Much like you never forget your first love, you never forget when you first fell in love with a bar.
Epernay Champagne Bar in Leeds was mine. In my second year of study two girly mates of mine got taken there on dates in the same week (different guys, I might add) and subsequently raved about it. I got introduced and from the off was hooked. The glamour, the variety, the service: it was all there.
Over the next few years I became a regular, appreciated the bar culture, became friends with the staff and owners of a close knit community. It was Cheers meets Sex and the City. My favourite part was the fact that if you were at the bar when a bell rang then everyone got a free shot of jaegermeister. That’s a lie. My favourite part was my epic love affair with a part-Scandinavian barman with abs of steel and a kiss that would make your foot pop like in the movies…but that had nothing to do with bar critiquing and came a good year after I had joined the cocktail converted.
I digress; my point is, even before the Scandinavian, it had a brilliant mix of classics, new inventions and approachability. In London I can find things a little pretentious or a quick serve, without any real charm. I’m still searching for my southern Epernay.
About six months ago I heard about a new place opening called Happiness Forgets. Location, about 10mins from my work, with the underground secret-but-not-wanky-enough-to-say-speakeasy vibe I love. I tried to visit but due to flaky friends, I had been scuppered numerous times.
I finally managed to go on a weeknight about a fortnight ago on a whim with my fellow TGOCer. The staff were super-friendly (including a Scandinavian but I’ve learned my lesson there) and there was a small but perfectly formed back bar. The menu was how I like it, a small selection but classics available on request. But despite all the ingredients being there, somehow, for me, it wasn’t quite right.
It was far too dark (I’m practically blind without my glasses) and I felt everyone could hear our conversation, though we were being pretty loud as we were smashing it to forget about a particularly heinous day at work. If I investigated the menu further I’m sure I would find something to invigorate me and the Moscow Mules, made with their own fresh ginger blend, were outstanding…but I like to be challenged beyond a well-made classic.
I’m holding out hope for intriguing but faraway The Shop NW1 and new kid on the block The Lucky Pig, but it may be a case of if you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with.
Overall, Happiness Forgets is a much better prospect than many of the surrounding bars. I find Lounge Bohemia too niche, once you’ve worked your way through the menu; Callooh Callay toots its own horn; Nightjar is full of coked up ‘artists’; and Mayor of Scaredy Cat Town has the worst customer service I’ve ever come across. At the time of visiting the other clientèle seemed nice enough, which is refreshing and adds to the atmosphere.
Kelly had a superb time and is very complimentary about Happiness but I think I need to go back in a better mood to get a feel for the place, as unfairly, my rotten mood may have coloured things. Maybe, similarly to the men I date, I am far too fussy and reject too quickly. The staff and Mules will definitely keep me coming but is it going to be a regular jaunt like Epernay…TBC readers, TBC.
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