Fake speakeasies sit next to real strip clubs: even the worst things can get by, if they say it's ironic.
Scout, a new bar on Great Eastern St, manages to be both peak EC1 and an antidote to it: it has all the hallmarks of the place – faintly pointless concept, sparse interior, men with beards – but, unlike flimsy pretenders serving watery mezcal margaritas down the road, there is skill and care here, no marketing hype, no smoke and mirrors.
Hodge works in an office that regularly imprisons him until gone 10pm; Dirty Harry’s told him to sit down, loosen the tie and blow off some steam. Some mixes are surprisingly interesting, like the Bearcat (beeswax-infused gin, Sloe gin, Cocchi Di Torino, Campari, Elderflower cordial), some more straightforward (the SFPD of cognac, port, walnut syrup and bitters tasted exactly like old libraries smell). Still, for a self-styled “blue collar bar”, about £11 a drink feels very steep. Somehow, and full credit to them because it’s a tough gig, Dirty Harry's is neither.
But just so you know, the drinks are weird as hell.
They come from Matt Whiley, the man who’s changed your drinking even if you don’t realise it.
Speaking to both the film enthusiast as well as the history buff, the book chronicles the film's production against the backdrop of the House Un-American Activities Committee’s oppressive hunt for Communist infiltrators in the film industry.
Livelihoods were lost, families wrecked, and friendships destroyed as result of the blacklist.