Underneath The Archesss….
Peckham Rye Station. Underneath. Now Neil Gaiman – King Of The Goths – wrote a shonky TV series called Neverwhere which took place in the forgotten places under London. Bar Story is the licensed establishment version of this rubfest, just not as goth. More importantly though, forgetfulness is the byword of the place. Like staff forgetting drinks, customers, food happily burning under the grill.

And yet it is a nice place. A pleasantly breezy arch with half hearted corrugated iron to help insulate the sound (it doesn’t) and make it look lie a cheap Blake’s 7 set*. The regulation thrift store tables and chairs were set out almost canteen fashion up to the decks at the back where good friends of mine were putting some very tasty looking Tannoy speakers to the test. It had a Glastonbury vibe, fresh air, the waft of cooking and music.

But the staff. Can I count the number of way that the staff let us down. It got almost amusing after they started scurrying into the rain to pour lager from a spigot. Cocktails made with the expertise of a five year old playing with the bathroom cabinet. The food smelled nice, and the chef at least seemed to own some whites, but after the previous billows of smoke from toast, we were put off. Perhaps it was just the curious juxtaposition of a friendly building, and unfriendly staff that means it might ping my radar again.

Peckham may not need a style bar, so perhaps it is just as well Bar Story isn’t one.

*Unable to use Doctor Who in this comparison any more.