Q at Quilon, Westminster

At 20, I’d drink my age in pints; then, all swirly-eyed, park the dozen pakoras and fiery phaal curry that had seemed like a good idea at the local Traj Mahal on some poor hopeful lumber’s swirl-patterned Brentford Nylons sheets. Attractive. At Q at Quilon, Scottish Ceilidh lager or Indian Mongoose might appeal were I still a beer Hoover. As it is, sipping cocktails (two, max) such as tonight’s fine £8 tamarind margarita and cardamom martini better suits the Don Draper-debonair pose I like to think I’ve perfected over the years. Talking of Draper, couldn’t this bijou new lounge - all 1960s Madison Ave muted luxe with a hint of Hindu temple - be a set from Mad Men?  But in deepest SW1, you’re more likely to spot wadded American tourists and a Westminster bigwig (a stiff Whygras - that’s Indian single malt and grappa - might loosen up Baroness Warsi) than blue-sky thinker Shoreditch ad-lads. We pick at refreshingly un-starry Michelin-starred chef Sriram Aylur’s elegant tiffin - crispy fried silver fish, spiced shrimps and chilli yogurt chicken goujons - a seductive calling card for Kerala whose lighter style of Asian cooking he favours. I’ve never visited that Indian state but, give me a tenner for every time I’ve ended up in a right state at an Indian and I’ll fly there...first class.

41 Buckingham Gate SW1E 6AF www.quilon.co.uk 

Caxton Bar, Westminster

Strange synergy. On the day I meet Brian Paddick, the ex-policeman turned London mayoral hopeful (read, no hope at all; he's batting for the Lib-Dems),  to take part in a photo opportunity (don't ask!), I later find myself clambering over piles of coppers in SW1. That's as in plods, not  loose change, you understand. The rozzers are changing out of riot gear on the pavement outside my destination, a hotel bar directly opposite New Scotland Yard. Well, at least the staff doesn't have far to look if their punters kick off and need a good coshing that isn't strictly liquid. Fisticuffs seem far from likely here, however: the well-dressed middle-aged imbibers look like the sort of people who mow their Middlesex semi-detacheds' lawns on Sundays, are kind to animals, shop at House of Fraser and model themselves on Bill Turnbull and Sian Williams. The decor - pleasant enough, and expensive-ish in warm tobacco and toffee tones, could be a set from a Penelope Keith vehicle. Cocktails from upwards of £9 are fair. From the ‘Empire’ selection, we dig ginny Earl Grey Ceylon Ice Tea; from the ‘Americas’ Three Saints (£11) with a trio of rums in the mix. Ulstermen will be miffed not to be represented under ‘Britain’- a few ideas themed on headgear, from which Welsh Hat, using vodka distilled in Cymru’s valleys, comes out on top. There's a pretty terrace for summer drinking but keep the noise down or the old Bill (and not as in newscaster Mr Turnbull) will 'ave ya. Got it?

St Ermin’s Hotel, 2 Caxton Street SW1H 0QW 0800 652 1498  www.caxtongrill.co.uk/Caxton-Bar  

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Roux at the Pembury, Westminster

When their lengthy recess is not being interrupted by revolting peasants, our overlords are off poncing around villas in Chiantishire, building duck houses, or doing whatever MPs do in summer. Where they’re not, tonight, is at the new upstairs bar at Michel Roux Jnr’s restaurant opposite the Foreign Office. We drink alone, attentively ministered to by Liam, a Mark Ronson manqué in sharp black Mod whistle teamed, oddly, with bmi-baby-blue socks. Liam shakes sexy swallows from a list gratingly broken down into  ‘hors d’œuvres, plats principaux and désert.’ For around the cost of a bath plug and a two XXX movie rentals, how about  a ‘hang the calories!’ fit for our former gormless Labour Home Secretary, Jacqui Smith?  Bristol Million (Cuervo blanco tequila, spiced syrup, lime, banana and chocolate truffles) costs  £9.25. Me, I’m more of a William’s Tipple man (a Tanqueray 10, ginseng and bitters martini) served tonight with pork scratching popcorn (£2), char-grilled mini chorizo, and feta-stuffed peppers. I recall Marina O'Loughlin, in her METRO review of Rou,x describing its new bar as 'personality-free.'  She's not wrong. My date, a designer routinely consulted by smart money out to open starry watering holes, doesn't fancy it much either. We agree that top ‘tails deserve better than a palette of deep vein thrombosis tones, lumpen seating groups, flat lighting, naff vases, stereo Ikea-esque paper floor lamps, and tacky globe drinks cabinets. Is it an attempt at postmodern irony, or just rubbish taste? If Margaret Beckett did interior design…. or, come to that, David Blunkett and his guide dog. Either way, nice drinks, shame about the Shire Counties MP shite drawing room chic. But my readers must ultimately judge for themselves. To which end, a pic. 

Roux at the Pembury, RICS Great George Street, SW1P 3AD 7334 3737

http://rouxatparliamentsquare.co.uk/