Like many large cities, London is a collection of neighbourhoods each with its own character. This nation has always had the church and the pub as the cornerstone of local community. Over the years the church has fallen away as a centre of community (unless you are desperately trying to qualify for getting your child into a church affiliated free school).  The local boozer remains, but its nature has changed. Tesco sells more alcohol than all our local pubs combined; casual, everyday drinking is done more in the home than at the local. As the fortunes of pubs declined the nineties saw the advent of the gastro-pub, muscling in on restaurant territory. If you like rib eye steak and rocket and parmesan salads they remain a good bet. The nineties also saw the advent of cocktail bars in London. It started with members only drinking dens like Milk & Honey in Soho and spread east to Shoreditch and west to Notting Hill. There may even be cocktail bars south of the river, but who cares.

The original Milk & Honey remains a favourite (it’s open to non members before 11pm most nights). It starts with the anonymous door on Poland Street which requires one to be buzzed in. Inside it’s dark, with tin ceilings and soft music – redolant of early 20th century bars in new York City.  I am not old enough to remember, but this must be what a classy speakeasy felt like. The bartenders here are amongst the best in London; extremely knowledgeable and creative. The martinis are served in antique, shallow champagne glasses with just the right amount of oils from the lemon twist floating on the surface.

This place has rules, printed discreetly on the back of the menus.  Men may not approach women. However, women may approach men or ask the bartender to  introduce them.  The rules also state “strictly no star fucking”. Opinion is divided as to whether this constitutes a ban on carnal activity with the famous or whether it is meant to discourage hipsters from dropping heroin (as in “I am so high I can fuck among the stars”).  I never felt these rules pertained to me.  Serious drinkers tend to be too drunk to recognise celebrities and having already chosen their drug, are immune to what hipsters smoke, snort or inject.

While the martini’s are sublime, M&H makes most cocktails with flair. I had a fabulous Sazerac here on my last visit.  The drink calls for rye or brandy with Peychaud bitters and sugar. The piece de resistance is of course the absinthe rinsed glass. Rinsing in absinthe is a forgotten tradition, much in need of revival; it helps give the world an agreeable empathy with the Great Oz.  Try rinsing your glass of morning orange juice with absinthe sometime to set your day up right.

A little too much Absinthe, Vincent old chap!

At Milk & Honey they like to make their Sazerac with a twist – mixing rye with brandy instead of the usual either-or. The mixing of spirits proves interesting – the rye giving a sharp edge to the drink, the brandy taking the roughness off the rye and providing a smooth and gentle afterglow.

My companion that evening stayed with the absinthe theme. She had the classic Green Fairy treatment – using the Bohemian method of preparation. In the Bohemian method, the absinthe is poured over a sugar cube sitting in a slotted spoon over a tumbler. The absinthe soaked sugar cube is then set alight and dropped into the glass, flaming the alcohol. The flame is doused with iced water. A few of these and you may cut off your ear.  Or go mad.

It all started innocently enough. Six friends meet for lunch on a crisp autumn afternoon. The view from the Oxo Tower in London is sublime. We sip champagne whilst we wait for our friends to gather, then switch to Pinot Grigio with lunch. We all eat fish, because someone said it’s good for us.

Our appetites sated and our whistles whetted we taxi to the Savoy for the main event; savouring and comparing martinis at its two bars. We start at the American Bar, the storied venue for many a post war rendezvous. The term “American Bar” was first used in London in the 1870′s to signify an establishment serving American style cocktails.  Richard D’Oyly Carte founded the Savoy Hotel with profits from his Gilbert & Sullivan operas in 1889. Cesar Ritz, his famous manager opened the American Bar soon after. For many the American Bar at the Savoy has been the temple to the martini in London.

We start with a Chase potato vodka Martini.  It’s good, but our post luncheon palates demanded something crisper with tighter after notes. The American Bar has a light art deco theme – but since it’s refurbishment in 2010 the bar appears diminished, lacking in presence.  The space is chopped up and unappealingly peopled by large American tourists in baggy trousers and comfortable shoes.

We move to the Beaufort bar, new to the hotel since 2010.  It has a black and gold art deco theme. It’s decor falls somewhere between old style glamour and Dubai bling. It works. We order the old standard – Grey Goose vodka martinis, straight up with a lemon twist. It’s perfect; the clean, crisp flavour of our favourite French vodka cutting through palates perhaps over oiled by our piscine gluttony.  The Martini’s go down easily, lubricating our conversation. My friends include several tall leggy blondes who appear to have hollowed out legs which have an infinite capacity for holding alcohol.  They are excellent drinking companions and good friends.  However, after six Martinis each, even they needed sustenance.  In fact, we all had the munchies.

The Beaufort Bar at the Savoy Hotel

A strange thing this – the drinker’s desire for food. It’s pretty culture specific. At college in America we would search for greasy burgers after imbibing. The square cut White Castle burgers they sold in Philadelphia were a hit – both for their taste and their cheapness. I recall $4 would get a bag of half a dozen small “sliders”.  The restaurant chain went national in the nineties taking its distinctive white trash flavour to Americans who didn’t know what they were missing.  Drinkers in Colombo seek Kottu Roti made in innumerable “kade’s” on the Galle Road; a delectable combination of a thin pancake chopped up with vegetables, egg, chicken and spices.  In Britain, drinkers seek curry – I know not why.  Perversely,  a searingly hot Vindaloo is guaranteed to add a layer of piquant complexity to the following morning’s gastric goings on….

We repair to Dishoom, the trendy Covent Garden Indian evoking the spirit of a working man’s Indian cafe of the 1950′s (minus the flies, filth and humidity of the original. Actually its pretty generic in its decor barring some 1970′s posters for Indian consumer goods and facsimiles of magazine covers from Femina, a women’s weekly). We like Dishoom’s tapas-like sharing menu. We order prosecco  - its mild sweetness goes well with spicy food. It’s bubbles add an Alpha and Omega quality to our day’s drinking. We have closure.

It was 2:30 on a grey Friday afternoon in London. Perfect Martini weather. The small tables in the bar at  Dukes Hotel all have “reserved” signs on them.  Allessandro Palazzi the bartender sizes you up when you come in – if you are a serious drinker he has a table already reserved for you!  Those wandering in for a glass of wine or some such lesser substance are quietly shown to another room elsewhere in this tiny jewel of a hotel in St James’s.

The lore of this place is fabulous. Ian Fleming wrote parts of Casino Royale while seated at the bar here in 1953. Legend has it that he invented the phrase “shaken not stirred” whilst imbibing here. The Vesper Martini (named after the female character Vesper Lynd in Casino Royale) was also invented here. The barman’s cart contains small bottles of vermouth flavoured with different spices and angostura bitters that go into the famous Vesper Martini. Sadly Kina Lillet, an essential ingredient of the Vesper Martini (Gin, Vodka, Kina Lillet and a Lemon twist) is no longer manufactured – the barmen at Dukes use Lillet Blanc with a drop of Angostura bitters instead.

Two frosted martini glasses are brought forth in the cart.  A few drops of Sacred Vermouth (brewed specially for Duke’s at the home of Dan Hart in Highgate, London) are placed in the glasses, swirled around and shaken onto the carpet (what stories that carpet must have to tell!). We started with Imperial Vodka, a Russian premium made by the folks who also sell Russian Standard. At Duke’s all the vodkas are kept in the freezer and served ice cold. Imperial is a nice drink with layered vanilla notes. Our next martini is an all British affair.  The Sacred vermouth is blended this time with William Chase’s Herefordshire potato vodka.  Chase made his money with Tyrrell’s potato crisps and stayed with the spud for his next entrepreneurial venture. Chase vodka is sublime in a martini, thicker in viscosity to a grain vodka with a creamy, full body.  Allessandro the bartender limits his clients to two martinis.  He has been known to indulge me in more but I had an entire weekend’s drinking ahead of me….