King's Cross Social Club, King's Cross

At recent arrival King’s Cross Social Club, my cocktail’s advertised base is substituted without explanation or apology. Four Roses is not Maker’s Mark. Sure, they’re both bourbon but if I’m paying for Paul Smith, I don’t want Reiss sneaked into the carrier bag when I'm not looking. As it is, the choice of spirit is academic; drowned in vermouth, my drink is less Perfect Manhattan more Hell’s Kitchen, as in one-time dodgy New York ‘hood as opposed to something stirred at rant-y Ramsay’s fair hand. It’s a waste of good bourbon, not to mention the better part of eight quid but what to expect of inexperienced staff that might be related to Fawlty Towers’s Manuel? Do I require ‘apple’ in a dry martini? What’s Spanish for ‘on what planet?’ The pub-cum-bar’s interior - all leather sofas and flea market swag - is pure Noughties design cliché. A flier promises Nu folk gigs and screenings of trash ‘masterpieces’ such as Death Race 2000 but tonight’s entertainment is a DJ whose playlist might have been cribbed from a student union jukebox. Franz Ferdinand and Groove Is In The Heart. Groove sure ain’t in the room, lees-than-Dee-lite-ful punters dismissed by the date as ‘the blah leading the bland.’ Toying with meze no worse than from a Harringay Turkish supermarket’s tins, we debate which superior King’s Cross social deserves our dollar.

2 Britannia St. WC1 7278 4252