The Lucky Pig, Fitzrovia
Intimate at times, raucous at others, The Lucky Pig is a basement bar built for debauched nights out, champagne swilling and heavy petting. The bar itself is divided into two sections. There’s the main room, where a young professional crowd steadily booze away at the bar, sporadically dancing to the overhead music or tipsily branching out to converse with strangers. Then there are the plush red booths round the corner, booked in advance to provide a private, dimly lit and unfailingly romantic date spot. If you go midweek there are live music acts and the odd charming folk band, but on the weekends much of the fun comes from stumbling out of your booth with your date in tow to carve some shapes. The later it gets, the cheesier the music, so by 1am it has shed any delusions of grandeur and is purely good fun.
It’s a cocktail bar with a 1920s New York throwback, fronting its menu with classic champagne cocktails, served in wide brimmed Marie Antoinette glasses. Embrace the old fashioned precedent it sets and stick to gender-defined drinks: fizz for the lady, some sort of hard liquor with bitters for the man. They don’t really go big on the food here but why would they. Instead there’s a decent enough selection of cheeses, coldcuts, nuts and olives- the boozer’s delight.
On dates like these the work has all been done for you. Automatic kudos for sourcing such a kooky little find. And you booked in advance so you’ve minimized the chances of awkward functional processes (searches for seats and long waits at the bar whilst trying to juggle chit chat and making eye contact with the bartender). Sitting in the cavern of red velvet lulls you pretty quickly into ‘bright, young things’ mode. No mention of price, no mention of ever leaving, simply converse and order as it this is an endless process. You’ll both sense the right moment to kiss and you’re guaranteed it will be within the first two hours. Then carry on the night and join the masses for the final moments on the dance floor.
It’s never cheap binge drinking on cocktails but the rewards eclipse the expense. Occasionally you get the odd frumpster wandering in off the street which does little for the look they are trying so hard to construct but only the really cruel would smirk at this.
Surprisingly I’d give The Lucky Pig a 3 out of 5. Although all signs point to the bedroom, the fun of smooching the night away means that by the end of the 4 hour session it feels quite apt to hail a cab and content yourself with action replays of the evening en route back to yours. Could be the old fashioned joint rubbing off on you, or just an inability to contemplate how you’ll get yourself home, let alone the date.