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

214 Bermondsey, The Borough

I wish I had bought a pad on Bermondsey Street when early adopter friends first spotted its soaraway potential and moved in (£300k to £2 million in 18 years? Jammy bastards!)  As things stand, I can just about stand you a round of drinks in one of this stylish enclave's numerous bars - The Garrison, Hide, East Village and now 214, a reboot of the cellar bar at Italian face-filling opportunity, Antico. Small comfy, cosy, all soft lighting honey-tone woods and tabasco leather, 214 eschews big design statement - a plus in my book in a city that now has more 'speakeasies' than the Chicago Mob could collect protection money from in a month of Sundays. In the absence of Bugsy Malone trappings, the adult theme here is a stonking range of great gins - I counted 50 on a smallish back bar where premium rums and whiskeys also vie for attention. Flights of three gins (from £12) come with house tonic - dry, peppery, earthy, bark-y, bitter, Fernet Branca-ish. Gin cocktails include aviation; Bermondsey negroni using local gin, Jensen; The Copenhagen (Bols Genever, Heering Cherry, lime and bitters, good at £9) and The Peck'em, SE15-distilled Little Bird shaken with Aperol, Cinzano B, grapefruit juice and bitters - more Portofino than Peckham to my mind. Gin junkies will be happy to find Death's Door,  Gilpin's, No.209, Bathtub Navy Strength, Xoriger various genevers and  current pash of mine, Saffron from Dijon's Gabriel Boudier. Gordon's? The barman tuts - although I retain a soft spot for the old girl having mixed it, aged 11, with bitter lemon and Dad's Eau Sauvage in an early experiment that led to a pubescent high I will never forget....followed by a tanned hide and tears before bedtime. My only gripe is 214's happy hour. If you aspire to owning a gaff in this deeply desirable faubourg, you're chained to a desk between 5 and 6pm, surely?

214 Bermondsey Street SE1 3TQ 7403 6875 www.214-bermondsey.co.uk/ 

Perkin Reveller, The City

Escape the milling throng at the Tower of London for informal canteen Perkin Reveller. In its cosy lounge bar with its handsome ancient stained glass window, you’ll find quaffs not aimed at your typical snap-happy matron from Minneapolis. Although given the drinks on Perkin Reveller's list - Smoked Clover Club, Bronx,  Martini, Aviation (£7.50), Martinez - you'd be forgiven for thinking London dry gin was an American invention. For an authentic taste of Hogarthian London, order Noggin or Somerset Flag Punch (Chase apple gin, lemon. spices and beetroot juice) -  one of various punchbowls to share (from £8.50 per person) that also include The Siege of Thebes and The Wife of Bath’s Tale. Non-juniper-based ideas include Mint Julep and Bloody Mary - the latter, an entirely appropriate call given the enemies of the Tudor queen, a notorious hot head, frequently lost theirs hereabouts. In the absence of potted head, or 'hough' as we Scots know it, order quail scotch egg, smoked eel fish cakes, and pork crackling (£3) with a pint of Meantime brewed down river in Greenwich. The view of London olde (the Tower) and new (the shitty Shard) from the venue's belvedere terrace is picture postcard perfect. Now, if only the clamouring hordes would bugger off back to Bangkok, Brisbane, Berlin, Beijing, Bolton, Birmingham Alabama or wherever they bloody well belong, this would be riverbank bliss.

The Wharf at The Tower of London, EC3 3166 6949 www.perkinreveller.co.uk

Read more reviews at www.squaremeal.co.uk    Image. Metro

City Of London Distillery (C.O.L.D), Blackfriars

Gin-soaked journalists? Shame I wasn't around back in the day to join caustic copper-top Anne Robinson on her legendary Fleet Street benders. I'm a bit of a closet fan of the ex-dypso dominatrix, you see. Another red top  - in charge of the News of the Screws before it was brought to its knees like some MP's cock-sucker whore exposed in one of its salacious stings - might fancy a few Fleet Street gin stiffeners when she comes up before the beak at the Bailey. The old bathtub brew - albeit cleanly and professionally produced - is the stock-in-trade of a new working distillery there; the only one to open in aeons in a City once awash with the stuff. Try the still's own label spirit for a fiver per large measure: master distiller Jamie Baxter (who has previous form at Chase) will talk you through the process.  But this juniper junkie's peepers were jeepered at the sheer scope of C.O.L.D’s blistering back bar offer. I lost count at brand #100. Try little-known local heroes such as Langton’s No 1 from  the Lake District or, produced in small batches on a Northamptonshire farm, Warner Edwards Harrington Dry Gin that's high on lavender and orange notes. Among an army of Johnny Foreigners, Death’s Door is the spirit guide I hope to meet at Death's door. Mainlining martinis in heaven -sans hangovers -  is my idea of bliss. Distilled from potatoes in Maine, Cold River is not your average gin joint pour. There again, nor are Clover Club and Corpse Reviver #2 - two 'tails from a small range of (not exclusively) gin-based joys at £8. Less impressive, is the basement lounge's inherited decor. The amiable Baxter is contemplating paint swatches when I descend on him: 'step away from the greens,'I say - never a good idea to colour match a room to the shade of one's gills after a heavy session on Broker's, Bulldog, Beefeater, Berkeley Square and all those other dangerous Bs
22 - 24 Bride Lane EC4Y 8DT 7936 3636   www.cityoflondondistillery.com

And Co, Soho

A poster above the entrance to this new quasi-clandestine cellar says ‘I LIKE IT. WHAT IS IT?’ London’s newest 'drinking experience', ‘And Co’; that’s what. I’m seated at a granite-topped island counter. Behind its basin and taps, whatever spirits contained within known only to staff, myriad decanters and bottled potions are neatly stacked on shelves in wood and glass display cabinets. Mine host/ resident barman/ professor expounds ‘the concept.’ Suddenly, I’m 12 again, in chemistry class - only, this time, held in what feels like a display kitchen at  Magnet's Kensington High Street showroom. In this boffin's dark subterranean lab (the latest wheeze from the chaps who own Soho's Graphic bar) , brand identity is taboo. Strategic advertising and cunning marketing are the enemies of individual choice - or sum such cant, is the message being preached here, I think. In truth, I've zoned out, transfixed by my guru's strange Scouse/Indonesian accent and uncanny resemblance to a Thunderbirds puppet. Together, hand-in-hand, we're on a quest. Tonight, I am to be introduced to my own personal gin Jesus. But first there's a Ron L. Hubbard-esque multiple choice quiz to wade through. I’m left to ponder a lengthy list of tasting notes grouped by spirit, flavour and style: ‘complex and oaky; ‘fresh and zesty’; hmm, pretentious and poncey? Wearying of Prof’s protracted probing, I’m fast becoming one V restless paying guinea pig. ‘Tanqueray 10, Beefeater 24 and Berry Brothers No.3 all work for me,’ I say, growing desperate. I'm now so gagging for a drink, neat turps would do. Patience, child! Presently, an utterly exquisite dry martini, all ‘weighty viscous mouth feel, liquorice, slight stone fruit sweetness’ and yadda yadda yadda-ness is delivered in exchange for £13 (well, £6.50 actually; there's 50% during & Co's soft opening period). ‘I LIKE IT. WHAT IS IT?’ Prof’ won’t say; presumably, lest I cheat on him and order similar elsewhere. Thus, I am forever his. Cunning marketing, indeed.

22 Great Marlborough Street, W1F 7HU 7437 4106 http://centralandco.com

Drink Shop and Dance, King's Cross

Drink Shop and Dance? Sounds like a plan for the next fortnight! Get into the Christmas spirit - in this case, Mother’s Ruin - at this new dive from the eminently doable Drink Shop and Do. The juvenile delinquents behind this King’s Cross charmer, accessed via the sweetest sweetie shop East of Willie Wonka, have a 'dirty little secret', a dinky playpen for similarly insane insomniacs.  From its launch in 2010, I took to childhood friends Coralie and Kristie’s original kooky alt social club/ tea rooms (located in a former Victorian bordello directly above this latest venture) from the off. I've even managed to show my face within on several occasions since. Given the number of nightspots I have to reccie for those I manage to pimp myself out to, this fact speaks volumes.  Now that there’s gin and joined-up disco dancing to a mashy mental soundtrack until late down below, here’s to many more funny, slurry-blurry N1 nights to come. Set in a simple grey bunker - although, given the girls’ magpie tendencies, I expect that to soon change - the DJ bar's presence is announced by a large garish neon sign which, I hazily recall, says 'Sex Dwarf For Hire' or something equally louche and intriguing. What The Butler Saw-style peep-holes drilled into  walls hint at the space’s past as a seedy shop aimed at dirty mac owners. Note to younger readers: that doesn't mean someone who needs to wipe off smears on their iBook's screen, although, that said................. 

As for 'Drink': they'll fluff you with Fifty Pounds martinis, drip feed you Zuidam Genever gimlets through a gimp mask, tease you with a Tanqueray Hanky Panky and handcuff you to 209 or Death’s Door, two Yankee swingers worth knowing. If it's something even more recherché you crave, wrap your laughing gear around the barman's Crown Jewels. No longer widely available since Beefeater discontinued it; at £13 a pop, this super super-premium gin always guarantees a happy finish. 

9 Caledonian Road, N1 9DX 3343 9138 http://tinyurl.com/7rxl6bw

image : the dofc.com

The Arch Bar, W1

Refurbished in the currently fashionable mix of art deco/1950s-inspired anodyne chic favoured by many venues aimed at the Business Class buck, what was the Intercontinental's Lobby Bar has been re-invented. As The Arch Bar, it promises ‘unobstructed views of gardens, parks and the iconic Wellington Arch.’ Sightseers should avoid the adjacent lounge we’re initially consigned to for tea: two dark ‘phone boxes, like big dirty Daleks, skulk outside to spoil the much anticipated view (see left : what lies beyond those annoying lumps of metal). Better to secure a high stool at the attractive bar counter and view said Arch and Piccadilly’s roaring traffic - a thrilling prospect to contemplate as you dip into a fine selection of over two dozen gins and gin-based cocktails. Try Old Time Tipple (Berkeley Square basil-infused gin muddled with fresh tomato & cranberry), or cherry sweetened Mother’s Ruin which uses the new Six O’Clock Gin, so named because it harnesses only half a dozen botanicals such as orange peel, elderflower and the mandatory juniper. For gin avoiders, there’s rummy champagne granita at £16, coconut & chilli mojito or a range of wines, many English, as well as  ales and occasional live music. 

Intercontinental London Park Lane, 1 Hamilton Place W1J 7QY 7409 3131 http://www.intercontinental.com

Adapted from my review for www.squaremeal.co.uk