One of the worst weeks of my life was when I contracted swine flu in 2009 while travelling through Mexico. It was poor to say the least. Couldn’t eat my pinto beans; unable to drink tequila. Prayed to God. I came out of my fever and put both anomalies right, found myself draped coolly in neon on concrete slabs, sunk deep into hessian banquettes and felt free again.
The allure of mezcal tickles me behind the ears. After three or four, I fancied myself a grand man named Carlos, on a horse more majestic still, trotting forth toward the sunset with only the wind for company and the mountains my guide. Worlds away in Soho and the sunsets are fuzzy. No rugged outcrops to show you the way, only the buzz of streetlights and the sound of dropped bottles, the clamour of a congregation which looks to a different kind of deity. One who doesn’t stop at just a sip of wine but allows the whole bottle. They might exist at El Siete, a new location of gumption and aptitude. It’s an orchestra of Luis Barragán pink and chrome that catches wicked light from humming bulbs, where margaritas are lined up on terrazzo, where volcanic stone locks in the music of it all.
It’s not just the margs that are spicy. To be cosy in such reverie comes at a price: a small glass of white wine — if you can call Chin Chin that — is £8. Lagers start at £7. So drink cocktails, a medley of tequila, mezcal-based numbers and classics which start at £14. The paloma is a triumph, full of grapefruit and sparkle, as is the maximo sexy, which comes with a corn-stuffed olive; the cosmopolitan is here, as is a wry take on a martini and a fabulous Manhattan. I love rum — drink a cubanada, with Havana 7 and Barbancourt Haitian proof, if you do too.
“Siete” means seven in Spanish. Perhaps it indicates the time for a first drink. In which case, to make it to midnight, you might require a handful of tostaditas, or very dinky crispy tortillas topped with enjoyable things like avocado, tuna, or grilled pork. Just £2 each; I doff my cap. Wise to have these, I’d say, given all the agave nectar being flung about the place. Saddle up, have a drink. You might even end up calling yourself Carlos and praying to God.
66–70 Brewer Street, W1F 9UP, tacoselpastor.co.uk
Bar snacks
Hausu
11A Station Way, SE15, hausulondon.co.uk
The team behind Peckham restaurant Hausu has opened an upstairs listening bar, a dimly lit space with wool-draped curtains and jazz and post-punk records on vinyl. Cocktails include a tomato martini, blood orange sidecar, and a mezcal and sesame old fashioned. Holly Middleton Joseph, the head chef downstairs, has put together a mighty menu of bar snacks too, including boquerones in lime leaf oil and oysters with house hot sauce.
Mythos
Across London, mythosbeer.gr
Move over Madri, Greece is the word in 2026. You might have enjoyed Mythos in Athens or on one of the islands — Mykonos probably — but the Carlsberg-owned lager brand is undergoing a big UK push this year. A new “Greek-style” version of Mythos is now being made domestically, doing away with the need to import the beer from Greece, where it’s produced locally by Olympic brewery. The roll-out is happening now, and happening fast. Is it as good as the original? You decide (no).
