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Long after the pub/bistro closes, the Somerstown Coffeehouse’s new subterranean grotto is open for those who fancy late cocktails
and cakes. Decor-wise, expect an awkward mishmash of ugly/cute homespun design ideas, recycled 60s' furniture and twee bric-a-brac that doesn’t quite gel – a dimmer switch would also be a smart
investment too. Staff promise to mix something ‘off list’ if Lynchburg lemonade, gin fizz, French martini or margarita on the rocks don’t float your boat – although a request for a boulevardier has
proved fruitless. Back on menu, a sweet Woodford Reserve Manhattan has yielded something closer to dry (‘that’s the way I tend to make things’, confessed the affable barman). An inchoate range of
premium spirits, plus a bland soundtrack and a notable absence of cakes (at least on a recent visit) make for a queer, half-boiled kettle of fish.
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