Time is a train with no doors and no stations to stop at. It follows that finding parity with the past is basically a pointless endeavour — but given rather a lot of what I do is basically a pointless endeavour, I’ve decided to forgive myself in this instance. We’re back a decade and you’re playing Guess The Bill in a five star place (always the recommended behaviour). What’s the damage for a drink? And today — same question? Points if you had about £14 for then; gold stars for £25 or so now.
This 80 per cent-ish increase is bad if you’re picking the tab up for you alone; it’s sweat-inducing if you’re out with expectant others. But time is a train wi— yes, right, let’s move on. Still, to walk past the tinkling tins of amaretti and down into the dark red fuzz of Bar Lina brings to mind a different era. It’s there in the pricing (things start at £9, lots hover about £12), and more obviously in the look.
Sat beneath the original Lina Stores — the Brewer Street delicatessen, not one of the restaurants — the room is all sex-in-the-Sixties; it is Ronnie Scott’s dark, burgundy and espresso all over, bottles sat in a dressing room half-light. There is marble, there is brass; what’s missing is Christine Keeler casting spells with a cigarette holder. If it weren’t brand new, you might think the Krays had an interest.
Mind you, two East Enders probably couldn’t have dreamt up the menu. A pal of mine asked for a margarita, and was met with a doleful kind of incredulity; Bar Lina is resolutely Italian. This means bottles of Campari, Punt e Mes, Luxardo. There’s Galliano, grappa, a gin from Moncalieri.
A menu of 20 cocktails, including a number of non-alcoholics neatly folded among the rest, is divided between 10 Bar Lina creations, five Negroni riffs, five spritz. The Brivido Felino (homemade fig liquor, walnut liquor, cacao nib-infused sweet vermouth) offers smooth-talking richness; the Basilico (gin, Rinomato bianco vermouth, citric acid, salt, basil, milk) is a martini given a garden hit of herbaceous, green flavour. There were others. Enough we should have ordered some charcuterie to steady ourselves. If I could go back and change one thing about our night, that would be it. Ah well. Time is a train, and all that.
