Review

How often do you get a pub on a typical High Street in any town that’s named the High Street Public House? Drinkers are oft perceived as less then compos mentis but that doesn’t mean we’re thick as pig-shit (perhaps it would be ironic to state the bleeding obvious); I suspect it’s highly trendy and pretentious to be brutally unambiguous. Hence this trendy and pretentious bar and kitchen on Hoxton Square is named the Hoxton Square Bar & Kitchen!

When the architect of this building was sweating over his or her designs, he or she probably had little idea that the car park in the basement, envisaged for the use of the tenants of this residential and commercial construction, would one day be a trendy bar. As such, the Hoxton Square Bar & Kitchen has all the atmosphere and characteristics of being inside a concrete shoebox, which is essentially what it is – dark and lifeless! Little effort has been made to disguise the sheer concrete walls, concrete ceiling and concrete floor, giving a desolate, cell-like appearance. I imagine this is how a bar would look in a communist regime, so it’s no wonder so many East Berliners tried to scale the Wall if this is what their bars were like. It’s depressing.

Fancy a pee? Well, you’ll need to search very hard to find the toilets, as there’s no sign on the door to identify where the toilets are. Perhaps it’s so ‘now’ not to mark toilets anymore (which is understandable considering there is no sign or name outside to identify the bar). Although if you fancy knocking the water off the lily (literally), you can drain your radiator in the bushes in Hoxton Square across the road, although beware of gatecrashing a wedding; a flasher is never a welcome addition to a wedding party.

Patent plastic sofas, discarded in the 1970s as ugly and tacky, are now experiencing a resurgence under the title of 'retro’; shops from Brighton to Camden are making a living selling 60s and 70s furniture found in a skip somewhere, the like of which was last seen in an episode of Gerry Anderson's UFO or Jason King’s Department S. If it weren’t for these shops, the Hoxton Square Bar & Kitchen would be empty; there’s an abundance of plastic and leather sofas, mostly ripped and having seen better days, wonky tables and chairs, all of which seem ideal for lounging in whilst chilling to the funky, acid-jazz emanating from the numerous speakers. There is a small 'garden’ area at the front, adorned with cheap garden furniture, although the distinction between indoors and outdoors isn’t clear, as the whole front façade of the pub opens.

Not as expensive as one might imagine from an establishment of this nature, although the drinks tend to cater towards the cocktail-sipping, wine-tasting, spirit-loving crowd rather than the beer-swilling yobbos, so the choice of beer is severely limited. If you fancy a pint of beer you’ll end up with a pint of weak piss (weak piss in a plastic 'glass’ if you fancy swigging it in Hoxton Square itself). It’s not clear whether the croissants and sugercubes on the bar are free for patrons with the munchies, although the flies certainly seemed to be enjoying the hospitality. The shelving behind the bar appears to be courtesy of IKEA, and the kitchen area is part of the bar so you can see the wide range of delicious food being prepared; the kitchen utensils hang at the bar, and it’s reassuring to see they're well-used.

A classic scene from a silent black and white comedy is where the protagonist’s head pops up through a manhole in the middle of a busy street and the camera pans to a rickety old boneshaker hurtling towards the camera. Here one can experience a similar sensation by simply watching the vehicles race along Coronet Street, heading towards you, towards the sheer glass window at the rear, about head height when you're sitting down, and swerving around the corner at high-speed on the verge of crashing through. Very unnerving, as two minor bollards separates the unexpectant ram-raider, the boy-racer who loses control of his high-powered phallic machine, and your head. Sit at the front of the bar, as it’s only a matter of time before it happens, although the obvious metal shutters ensure a ram-raider doesn’t enter the premises illegally when he fancies a pint of pisswater!

Review by mr_psm