Terrace Bar at The Chesterfield, Mayfair

Being asked to list my top 10 London hotel bars is a challenge I find almost as impossible as declaring my favourite Sinatra tracks; there are just so many classics to choose from. I love hotel bars. Old and new. Odd, then, that despite The Chesterfield Hotel having been around for longer than that other old Mayfair fixture, Nancy Dell Olio, I'd never set foot in it until the other week when its PR invited me to its Gin and Tonic Experience. I'm not a massive G and T man - better Tanqueray 10, No.3 or (if I'm lucky) Beefeater Crown Jewel (a no-longer produced, rare red letter day treat) in a bone dry martini - but the Terrace Bar's table-side tasting / tutorial has to be one of London's best value deals, a steal at £22. Knowledgable staff suggest a flight of three top notch gins, picked according to the guest’s palate, each paired with its ideal tonic water and a sprinkle of its key botanicals and spices to accentuate the gin’s DNA: Martin Miller’s and Mediterranean Fever Tree, served with strawberry and crushed black pepper,one particularly harmonious marriage. Moreover, the Gin and Tonic Experience's custom-made presentation set (pictured above) is exquisite. As for the room the tasting takes place in, The Terrace Bar is the sort of place I imagine Lucky Lucan might haunt had Scotland Yard's most wanted Lord not vanished without trace on a murky November night in 1974, wanted for murder. All forest greens, froufrou swags, butch dark woods and tobacco leather and polished barmen, suave in crisp white tuxes, The Terrace Bar epitomises Establishment elegance; its style harking back to The Chesterfield's creation after WWII, when the hotel was formed from three town houses, each rich in history. Sir William Harcourt, The (Liberal) Chancellor of the Exchequer that, in 1894, introduced death duties ("boo!") was one former inhabitant, as was William IV's bit-on-the-side, the actress Dorothea Jordan, who bore him ten illegitimate sprogs in as many years; one of whom was the great-great-great-great-grandmother of the current MP for Witney - David William Donald "Call me Dave" Cameron. (Insert your own joke about Tory bastards). When the miserly monarch had the cheek to suggest a reduction in his brood mare's allowance, the exasperated luvvie handed the tight git a playbill on which her caustic scribble: 'no refunds after the rising of the curtain.' Far from fuddy-duddy, the Terrace Bar's cracking cocktail list mixes modern innovation and reasonably priced classics in equal measure. Served in a jolly yellow earthenware ‘hive’ over honeycomb ice (pictured below), the latest buzz is a summery vodka, limoncello and lavender flower sour, sweetened with honey gathered from the hotel's rooftop apiary’s 40,000 bumblebees.  Snacks - crab cakes and piquant welsh rarebit (offered gratis) - are on-the-money. Silver service is slick; efficient staff super-sweet and attentive. A pianist at a baby grand plays standards. "There's A Small Hotel"....and it's just "Too Marvellous For Words" as Sinatra sang it.

35 Charles Street W1J 5EB 7491 2622 www.chesterfieldmayfair.com

The Blue Boar, Westminster

The last time the Intercontinental group opened a new hotel in London, the Sex Pistols' puerile profanities were about to cost TV host Bill Grundy his job, Sir Chris Hoy was in nappies, and an unpopular government was propelling us towards the Winter of Discontent. 36 years on, it's the same old song at Westminster. That's the location for this new hotel whose bar, The Blue Boar, takes its decorative cues from its proximity to the nearby pile currently presided over by tweety t*** Sally Bercow's heinous little hubby - that's John, not gypsy Paddy; let's be clear.  Wood panelling and mock baronial upholstery suggests a Commons bar, while Scarfe cartoons and puppets of political big wigs -  Tony Blair grinning like a mad man, flanked by his imaginary friends, Saddam's weapons of mass destruction -  are witty ornament.  Mezcal Mule (£10), Aviation (using eucalyptus-infused gin), Tequila Martinez and Paddington (rum, Lillet blanc, pink grapefruit, lemon, absinthe and the eponymous Peruvian fur ball’s beloved orange marmalade) are vote winners - as is a beer offer that includes draught Black Isle Porter and Meantime’s Yakima Red.  As well as the sort of bar food you'd expect of most high-end intercontinental hotels (small or capital I) -  burger, Caesar salad, share platters et al - there's pork belly bites, deep fill cheese baps and baked or pastrami-spiced oysters at £14 for six. Cosy conspiratorial private snugs are where to plot to bring the Coalition down, while afternoon tea is served in in Emmeline’s, the adjacent ‘ethereal retreat’ (read over-styled, twiggy and twee )- the sort of place I imagine Brummie Baroness Warsi might rate 'groovy.' Should anyone other than Westminster wonks bother to  file through the Intercontinental's lobby? On balance, the 'ayes' have it - but please, guys, ditch the overpowering pervasive perfume that hangs heavy in the air. I should also add that, in order not to display any political bias, I propose the bar's name be regularly alternated between The Blue Boar and The Red Bore - homage to Ed Milibland. 
(Spot the difference: The Leader of Her Majesty's Opposition and The Goon Show's resident eejit, Eccles - pictured above left) 

Intercontinental Westminster, 45 Tothill Street SW1H 9LQ 3301 1400 http://tinyurl.com/cpmvtnf

adapted from this venue's review at www.squaremeal.co.uk