I once spent some of New Year's Eve at Swift in Soho. No idea how or what I had to drink. Hemingway daiquiris probably. But to go out on December 31 — albeit some time ago — is testament to the bar's quality, particularly the space downstairs which is moody and extravagant. Anywhere else would have been roundly tragic even then: my party and I were well into our twenties and dinner parties are the way.
Swift is now 10 years in the making. That doesn't make it an institution but it does mean it's a foremost part of the scene. Importantly so. It's among the best places in town to get an Irish coffee and a soft expansion to Shoreditch and Borough have proven successful rather than flimsy. The bars are staffed by expert mixologists and look sleek and chic, as if primed to impress tourists eager to experience London for what it is: a little edgy, but mostly tame. Madness can be found but only if you look hard enough and most people want to remain sane, especially in these less rollicking times.
