Behind the doors of Soho: Part One

In the last few weeks’ two separate friends took me to two separate unmarked doorways for drinks at “hidden” bars. I’m going to refuse to use the term speakeasy because, well, they're not. If I don’t feel like I’m about to be offered some cut-price cigarettes and slipped a number on my cocktail napkin before having my arm twisted behind me, my face slammed against a wall phone and threatened with a 32. Calibre digging into the small of my spine, well it’s just no dice.

Hidden bars or speakeasys (sigh) these days seem to refer to any bar placed behind an unmarked door. The feeling of being in-the-know is somewhat ruined by owners then needing to go around and shout about it in reviewer’s faces when they realise in a recession being a “secret” venue means being a very short-lived venue also.

Back to the point.

The New Evaristo Club

Nestled behind an old blue door on Greek St

I was brought here by a friend of mine who is infinity cooler than I am. Very kindly though he makes me feel more on a level by constantly tripping over his own feet. It’s the only way we have maintained friendship all these years.

Behind the unmarked door with paint peeling pathetically from the wood lies a corridor and a staircase you wouldn’t be surprised to pass your nan on. Beyond the sign in desk (a small nod at being an exclusive members bar, completely --- by the need only to sign your name and donate £2) is a basement bar. That's really it. It's a pretty comfortable basement bar that you might create in your own house if you were having one of those American sitcom moments.

The drinks are decent, but the menu is short. The room itself is laced with old furniture, wax table cloths and 1930's memorabilia.

Not exactly The Back Room of speakeasy fame, but it is less crowded than practically everywhere else on a Friday night.

Oh, and I failed to take a picture, so here is a picture my friend drew on my arm while we sipped whisky and ginger ale. He didn't have a red pen.