Karpo, King's Cross - September 2013 now Megaro (see new review)

‘Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder’ said the guy with the lisp. Well, if you’re fond of the aniseed-flavoured spirit, hit Karpo at King’s Cross. The Megaro Hotel’s stylish, moodily -lit new dive bar is a persuasive ambassador for a range of absinthe served, as romantic tradition demands, with chilled water dispensed from exquisite Belle Époque glass fountains. The Marmite of the drinks cabinet, I used to hate the stuff; put-off by youthful misadventures in Glasgow where, poured over burnt sugar cubes on slatted spoons, bars once pushed it as ‘wreck the hoose juice.’ Cue frenzied trippy disco-dancing in total strangers’ Gorbals high-rise flats followed by immobilising paranoid half-blind hangovers. No wonder countless absinthe-raddled French Impressionist painters ended up as daft as their brushes. The trick is to ease yourself gradually in to this dangerous mistress’s seductive embrace. For a sexy first date, novices might risk Karpo’s subtly absinthe-d coupes - Fourth Degree (a Bermondsey’s Jensen Old Tom gin martini); Violent Femme (£7.50) or Corpse Reviver no.2  served with equally addictive spiced pecans. Still not tempted? There’s a range of non-Abs Fab alternatives and retro cocktail manuals for inspiration. But if you do yearn to see the green fairy, ‘Karpo diem!’ - says the guy with half an ear for Latin.   

23 Euston Road NW1 7843 2221www.karpo.co.uk 

Pisco Bar at Ceviche, Soho

The most famous Peruvian I know is the divine Mario Testino who used to be my chum's lodger back in the days before he had an Anna Wintour-approved designer pot to piss in. To be honest, I'd much rather be on nodding terms with SuperMario's compatriots Paddington Bear and 1950’s cheesy listening queen Yma Sumac, but can they make me look a million dollars on my passport photo? I don't think so. Add to that subjective list of fabulous Incas, pisco, the South American nation's famous  pale grape brandy. Like Peruvian cooking, pisco is having a moment as London goes loco for all things Lima. Soho cantina, Ceviche (the foodie clue is in the name) boasts the capital’s first dedicated pisco bar. Purists prefer pisco neat or infused with physalis, eucalyptus leaf, chilli, apricot and lemongrass, ‘macerados’ at £3 a shot. Similarly authentic, is opalescent lime, bitters and egg white flip, pisco sour, a national obsession. Add to that, pisco punches, mules and Maria Sangrienta, llama-land’s fiery spin on the bloody Mary. Cusqueña is present and correct but no Peruvian wines make the cut, elbowed out by Chilean sauvignon blanc pinot noir by the glass,  a belting Brazilian cabernet franc at £36 and Argentine wine. But Thatcher's children are boycotting that these days   
17 Frith Street W1D 4RF 7292 2040  http://cevicheuk.com

Ridley Road Market Bar, Dalston

Ridley Road is like an East End version of Portobello circa 1958, minus the race riots. Shorter than the now Cameroony West London thoroughfare, it is lined with stalls selling fish you've never heard of for peasant dishes they'll be eating in some poncey chef's gaff next season at £32 a pop sans veg. Talk to da man, and you can also score illegal bush meat if that's your foodie thing. Colourful, exotic, multi-cultural and urban,  it's the ideal backdrop for Ponysteppin' pale and interestings into whatever this year's equivalent of heroin chic is.  Spot them at this funky (both in the current Brit and  original Harlem sense) liquor shack, cadging fags and hoping someone flush with dole money, or the £50 they scored for doing an indie band's make-up for their latest music promo,  will stand them a tropical cocktail: tequila and grapefruit, ginger mojito or gin and pomegranite (sic).Otherwise, there's  Red Stripe, house vino  served in old stoppered bottles and killer coffee in the absence of a wrap of coke when Haggerston all-nighters beckon. The bar's gaudy, clapped-out interior looks like a set for a Tarantino flick and there’s an alfresco terrace-ette for showing off your pretend perfected-in-Pentonville rude boy stance. Grub-wise, Luca’s highly doable big beefy meatballs slathered in sauce might put some meat on scrawny frames but for most, as Ms Moss says, 'nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.' 

49 Ridley Road E8 2NP facebook.com/ridleyroad

Tapping The Admiral, Kentish Town

From the same team at The Pineapple, preserved after regulars including Rufus Sewell, Ken Stott and newsreader Jon Snow told developers where to stick their bulldozers, comes sister pub Tapping The Admiral. It's another good pub for the community-minded burghers of Kentish Town to savour. At first approach, you might suspect a local pub for local people in the same sinister sense as Tubbs and Edward’s gothic emporioum in The League of Gentlemen. Straying strangers are most welcome to try out the precious things within, CAMRA-accredited real ales. Choose from Butt’s, Redemption, Brodie’s and real perry such as Gwynt y Ddraig Two Trees (£3). As at The Pineapple, the food is Thai : try various tom yum from £3.50, noodle dishes from £6.50 and chicken, pork or beef or tofu phat kra phao stir fry and curries at £7.45. ‘Tapping the admiral’ is not a local euphemism in the same vein as 'bashing the bishop': they'll brook no wankers here. The phrase actually refers to old tars who would sneak a cheeky tot of brandy friom the barrel in which Nelson’s corpse was embalmed for the long sea voyage home after his death at the Battle of Trafalgar.  

77 Castle Road NW1 7267 6118 www.tappingtheadmiral.co.uk

The Merchant of Bishopsgate, The City

This new ‘freehouse and kitchen’ imagines itself ‘so good, you’ll want to miss your train.’ Its TOWIE-understudy customers seemingly concur. Preferring cask ales and £15 Lamberti Blush to Liverpool Street’s rush hour cattle trucks, they gossip about hair gel and ‘Mee-chelle’ being ‘well jel.’  Do ‘Great Cocktails!’ match that boast? ‘Dunno. They’re off, ‘ announces a waitress. ’People didn’t like them...or something.’ I order Sancerre from the Enomatic dispenser instead - frisky and fresh at £7.60 a glass. Parroting various (better) rivals’ design vernacular, The Merchant’s clichéd patter feels less fresh: trite shouty slogans as art; tinny tinnitus-y house muzak; canned Spam in a display of ‘heritage’ packaged goods; and from Downton Junction’s lost luggage office, battered Edwardian suitcases sprayed white hint at the old boat trains from Harwich to the Hook of Holland and exotic destinations beyond. On a table opposite, love’s young reem, Bill and Rikki from Billericay, chew on one another’s faces while I chew over a six-for-£20 ‘grazer’ selection that includes mini burger sliders (fair) smoked salmon in cheese scones (was that ‘stones’?) and risible, rubbery ‘blackpudding scotch egg’ (the dog’s chew toy minus the squeak). Suddenly, that Spam looks inviting. The prototype for a chain, The Merchant hopes to ‘revolutionise the station pub.’ I’ll stick with The Gilbert Scott at St.Pancras, thanks. 

Lower Concourse, Liverpool Street Station www.iamthemerchant.com  

Piano, Soho (CLOSED see BAR TITANIA)

These Chinatown premises have seen off a succession of swish cocktail lounges and even swishier gay bars including Geisha, an ill-fated short-lived oriental cocktail lounge aimed at older chaps looking for a bit of Gok, as far as I could tell when I visited. But Kensington's High Street's original Piano's second fiddle seems to be hitting the right notes with a theatrical crowd drawn to its effervescent brand of camp show tunes at the old joanna. Say Hello Dolly to cocktails from £9.50. White lady, Moscow mule, Singapore sling and sidecar are suitably retro rinses for roisterous rat pack singalongs. Owner Bazz Norton is a jazz pianist and ex-cruise ship crooner whose bona sense of humour belongs in a 1960s smut-com featuring Sid James and Hattie Jacques - Carry On Tinkling, perhaps.  Hence, ‘Pianist Envy’ and champagne cocktail, Piano Pick-me-up - an open invitation to a skint chorus boy on the make? A limited selection of wines from £4.50 and champagne from £8.50 a glass are available but eats are restricted to crisps and nuts, unless you pre-order buffet bites for parties of 10 or more. Punters range from elfin boys to a fabulous dame I took to be Ethel Merman until I was informed the curtain had finally fallen on her act. Taking her old hit if My Friends Could See Me Now to extremes, maybe the old trouper had herself stuffed to be wheeled around town by adoring fans? The idiosyncratic Piano is a fun night out in a jazz hands/ John Barrowman kind of way. Prepare to make new friends meet fellow closet Judy Garland fans and razzle dazzle 'em.

75 Charing Cross Road WC2H 0NE 7287 7699 www.pianosoho.com 

House of Tippler, East Dulwich

When Jo Brand branded Streatham ‘a sh**hole’, its ‘town centre manager’ (if not some residents who agreed with the comedian) blew a gasket. Was the mouthy old bint comparing SW16 unfavourably to her adopted Dulwich where chichi gift shops and dinky bars await Leftie luvvies fleeing grittier ‘hoods ? I’d be smug too if I had a House of Tippler in my manor. With its sleek 1960s Planet G Plan furniture (rescued from a Streatham semi whose owners aspire to wall-to-wall IKEA?) and a sprinkle of kitsch - dig the loos’ pole dancer wallpaper - Lordship Lane’s latest lounge could be in Notting Hill whose gilded classes, in turn, would deem Dulwich a dump... had they ever been there. Even in W11, you won’t better Tippler’s £7.50 ‘tails. Try classy (twisted) house Manhattan, Phony Negroni, Metro (thanks, guys!) or Tina: that’s a cognac and quail egg flip, not the Class A preference of some Streathamites. Imaginatively presented, owner Tim Oakley’s 3 for £10 ‘pinxtos’ - who knew Basque was big in the burbs? - include melty onglet with fat chips, fun mini hot dogs and peppered squid with ‘banga couda’(sic). If I were Jo, I’d park my big butt chez House of Tippler - or ‘HOT’ as I brand it - on a regular basis.  123 Lordship Lane, SE22 8HU 7998 4878 www.houseoftippler.com