The Ivy Market Grill, Covent Garden

Spontaneous cocktails and flirting

The Vibe

It took far too long for The Ivy to copulate with new areas of London and give life to offshoots like Kensington Brasserie and the stunning Chelsea Garden. The Market Grill in Covent Garden is similarly good looking, with lots of marbled leather touches, a bar begging to be propped up, and a decent smattering of suits and couples sipping whiskey cocktails in well cut tumblers. What sets it apart is the charming decluttering operation that staff perform when you enter. I suspect it’s to do with encumbered and messy tourists. Let me take that bag for you, your hat, your coat, perhaps your jumper, definitely the selfie stick. It’s like a quicktime makeover. And so you float your way to the bar where a young Italian cocktail bartender waits, eager to please, asking how you find the Negroni after half a sip. For such a stunning place, it’s unpretentious and relaxing. And for Covent Garden, thanks to the expert operation at the door, you can barely see who the out of towners are.

The Order:

Start with a light Ivy Spritz (Kamm & Sons aperitif, Pierre Ferrand Dry Curaçao, fresh pink grapefruit juice, Prosecco and soda.) Then order something more low key like the Market Grill hamburger with West Country cheddar, or the exceptional Chicken Milanese. Order drinks by the glass, so perhaps a red with the mains and an Old Fashioned in place of dessert.

The Game:

For a first date, it’s a far finer thing to beg a spot at the bar. It also allows for some post shopping spontaneity. Side by side, sip away and talk about very light subjects: the restaurant, the punters, the interiors, your plans for the week. Dispose of your mains (just one course will do) and then get onto the real drinking. One cocktail turns into 3 and before you know it you’re play-punching and teasing them for not bothering to book one of the candlelit tables behind you. Leave before you fall off the bar stool and then walk over the cobbles of Covent Garden till you find a suitable corner to kiss in.

The Faults:

None we can think of.

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