Tabernacle

55-61 Tabernacle Street, Shoreditch EC2A 4AA

Tabernacle has been entering ‘one-stop shop’ in the occupation field of its tax return for a few years now but in September 2008 it went a bit crazy and got refurbed out of its mind. Formal white table cloths were kicked out onto the street and suddenly Tabernacle became an odd mix of schmoozy boozer, School Disco, and Italian restaurant royalty. Cuckoo! Hitchcock did something similar with Norman Bates, only his victims ended up having not such a good night.

The first port of call in your loony toons night is the elegant eatery. Open kitchen, autumnal decor, wispy chandeliers, nifty lighting, textured walls, and a hefty door to keep the bar rabble safely in the bar where it belongs. This is a very long way from Bella Pasta. In fact, pasta is one thing you’ll probably find very little of on the menu. This is authentic rustic Italian fare. The first sign that you’re in a cracking Italian restaurant? That initial bread-into-olive-oil dip resulting in one of those very special kinds of ‘personal spasm’. That first hit from the hypnotic glass of Heba wine immediately transports you to a sun terrace overlooking a Tuscan vineyard. Nail this one down, you’re now a-board the Yummy Bus and you’ve only got a one-way ticket!

If you’re lucky, this is how your itinerary should follow:
A) Starter. Only one real option to go for - antipasti. Colourful, dramatic, blobby. Make sure you ask for the stuffed pork roulade as it might not be on the menu.
B) Main. Fish stew with truffle mash, made using a secret recipe written by Ivan the chef’s Mum. So secret he makes it in the basement so no one watch.
C) Dessert. Honestly, more than two courses is optimistic, but if you must slip into a total food coma, tiramisu should finish you off.

Now, the bar, that place where freelancer creatives and general layabouts (same thing) save on rent by plopping themselves at a Wifi-enabled ‘desk’, occasionally procuring a coffee, some breakfast, some lunch and more coffee. Here, exposed brickwork, chainmail curtains and floral ceilings are the guardians of the occupants’ souls. It’s like an industrial hideout for a East End baddie and Dennis Waterman is going to kick in the door at any moment. Be aware, the cocktail list is a tad anemic. Disappointing, considering the impressive library of spirits on display, but booze is merely a conduit for imaginary displays of wealth anyway so make it a pint instead. Conveniently and cleverly, bar food is served until 2am (!!) as well so trademark trips to Istanbul Kebab Palace to purchase something to wear/eat are thankfully neutralised.

Downstairs is Cube, the recently upgraded third installment in this oddball trilogy. Cube is strangely un-cube like in its dimensions and looks remarkably like the set from Charlie & the Chocolate Factory. The centre piece in this lovechild between colour and funk is the LED dance floor, a pulsating beacon of zest that doesn’t just light up the room as much as feed on the collective aura of all that dare to dance upon it. There’s no charge at the door meaning a younger crowd is almost permanently positioned down there. Either they’re young or the dance floor has a knack of making them look young. Regardless, Cube guarantees more kicks than a Portuguese footballer plus, the toilets are modern-thinking: Dyson airblades and no toilet attendant (thank God!).

Tabernacle is all things to all people. Because it can. Because it wants to. And because you want it. For those that prefer sitting down, there’s the restaurant; for those that are still learning to shave, there’s da club; and for all those that are considering their first mortgage, there’s the bar. Mental venues such as these are quite rare in these parts so go eat, drink and dance, you fools. Do as you’re told!