It's a common enough story. The local "pinta Guinness an' a pack of fags" boozer, longstanding and beloved by many, gets torn to bits, and a glossy new gastrobar miraculously emerges from the ruins.

On a corner of Westbourne Grove there once stood such a local: The Shakespeare. Unspectacular, cheap, it was good for a pint with the chaps. But in this day and age, the bar world bears a distinctly Darwinian temperament, and from the 'Speare's still-warm ashes Westbourne House has arisen, as shimmering and ornately mirrored as you might expect.

Wander, however, through the main and mildly unimpressive entrance bar to any of its three, more private sections and a realm of comfort and Deco-decadence emerges. Tables sport in-built champagne buckets; chaise longues cry for one to drape nonchalantly, martini in hand.

And oh, the martinis. Mat Perovetz, one of this city's finest, craziest cocktailians, has created a menu of passionately crafted classics and modern concoctions: like the Montgomery Place list (which he collaborated on) without the essays.