Demon And Wise/ The Arbitrager, The City

Hiding behind The Old Lady Of Threadneedle Street's skirts, new bar The Arbitrager is considerably smaller than I imagine the average oligarch's bank vault or Tom Cruise's closet to be. An arbitrager is traditionally a bod who deals in bonds, shares, commodities and the likes. The stock to buy into at this Square Mile bar-ette is liquid gold, as in a dozen or so doable London brews from the likes of Beavertown, Crate and Brixton to slake parched traders' thirsts. "Sold to the man in the bowler hat" for around the price of two shares in Barclays Plc (263p a piece as markets stand today). I'm more interested in investing in what lies below, however. Demon and Wise, the Arb's sister bar in the next door basement specialises in cocktails. When I visit at 9.30pm-ish, 95% of its demob-happy punters have pushed off, probably pished, to catch trains home to Hemel, Horsham, Hatfield and Hell, leaving this steamy (as in overheated) Steampunk Barbarella basement to me, an even older old soak (yes, such vampires do exist) and two simpatico Italian barkeeps - one of whom is clearly barking, having relocated to Barking or some such sad slum from Sardinia, such is Londra's lure in the eyes of the sort of young EUers UKIP would rather we not host. D+W is owned by The Hide, that useful hoochy hole-up in SE1. Prices, however, are more mohair and silk pinstripe than Bermondsey barrow boy at £11 (plus service) for my Monkey Shoulder-based Blood and Sand or a Tapatio Blanco-informed Flamingo from a list that is big on London gin: Portobello Road No.171 the preferred pour in Champagne-informed twisted G and T, Market Maker. Other recipes rope in rare and vintage Armagnac, malt whisky and the likes of Martini Gran Lusso; but at £16 +, such exotica will leave me in the red at Barclays. If only I'd stuck to my first ever job - something in the City - I could have bought this bar fifty times over by now or, like old boy on the next school, be hanging on in there for a gold-plated carriage clock before retiring to watch reruns of Four In A Bed, permanently bladdered in a Broadstairs bungalow.

27A Throgmorton Street, EC2N 2AN 3774 7654 www.demonandwise.co.uk 

Disco Drinks

Currently, there’s a lot of love around for the era when John Travolta, in his flash white suit, gyrated to the Bee Gees; Sylvester made everyone feel mighty real; and cowboys, construction workers and cops encouraged young men to have fun at the YMCA. Party like it’s 1978 as Keith Barker-Main steps back to the disco decade

Drink these:

Kitsch cocktail Blue Lagoon (vodka, blue Curaçao and lemonade plus plastic mermaid/paper umbrella) was as big as Boney M back in the day. Black Russian (vodka and Kalhua), Piña Colada and Harvey Wallbanger were the toast of Studio 54, but the ultimate 70’s cocktail is exotic Californian import, Tequila Sunrise.

Make it:

To make Tequila Sunrise: pour 3 parts Patrón (or similar) and 6 parts orange juice over ice. Slowly add 1 part grenadine. It will sink to the bottom of the glass, creating the ‘sunrise’ effect. Garnish with The Eagles 1970’s track of the same name.

Disco down:

LONDON: Rollerdisco  www.rollerdisco.com

Nothing says ‘the 70s’ like a rollerdisco. Order Screwdriver (vodka and orange) and skate to I Will Survive and Young Hearts Run Free at this vibey Vauxhall club.

EDINBURGH: The Shack www.theshackedinburgh.co.uk

Book in with ten pals at a Rose Street boogie bar serving retro rinses and get a Barry White-sized ‘pizza banquet’ free on Fridays.

LIVERPOOL/ BIRMINGHAM/ NATIONWIDE: Flares www.barsandvenues.co.uk

The clue is in the name. Add platforms, sequin boob tube and feather boa for a F-ABBA night out at a chain where disco anthems are always in the mix. 

NEWCASTLE: Quilted Camel www.quiltedcamel.com

Le Freak, c’est chic! As are afro wigs and other fancy dress at this ‘retro 70s bar’ where it’s permanently party time.

Alternatively, throw a Saturday Night Fever party at home. Stream discos greatest hits via http://loudcity.com/stations/i-love-disco and get the gear here: http://tinyurl.com/b5hqzuw 

Original article appeared in Metro UK 28.2.13.

Rattlesnake, Islington

Paul Daly, owner of Shoreditch bars Zigfrid and Roadtrip, chooses the fourth of July to launch his new gaff, Rattlesnake. Great name for a live music lounge, and the fact that the place is no longer the dire Walkabout bar of yore is reason enough to celebrate this new ‘American’ independent. Rock/indie/ garage thrash fans will dig a thumping sound system and a rebel yell-packed jukebox and a shed load of tequilas which - if you’re on a hot date, remember - ‘makes her clothes fall off’ according to Country crooner Joe Nichols. At tonight's launch, we’re promised Texican eats. Now, I am up there with Elvis when it comes to chowin' down on white trailer trash eats but after the umpteenthe tray of corn dogs - ‘the menu will be finalised in the next couple of months’ I’m told - I’m losing interest. Another feature isn’t yet open for inspection, sadly, but a roof garden has got to be a plus. I dig what Daly is out to do here: Easy Rider/ Arizona desert truck stop floats my boat but will the location - a chav-magnet chain-infested strip - attract a cool crowd? Upper Street, aka the A1 ain’t exactly Route 66 and the competition is tough. Other Islington American-influenced bars like Slim Jim’s Liquor Store, The Hope and Anchor and The New Rose have real rock’n’roll swagger. Rattlesnake feels a bit more Bono (circa The Joshua Tree) than dirty-sexy Lou Reed- fine if you're happy with a walk on the mild side.



56 Upper Street N1 0NY http://rattlesnakeangel.com 

Chamucos Clubhouse, Notting Hill

Years ago, my evenings were spent shuttling between Tom Conran’s Notting Hill holy trinity of The Cow - a cool cod-Irish pub - Lucky 7 burger joint and Crazy Homies, a kitschy cantina peddling on-the-money Mexican peasant nosh - zingy ceviche, taquitos and mule-kick hot quesadillas. Nowadays, my Metro bar gig propels me to far-flung ‘hoods hitherto only familiar from bus route maps: Homerton Baths; Highbury Barn; Hell. Late-night London has all gone East, innit? Tonight, however, I’m back on my old stomping ground, scoping out Conran’s latest wheeze. We’re necking no-next-day-hangover (£11) toreador margaritas made with Conran’s own label premium agave Tequila Chamucos Añejo when, not missing a trick, Sir Terence’s boy-done-good pops up to say ’you can buy it at Selfridges.’ Tom’s inspiration for his the recent redesign of his hip wee hideout, deep in Homies’ basement, came from weeks spent contemplating Mexico’s night skies, apparently. All inky blue and black Day of The Dead grungey gothic, it feels more like the feverish vision of a Chicano Wes Craven high on peyote to me: either way, me gusta mucho. That this dark den was the 1960s shebeen where, bustin' moves to early ska beat, Christine Keeler and her stylish Jamaican admirer Lucky Gordon (pictured) holed up during the notorious Profumo Affair that was to ultimately bring down a sitting Tory government, only ups its louche appeal. Notting Hill Sam and Dave will be praying history doesn’t repeat itself. 

127 Westbourne Park Road W11www.crazyhomies.com 

Azulito, Soho

I really dig Thomasina Miers’s Wahaca. Champion cheap Mexicano eats? The man from Del Monte, he say ‘Yes!’ Now, there’s even more reason to mosey along to the former Masterchef winner’s buzzy Soho cantina. New graffiti tags and gaudy supermercado-style kitsch aside, its folksy sky-blue basement  play-pit - all Babyfoot tables and shack-y bar cobbled together from salvaged wood - looks much as before, but what to raise a sombrero to at Azulito - the re-styled den's new handle - is its beefed-up range of 100% agave tequilas. If your view of this much-maligned spirit has been jaundiced by the liver-bothering swill pimped by tacky taco joints' slammer girls, apply within! With around eighty of the finest examples collated by hot shot bar consultant Nick Strangeway, this is as good as it gets east of Guadalajara, the state capital of Jalisco whose red volcanic soil nurtures Mexico’s choicest blue agave plants. Tequila purists take theirs neat like malt whisky, but for agave virgins, I recommend Azulito’s subtle El Tesoro de Don Felipe-based bloody Maria and margaritas - classic lime, tamarind or mandarin-flavoured - by the tumbler from £5.95. Punchy fresh,, flavoursome street food - smoked herring tacos, pulled pork, fondant quesadillas, et al - acts as damage limitation, while DJs spin low rider barrio blasts until midnight. And, if you’re on a hot date, señores; remember the wisdom of Joe Nichols’s country smash - Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off. 

80 Wardour Street W1 7734 0195 www.wahaca.co.uk 

Wyld at the W Hotel, Leicester Square

In a sleek lobby, next to an extraordinary sculpture, a vast cluster of glitterballs I dub ‘disco haemmorrhoids’, I’m greeted by a gym-buffed faun in fawn. The boy with the come-slither-stare's too-tight waistcoat and bum-accentuating strides are less Tom Ford more Tom of Finland  (whadya mean, is there a difference?) He escorts me along crepuscular jet marbled halls to my semi-clandestine destination. As the door whore/quality controller at her Anne Robinson-esque lectern rates me not the weakest link, I’m shown into Wyld. One of two bars at the bling-tastic new W hotel, it’s touted as London’s next late-late lair for urban foxes such as Kate Moss who partied here with Primal Scream, Jade Jagger and Liam Gallagher ahead of its official launch. You’ll get the general vibe from its American owners’ promo movie (http://tinyurl.com/2aztx4e ) Entitled Away We Stay, it's an homage to Antonioni’s Blow-Up. Razzie-worthy performances from high cheek-boned high-roller target W guests, David Gandy and Helena Christensen, demonstrate why models should stick to just looking pretty. The mother of all glitterballs spins in what feels like the VIP room at a Miami nightclub circa Crockett & Tubbs. I sink serviceable cocktails: El Chapo, no cheapo at £12.65 (inc service). Wyld, you see, ‘pays tribute to the liquid soul of Mexico, Tequila.’ The lounge’s dominant red tone, however, pays tribute to The Aberdeen Angus Steak House’s illuminated sign on Leicester Square below. Post-modern irony? Coincidence? It only opened on Monday but, already, I can feel myself growing curiously wild about Wyld.

10 Wardour St. W1D 6QF 7758 1000 http://www.wlondon.co.uk/