I don’t know your personal predilections, but do you ever feel I like you’re going to die if you don’t get some salt and vinegar crisps? This is how I feel about red drinks. I love a Martini, dirty or dry, but the pure gin or vodka can be cruelly alcoholic, leaving me susceptible to early-onset merriment and accidentally offending present company. The outside tables are chequered and wind-clipped, the bar has a Time Team-looking Gaggia coffee machine, churning out the best coffee in London (to disagree with me here is to waste valuable Friday night minutes), but I come here for the red drinks.

I’m not sure if this is suspicious, or cool? Is Bar Italia an open secret? Should it not be spoken of in order to protect it? I’m suddenly worried Bar Italia is the fight club of Soho jaunts, but it’s right there on the street with two neon signs and a hoard of people nursing tumblers on the pavement.īar Italia is not strictly al fresco, it’s essentially a long, mirrored, stooled corridor, making it Soho’s chicest narrow way, a thin slice of Italian torta in central London. I’m a bit spoilt for neighbourhood locals as the sun downs in Soho, but nothing Friday nights me like Bar Italia, a Frith Street institution. Nearly everyone I know loves a lil daylight cappuccino or pre-game vino, or post-pint panini at Bar Italia, and yet I can’t find any former reviews of the Italian stalwart online.

Hot shots bar sonora