THE BAR AT THE DORCHESTER

The year is 1957. Kal-El relocates his crystalline Fortress of Solitude from the Arctic to Vegas, Sinatra sorts the music, Peter Lawford chips in with the décor, Deano fixes the drinks. And the girls. Superman swings.

No, of course not. It’s London. The Bar was revamped just a couple of years back by Thierry Despont, and the cocktails are a blend of tradition and innovation, but you get the point. Emerging from an entrance tunnel lined with horizontal red light strips, we’re struck by The Bar’s krypton-lounge vibe: walls fringed with scarlet crystal shards, undulating aubergine-gold banquettes, smooth jazz. And yes, that is a good thing; some distance the right side of too kitsch.

The Bar is secreted in the innards of the Dorchester, cosseted away from the prying eyes of casual passers-by, which helps explain why it’s a haven of mellow indulgence even at peak carousing time Friday night. Sharp-suited players swap sparkling laughs with chic women sipping Champagne Shimmers – Snow Queen and Cariel vodkas, cranberry, elderflower liquor and champagne glittered with gold dust, accompanied by The Bar lip gloss. Of course, this kind of glamour doesn’t come cheap, especially if you’re peckish – even the chicken club sandwich clocks in at £20.

But that’s missing the point; The Bar’s sophistication and dedication to the cocktail cause is exceptional. Take the G&Ts – twelve variations. How far would you go for perfection? Try this: the Dorchester ‘Old Tom’ gin, recreated from an original 17th-century recipe, is customised with your choice of three bespoke bitters (coriander is lip-puckeringly good). With the pick of whiskies, rums, vodkas, cognacs and reputedly the country’s largest array of vermouths, it’s a bibulous super- hero’s fantasy.

Bring your friends. Bring your boss. Bring Lois Lane. Hell, bring your mum – it’s a democratic place, with staff who somehow sound warmly sincere every time they farewell with “We hope to see you again soon.” You will, Bar; you will.