Steam and Rye, The City

Facebook recently introduced another typically daft gizmo. Like so many others, it's presumably aimed at disaffected youth festering in Nowhere Nebraska, stroking their father's rifle collection as they plan their bloody revenge on those classmates that dared mock their Justin Bieber be-stickered lunch box. Based on past posts, Facebook's feature fancies it can select your personal top 10 moments of the year. In 2014, as well as buying a new loo seat, one of mine was attending a preview of The Great Gatsby in nausea-inducing 3D, apparently. Is my life really that dull? Baz Luhrmann’s Gatsby was a frenetic, over-styled marshmallow - shallow, vapid and unrewarding. I mention this, not because I've fancy a gig as a film critic - although I'll happily give you a pithy précis of Behind The Candelabra if you like - rather that Luhrmann's lurid Gatsby evidently inspires Nick House's new City restaurant and bar behemoth, Steam and Rye. As at his other venues Mahiki and Bodo’s Schloss, this perma-House party, set in the former Bank of New York's august marbled halls, is crammed chock-full of gimmicks - a 20's gangsters and molls theme park for cocktail-crazy kidult bankers and their 20-something staff: Basildon blondes, Billericay bean counters and Southend secretaries that fancy themselves Essex's answer to Daisy Buchanan. Steam and Rye has been designed in conjunction with a model/ presenter/ serial red carpet-hogger whose clothing range, Kelly Brook at New Look, is sure to appeal to those that imagine ersatz glam the height of big city sophistication. As I'm unlikely VIP lounge material (I'm not dating a West Ham player and I'd refuse to give a K***ing Kardashian my contact details, even supposing it wanted them), I head downstairs to one of various spaces accessible to paying punters. Here, a passable rendition of an antiquated Eastern Pacific Railway dining carriage doubles as a cocktail lounge - New York's Grand Central Station another design influence I'm told. All aboard a cheesy choo-choo to Yonkers for a bonkers range of hooch served by flappers in shimmy shifts. Ignoring classic calls vieux carré and prescription julep (£12.50), tonight's throng is sold on tricks such as sticks of rock in soda fountain alco-pops, moonshine served in oil can mugs...or in faux footwear in the case of dead man’s boot (tequila, lemon and marshmallow). A Monica Lewinsky cocktail is a creamy rum and amaretto affair - fit for a president, no doubt. Be careful he doesn't splash it on your dress, love: people will talk. ‘Maize balls,' meanwhile, may well make Made In Chelsea fans miss the last train back to Basildon. Steaming at 2 am? I don't hang around to find out. I've got better, if not bigger, speakeasies in mind. 

147 Leadenhall Street, EC3V 4QT 37018793 www.steamandrye.com  

Great Gatsby outfit (pictured) available via www.joke.co.uk

Bodo's Schloss, Kensington

As 'with-it' teenagers, my sister and I were condemned to draw lots to decide our holiday school  reciprocal visit destinations. She was dispatched to rural Austria; I to Sainte Maxime, just across the bay from swinging Saint Tropez. Hanging out with Johnny Hallyday and Bardot at Les Caves du Roy, aged 14? Bring it on! So began my love affair with France. My sibling's tales of her host, frosty Frau Frumpenlumpen (think Rosa Klebb in From Russia With Love), mandatory cold showers, not so hot local talent, and dumplings and schlag (cream) for breakfast, put me right off the first nation to sign up to Herr Hitler's world vision. Consequently, I have never set foot in the land of the Edelweiss - as immortalised by Vince Hill through the hi-fidelity speakers of my grandmother's Grundig gramophone, granted pride-of-place in its polished teak flip-top cabinet. Sloaney ponies, however, adore Austria - regularly bunking off to Kitzbuhel where, shickered on schnapps at chalet parties, they hope to do Udo the randy ski-instructor. This then, explains the decor at Bodo's Schloss, the new adventure playground from the chaps behind Mahiki - another magnet for misbehaving toff-totty and their public school boy admirers; the elite heirs to Osborne and Cameron who will one day be in charge of running (down) what's left our once great nation. Cheesier than fondue, this ersatz chalet bar/ club/ diner - all pine cladding, kitsch gingham checks and hunting lodge gubbins - is straight out of Maplin's circa Gladys Pugh. 'Tonight, campers, we'll be getting you all Matterhorny when we crown Miss Lovely Legs and Alpine Twin Peaks of 1960 in the Heidi Hi bar... located to the right of the Olympic-sized swimming pooo-ul.' The place is rammed. The boys preen, giving off that inbred air of entitlement that says they will never know the price of a pint of milk, or what it is to have to struggle to find the down-payment on a modest two-bed starter flat in the sticks ('You expect me to live in FULHAM? No way, man!') Shark-eyed trust fund Tarquins encircle the bait - lissom lasses presumably shipped in by charabanc for 'model night', as our waiter describes it. My date, a bona fide glossy mag cover girl, looks unconvinced. 'There is a big market for hand models, I suppose.' But let's not be sniffy, here. The vibe is electric - free shots every time a cowbell clangs see to that - and everyone is having a ball on a dance-floor at the back of Lonely Goatherd's cabin. I'm in no shape to throw shapes: full of strudel, und schnitzel mit noodles served by Hansel and Gretel in lederhosen and dirndls, I'm gluhweined to my chair. No matter; the party comes to me in the form of the Von Trapp Family Players' deranged cousins who dementedly bash out Village People hits on their glockenspiels and oompah band horns. Cover girl, whose mascara is running, 'hasn't laughed this much in ages.' At £8.50, cocktails are fair, but avoid the Saint Bernard, a bit of a dog if you're not big on sickly-sweet. Instead, order Ice Castle - ‘a never ending supply of our signature (vodka, peach and passion fruit) cocktail topped with up to 10 bottles of Dom Pérignon’ - sold to the coot with the Coutt's card at £5,000!  If I were him, I'd love this joint too. Bodo's is wunderbar if you’re Made In Chelsea out to get schlossed. Hip Dalston Guardianisti, however, might pray for an avalanche to hit Kensington. 

2A Kensington High Street, W8 www.bodosschloss.com

Tini, South Kensington

Thursday is the big London night out for South Kensington’s beau monde - weekends finding them otherwise engaged in Val d’Isère, St Barts, Monaco or Daddy’s pile in Berwickshire. Crowds form alongside the Bentleys and Lamborghinis parked outside Walton Street’s handful of bars,as cut-glass accents clamour to be admitted pronto. The latest arrival, Tini, comes courtesy of Nick House and the other chaps behind Whisky Mist and Mahiki. If high maintenance blondes are your garnish of choice for your dry mar-Tini (geddit?), step inside! The idea is to recreate the Milanese bar scene’s traditional ‘aperitivo’ - or cocktails and complimentary nibbles, if you prefer. Lined with black and white pap shots of Dolce Vita era stars and squishy low level leather seating, the sedate decor pushes no design envelopes, nor frankly does the Chelsea-chic clientele, however much they paid for that outfit at Harvey Nics. Cocktails (£7-ish) come with a dash of Italia - limoncello in a Grey Goose Citron and strawberry Berrycello or the complimentary shots, a nice touch, we were offered when ordering Prosecco -cheaper than some of the pricier French bubbles available. Tini knows its audience: If Hoxton rather than Hermès is your thing, it’s not you.

87 Walton St SW3 7589 8558

Aubrey at the Kensington Hotel, South Kensington

You can’t beat a decent hotel bar - a breed surprisingly rare in a part of town so overrun by Gallic expats, it elects its own MP to the French parliament. Aubrey, the bar at the refurbished and rebranded Kensington Hotel - clue; it’s not in Shoreditch - is ideal for a gossipy bitchfest entre amis or a flirty tête-à-tête with your colleague Jean-Pierre’s wife who also happens to be your bit of ooh la la on the côté. With its mosaic and marble bar, raw oak paneling, Yves Klein blue glass ceiling, teardrop chandeliers, mohair plush and club chairs whose tasseled fringes suggest the sort of sassy skirt worn by Leslie Caron to drive 1950s Saint Germain jazzmen wild, it feels appealingly retro in a kind of American in Paris way. Period drinks include Americano, French 75 and Negroni - good at £8 - while worst title of the year award goes to the cachaça based Berried (but still) Alive, one of eight house specials served with chilli and lemon popcorn. The January launch of The Brompton, the hotel’s swish new nightclub courtesy of the Whisky Mist / Mahiki crew, will wow SW7’s jeunesse dorée. Here to canvas votes, will le petit Nicolas drop in for a bop? In his trademark elevator heels, to something by Prince, peut-être?

109 -113 Queen’s Gate SW7 7589 6300

Kanaloa, Farringdon

The name ‘Kanaloa’ might suggest a German supermarket’s cheapo homage to Kalhua, but down Holborn Viaduct way, it’s the name of a new club/ bar from Girls Aloud’s Sarah Harding and the well-connected blades behind Mahiki, Polynesian theme bar of choice for posh nobs and pap-happy slebs. Although the interior - all bamboo, cane and on-the-wonga Tonga kitsch - is a fair reproduction of the W1 original, the mix of City boys and suburban Cheryl, Kimberley and Nadine ciphers  - note, no Nicola tributes -  lacks the high octane glam of the Mayfair tiki set's set. Let's call it ‘Tiki Maxx’. Bonkers cocktails such as Champagne Jellyfish - bubbles, lime and rum with mint mock caviar presented on a Chinese serving spoon - and all manner of ‘fireworks and hullabaloo’ delivered flaming to table in camp customised bowls, are typical of a theatrical list that scores on price, imagination and content: hopefully, the enthusiastic Ms Harding didn’t sample the whole shebang at one sitting. Service is South Sea island friendly and dim sum and a range of beach blanket bites, such as soft shell crab, adequate. As night kicks in, lights dim and a mix of glam rock, hip hop and soul keeps the party-’til-3-am posse active. Whether the Girls Aloud wannabes end their evening with a traditional Hawaiian lei, I’m not around to tell. 

18 Lime Office Court, Shoe Lane, EC4 tel 7842 0620 http://www.kanaloaclub.com/