London calling

The Zetter (thezetter.co.uk)

This place is for the coolest of the cool; for those who don’t just act like it (Lindsay Lohan, you’re not invited), but for those who actually live it. If John Lennon were still alive, this would be his watering hole. Imagine the Brit Beatle chillin’ at the Atrium Bar & Lounge; a so-hip-it-hurts respite with warm floor-to-ceiling wood-paneled walls, ‘70s-inspired carpeting and floral bucket seats, grazing on Felino salami tapas whilst talking shop to a Ze-llini-guzzling Bob Dylan. A converted Victorian warehouse, the Zetter’s 59 rooms are an architect’s dream individually designed to exude a somewhat peculiar, vintage-like aesthetic. Take the embroidered “Z,Z,Z” on the bed blankets or the staff-selected Penguin paperbacks shelved on the walls behind. Quirky, perhaps, but each detail will not soon be forgotten. If lucky enough (rooms fill fast), book your stay over a weekend. Waking up to the chimes of The Church Of St. Paul’s on a Sunday is glorious.

Where to eat: London is truly a cornucopia of culinary delights. Get your fill of bangers and mash and other traditional English fare, but you would be remiss not to tempt your taste buds with the hodgepodge of cross-cultural cuisines from France, Morocco, India and Asia. Saddle up to the table, here’s our faves:



Sketch (sketch.co.uk)

If you haven’t yet heard of Sketch, where, pray tell, have you been? Without question: dine here once, dine here countless times again. For a moment, let’s digress on the salacious décor as it is so, so worthy. Mix one part Salvador Dali with two-parts Alice in Wonderland and you are met with this sprawling 18th-century, two-level brasserie that is such a surreal mind-maze sober, you will wonder why people would ever want to trip out artificially again. The unisex washrooms are reminiscent of an Easter egg hunt gone horribly awry. Bulbous “eggs” are retrofitted into private toilets while, once opened, have a floating female apparition languidly whispering German in your ears. Wait, there’s more: The Gallery (otherwise known as the central dining area) looks more like a tricked-out psych ward with its white leather padded walls and continuous black and white movie projections than a Michelin-starred restaurant. But, rest assured; nothing is absurd about French chef Pierre Gagnaire’s culinary vision. For a moment, forget the Victoria Beckham-worthy prices (while the staff is mum on the star sightings, she has been rumoured to have dined here) and instead swoon over velvety Parsnip Velouté with Chestnut Cream; bright Barramundi Ceviche with Shavings of Jelly and Fresh Coconut, and to finish, the “Napolean”: Vanilla Mille-Feuille with Fig Jam, complimented by their in-house sommelier’s suggestion of Pommery Springtime rosé.

To check out the city’s best looking scensters, grab a seat at The East Bar; literally a cavernous hole in the ground, albeit a chic one, where equally as adorable bar staff expertly mix you that martini.

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