There is a word that simultaneously signifies the start of a great night ‘out-out’, yet also has the power to conjure terrible memories of unspeakable regret. That word, dear friends, is Tequila.
But we’ll let you in on a secret; it doesn't have to be an eye-watering experience. This we discovered at a Spirited Sermon event at Reverend JW Simpson, a speakeasy bar so achingly cool and secret that we walked past it twice. The creatively crafted cocktails, heavily bearded barmen and artfully distressed interior make it the ideal escape from the Dante's Inferno that is Oxford Street at 6pm.
For £25 you enjoy three inventive drinks (one which you make yourself under a mixologist's watchful eye), five ‘tasting flights’ - cleverly renamed so you can’t be judged for having shots before 7pm on a Tuesday - and a masterclass in the feature spirit. We learnt that Wahaca is actually spelt Oaxaca, that Mexican hipsters make our Shoreditch hipsters look as cool as Boris stuck up that zip-wire waving his flag, and that the God of tequila is a woman with 400 breasts. Now that is what we call Girl Power.
A night of exquisite cocktails in a hidden underground world will always be enjoyable, but the Reverend also taught us an invaluable and surprising life lesson: it doesn't always have to be one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor.