Hawksmoor, Spitalfields

Told that chicken burger comes topped with an egg, I revise my order. The idea of A Mother and Child Reunion, as Paul Simon sang, ruffles my sensitive feathers. That this is my only grouse of the evening is testament to how enamoured I am of the original Hawksmoor’s new cellar bar,  a handsome nu-Dickensian dandy in recycled wood, copper and peacock-tone glazed tiles. Killer cocktails and man-sized melty meat patties - to my mind, London’s best -  without the queues at non-bookable hip West End rivals? Bring it on! I’m back tonight to slug it out with Hawksmoor’s punchy Italian ‘tenders, having lost Round 1 to Davide  behind the bar on a TKO. In the ninety minute slot I set aside for its launch party, even this veteran campaigner couldn’t soak up champagne and all ten ‘tails on offer. From a selection called Desert Island Drinks - chosen monthly by a different mixologist - smart is the castaway who picks as his luxury The Puritan - a Plymouth gin, Chartreuse, orange bitters and vermouth martini for which I’d sell my soul to Satan, if I still had one left to sell, obviously. Hawksmoor will flog you this delight for a mere £8.50. Drop in too for a smoking Tobacco Old Fashioned, dogs, wings, burgers, beers and various other oral stimulation at a former strip-joint whose libations deliver the sexiest lip dance in E1.  

157 Commercial Street E1 7426 4856 www.thehawksmoor.com