Ended up in one of my favourite bars in London last night, which is so low key that it barely has a name. I’ve always called it ‘The Italian Bar’, heard it called Trisha’s and The Hideout, but evidently it’s The New Evaristo Club. Whatever, it’s pretty much an unmarked door on Greek Street with a scary looking but ultimately really friendly doorman. It’s like dropping into a house party with a cool, chilled but buzzing atmosphere everytime I’ve gone there. My friend Richard dragged me and the Hackney kids here one night and we didnt believe it was real, finding it full of Mafia pictures, gingham table cloths and other old school Italian memorabilia. There’s a bar in one corner with one person, serving at their leisure and always a totally brilliantly random clientele.
I’ve found an ace review by Henry Castiglione who looks like he knows his stuff, and I totally agree that “When I find the entrance I am always amazed that this place is still here or that it even exists at all. It is like a half-remembered film that has sprung to life.”. I always drag people to it, expecting it to have disappeared. Bit like Narnia – but with gin and tonic.