Síbín is not the illegal watering hole of your Irish grandpappy, but a high-end shrine to the very legitimate business of whisky
Around the corner a life model disrobes. Behind them old school friends discuss which of their classmates are now wastemen, and which are hench. This must be the place.
There’s a seat in this bar that’s the perfect place to sit if you’ve ever dreamed of being a private investigator in a film noir classic. You can recline in your wicker-weaved chair, or rest your forearms on the cold marble table.
Making my own salty sea breeze of a whisky – with a touch of peat smoke, chocolate malt and sherry-soaked machair – at Black Rock.
You have to judge your audience before you start discussing terroir. Pick the wrong time or place and you could end up with a reputation for pomposity, verbiage and downright pretension. In the right circumstances though, it’s the only word that works.
The top online search result for “Opium London” may lead you to a jade green door on Gerrard Street, but your initial impression may not suggest a chic 1920s inspired cocktail lounge.