Zahra, Clapham

Stress is the cocktail’s biggest ally. Wound up because K&C towed my car, and £265 poorer, I’m grateful someone else is paying for my nerve-de-jangling drinks tab tonight. I’m propping up a handsome bar at Zahra, a vast Turkocco bunker (as in Istanbul meets Marrakech) lurking beneath the latest outpost of Middle-Eastern resto/deli Del’Aziz’s burgeoning Ottoman empire. Here en masse, the lack of signage hasn’t foiled Cla’am’s flush 20/30-something Zara classes for whom Zahra’s clandestine casbah is tailor-made. Designed by the no-less luridly dressed Shaun Clarkson, its garish folkloric wallpapers, fabrics and beaded curtains (to screen off more intimate recesses) turn a potentially cold concrete bunker into a gay lounge. That’s ‘gay’ as in Sybil Thorndike’s day, I should add, lest nearby Lavender Hill’s LGBT mob gets over-excited. What excites me more, is on-the-money mixology - notably, the Hennessy cognac, cigar syrup and chartreause (sic) combo that is Del’ight. Del’icious too, despite the mental image conjured up by its bonkers description. ‘Think Sarkozy with the cigar’? Non, merci... on so many levels! Two Moneypenny cocktails (gin, cucumber, elderflower and ginger) to the good, my chum is still tense. When I dare to mock, saying the stress of casting models for a living doesn’t really compare with defusing mines in Afghanistan, huffy fashionisto flounces off. Thankfully, everyone else seems totally 'chillaxed'.

55 - 57 The Pavement, SW4 www.zahrabar.co.uk  

The Tommyfield, Kennington

Why ‘The Tommyfield?’ asks chum. Spiritually, blonde, she’s perplexed by this new grub-pub’s handle. ‘Because, historically, Kennington was where all London’s tomatoes were grown,’ I offer. She buys it. In truth, the name refers to an Oldham market, the site of the world’s first ever chippy circa 1860, I’m told. It’s another astonishing claim to fame for the Lancashire town, hitherto, best remembered as ‘home of the tubular bandage’, as a sign on a bridge there proudly proclaims. At the T.Field, the latest offering from the Renaissance group who previously cornered the Clapham ‘gastro’ market with The Abbeville, Avalon, Bollingbroke and Stonhouse pubs, fish and chips are present and correct. Sunday roasts - as good as it ever gets for £12.50 - are apportioned with Lancashire roly-poly politico ‘Big’ Cyril Smith in mind so the place is, understandably, jammed. Either the Kinsey Report’s 10% estimate is way off the mark, or the proximity of Vauxhall’s flesh-pots explains the over-representation of the Kylie Appreciation Society, today in the house. They sup draught Doom Bar and keenly-priced vino. Our murderously punchy Mexican red will necessitate a Tijuana taxi ride home but as this lot are local, for them, a short stagger back to an IKEA sofa in time for Sunday’s serving of Come Dine With Me.  

185 Kennington Lane SE11 7735 1061http://www.renaissancepubs.co.uk/index.php

Aquum: O Neill's, Clapham

‘What crisis?’ - as idiot savant/ daddy's girl Stella (Marie-Antoinette) McCartney reportedly said at her Paris catwalk show - might sum up the prevailing spendthrift attitude in Cla’am where new DJ bar Aquum (pictured) is already rammed to its blingy, Swarovski crystal-strung rafters. So popular are its molecular mix cocktails, the cassis perles that apparently make its kir royale stand out from rival pretenders have run out. Real gold flakes inform the house bellini,  but in the gloaming - and having foolishly neglected to pack my torch - I can’t detect any. Still, it tastes fine; as does a spumy, moss-tone, mango-y, mojito-ish job in a martini glass, one of many crowd-pleasers offered. Giving the critical mauling Aquum’s interior got in an evening rag, I anticipate a Jodie Marsh-y horror show, but referencing various uptown haunts like The Sanderson, its white gauze, cream leather banquette, high stools, and backlit onyx are stylish enough in a kind of Girls Aloud way. Is this what drew Ashley Cole, spotted here, according to a PR, while the missus was up a mountain? With one eye on footballers’  Amex Centurions, there’s a VIP suite upstairs, while civilians get to party below until all hours sustained by Med and Asian share platters. Who is Aquum’s target customer? From the pong pimp in the loos’ display - Eternity, Joop and similar Superdrudgy brands - not me; but fine for SW4. Contrast this with the less than fragrant O’ Neill’s up the street. A gloomy pile that’s part of a chain, it offers a ‘Taste of Ireland.’ Well, ‘cancel my Aer Lingus reservations, Moneypenny!’ To the Zutons’ droning Valerie and an odour from grim loos that suggests your senile great-auntie Val’s bloomers, I nurse a warm gin and sit, stony-faced beneath a chirpy slogan: ‘A light heart lives longest’. On that basis, I’ll be dead within minutes.

Aquum, 68 -70 Clapham High St SW4 7627 2726


O’Neill’s,  196 Clapham High St, SW4 7498 4931