in a sort of frumpy 1950s Poznan matron way, is the sort of place wherein Cold War gay spy Guy Burgess might have convened with that equally traitorous c***, Anthony Blunt, after being taken up the bandstand by an obliging off-duty guardsman, in exchange for a fiver, in nearby Kensington Gardens, I imagine. For double that amount or less per drink here,  you can get buggered senseless on Ruski Standard Vesper, beetroot martini, Potocki gimlet and Tough Love (rye, Davna red vodka, vin d'orange and Martini Rosso) and a range of classics that includes side car and Copenhagen, snips at £8.50. My Christine Keeler-esque arm candy for the evening is particularly taken with her prosecco-topped martini - blood orange liqueur, lime, grapefruit and Wyborowa - from a list of ladylike libations. Bar snacks, elegantly served and blissfully ignorant of the term 'portion control', are the sort of Herculean fuel that could sustain you through the worst winter Warsaw can throw at you. Blinis; pelmeni; pierogi; grilled sausage; peasant soups; potato pancakes and puddings that read like the Polish entry to next year's Eurovision Song Contest. Sliwka w Czekoladzie, anyone? Me? I'm laying into homemade flavoured shots. So strong is Ognisko's horseradish vodka, gimme three shots of this liquid novocain and Brian can skip the injections and yank out my molars with his bare mitts, for all I'll care.
55 Prince's Gate SW7 2PN 7589 0101 http://www.ogniskorestaurant.co.uk 

I spy Guy (right)

Piano, Smithfield

Hoping to replicate the success of his effervescent piano bar on High Street Kensington, irrepressible crooner/ ivory tinkler Bazz Norton (the son Judy Garland and Liberace never had) has taken over what was previously Smithfield cabaret lounge Rouge. Rouge is the (inherited) colour in a dive that looks like somewhere Christine Keeler might have partied in her 1962 pre-Profumo Affair heyday. Listen to standards from back in the day mixed with more modern material played jazz hands-stylee until 2am at weekends (closed - Sundays). High-spirited, friendly and inclusive, even the biggest Glee-hating grouch is likely to be sucked in. With no cover charge to bump up prices, Piano is also an affordable night out: wine starts at £20.95 for Chilean sauvignon. But put on the Ritz and break open the Laurent Perrier (£62.50) as on The Night They Invented Champagne - one of the show tunes you’re likely to hear. If the Lady Is A Tramp and Krug Grande Année (£270) is your poison darling, let’s hope your pal Joey is picking up the tab. 

14 Long Lane EC1A 9PN 7796 9777 http://www.pianosmithfield.com
(Booking essential.) from my original review  at www.squaremeal.co.uk

Shebeen, Kentish Town

Shebeens were clandestine drinking premises where illicit whiskey was flogged to cloth capped Paddys in the Emerald Isle of yore. From there, the phenomenon spread first to Scotland, then to the USA and South Africa. Populated by loose-limbed, dope-head West Indians (and their white English posh girl admirers), shebeens became a fixture of Notting Hill in the 1950s. Fast forward 60-odd years and a legal tribute to the species has turned up in London NW5, the latest addition to this popular local Brit/Med bistro. In a downstairs dive that looks like a cross between a 20s speakeasy and a 70s Northern working man’s club, pimped hooch includes a range of classic cocktails at £6.50 (or 241 on 5.30 pm - 7.30 pm happy hour each night). Pile into the ‘snug’ ‘nook’ or ‘cranny’ - former police holding cells - and try Singapore Sling, Elderberry Collins, Mai Tai English Julep and Dark and Stormy - the dark rum and ginger beer mule popularised by Jamaicans in London circa The Profumo Affair (Christine Keeler and Lucky Gordon hung out in a shebeen that is now the venue for Tom Conran's Chamucos Clubhouse in Westbourne Park). Authentic Irish poitin - once banned due to its high alcoholic content - adds a frisson of excitement and there's beer from local lads, Camden Town Brewery. 

Kentish Canteen 300 Kentish Town Rd NW5 2TG 7485 7331 http://kentishcanteen.co.uk

read more reviews like this at www.squaremeal.co.uk

Chamucos Clubhouse, Notting Hill

Years ago, my evenings were spent shuttling between Tom Conran’s Notting Hill holy trinity of The Cow - a cool cod-Irish pub - Lucky 7 burger joint and Crazy Homies, a kitschy cantina peddling on-the-money Mexican peasant nosh - zingy ceviche, taquitos and mule-kick hot quesadillas. Nowadays, my Metro bar gig propels me to far-flung ‘hoods hitherto only familiar from bus route maps: Homerton Baths; Highbury Barn; Hell. Late-night London has all gone East, innit? Tonight, however, I’m back on my old stomping ground, scoping out Conran’s latest wheeze. We’re necking no-next-day-hangover (£11) toreador margaritas made with Conran’s own label premium agave Tequila Chamucos Añejo when, not missing a trick, Sir Terence’s boy-done-good pops up to say ’you can buy it at Selfridges.’ Tom’s inspiration for his the recent redesign of his hip wee hideout, deep in Homies’ basement, came from weeks spent contemplating Mexico’s night skies, apparently. All inky blue and black Day of The Dead grungey gothic, it feels more like the feverish vision of a Chicano Wes Craven high on peyote to me: either way, me gusta mucho. That this dark den was the 1960s shebeen where, bustin' moves to early ska beat, Christine Keeler and her stylish Jamaican admirer Lucky Gordon (pictured) holed up during the notorious Profumo Affair that was to ultimately bring down a sitting Tory government, only ups its louche appeal. Notting Hill Sam and Dave will be praying history doesn’t repeat itself. 

127 Westbourne Park Road W11www.crazyhomies.com