Skepta brought with him an entourage of a dozen or more to the launch of Dear Darling, a place that is absolutely peak Mayfair, even if it’s technically in St James’s. He was there to DJ, to entertain scores of influencers; when a procession of bar staff mowed through with sparklers, phones lit up like firecrackers in the night.
The first level of the place, one flight of stairs down, is reasonably tame. A gin palace of sorts with a slight, possibly subversive Victorian edge — somewhere you might imagine Virginia Woolf to venture. There are plush banquettes, chandeliers and a mirrored ceiling, moody lighting amid a curtained room of bushy green. Is the tiger print sofa incongruous? Perhaps. A drinks trolley is likely to appear by way of a woman dressed as a French maid. It is 2024 but feels like it isn’t. But this is the neighbourhood. People here are old school and ignore the status quo. They laze next to fires and pull silk handkerchiefs out of Prada handbags.
The cocktail list is short and to the point. First, the Dry AF Daiquiri, an unsubtle blend of rum, lime juice, passion fruit and Campari. Another, This Year’s Girl, is a canny blend of vodka, elderflower liquor, lemon juice and prosecco. There was a tequila number with flavours of peach and grapefruit, and a raspberry-clad gin option, served as a sour with sugar and egg white. Drinks to satiate but not complicate.
Downstairs another floor and... well, basement number two is not a gin-in-teacups place but what might be perceived as a labyrinthine sex dungeon. Or at least a pastiche of one. On the tables — at least when a big event is on — are leather paddles and other unmentionables; lighting is sparse save for accents of Amsterdam red and the occasional flaming motif.
In one corner, there is what might be described as a medieval torture rack. I saw one man become strapped to the wall, and opposite him, a bed behind a cage. This subterranean arena is for music and dancing. It is accessed by way of a “sexy cupboard” (the words of a friend). Enlightening to see but not somewhere I’d choose to go. Turns out, I’m too much of a prude.
Back in the confines of the bar proper, and all is well. A tidy, fun and glitzy hangout for those who don’t mind spending £18 on a good cocktail. This is Courchevel’s La Mangeoire but in London. I guess if you don’t know what that is, Dear Darling might not be for you.
