Slim Jim’s Liquor Store

Slim Jim’s Liquor Store
112 Upper St, N1 1QN

Geez, we Brits go ga-ga for the US, don’t we? We love to high-five our evangelical TVs and smother our naked bodies in hot, buttered Americana. We’re so American we constantly teeter on the edge of a ‘Yee-haa’ and a slap of the thigh wherever we may be (meeting, funeral, B&Q). Well, if you yearn for the sweet pancake aroma of Freedomville USA, you’ll absolutely have kittens for the hometown diner-cum-brothel that is Slim Jim’s. Here, the rock n roll is free and the late nights are compulsory.

Wedged half way between Angel and Highbury & Islington – a decent walk from the tube for any wandering pilgrim – Slim Jim’s is thin, dim and just big enough to accommodate around a hundred drunken highway poets. There’s a healthy dose of weirdos – the good, nouveau-mod kind – both in front and behind the bar, wearing anything from leather jackets to sharp suits. These patrons are as rugged as the walls. Secretly, they all believe they’re Jack Kerouac and these dark, covert nooks and crannies are for beatnik poses, not usurped dictators-in-hiding (if you have such a problem).

Look around the hazy, red, neon-hued liquor store and it’s easy to feel like you’ve stepped through the Stargate into Back To The Future: 1950s bar stools, high-backed booths, a plaque on the wall that proudly states “Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada”. And the night proves decidedly more American once a drink ordered. This is pure movie script stuff – “Hit me again, bar tender”.

There are beers, but for goodness sake don’t be such a Philistine. Get in there and do it properly. There’s 15-year old scotch, 17-year old Japanese whisky hibiki, bourbons and rye from the deep South, Trinidadian and Guatemalan rums; the back bar intimidates with its sheer size and range but the staff are on hand to learn ya. Each drink has to be drunk in a specific way and even though there are cocktails available, real men don’t dilute their poison.

Music is integral to this outfit and any self-respecting dive wouldn’t be worth its desolation if it didn’t possess a jukebox. That the manager is the former head of Camden’s paragon of iniquity, The Hawley Arms, is no coincidence. The box of formidable sound-colour is comprised of almost 100 choices to entice a wide stance and air guitar: for the classic rock Dads amongst us, the Lej status is turned to up to 11 with names such as The Clash, Queen, Led Zep, and Hendrix to thrill; equally, for those with more of a contemporary gait, you’ll be as pleased as a fat kid in a sweet shop when you smell the Kings, the Killers and the Kaisers wafting round the bar; all bluegrass and country lovers, give it until the beginning of 2009, they should have something for you by then. Fans of Morrissey beware, though – it’s strictly forbidden to chose more than three Smiths tracks in a row. No need to explain why, really. There are rumours that Slim Jim’s will be attempting to stage live music at some point in the future, but where they’re going to put the band is anyone’s guess. And as for the planned monthly burlesque evenings......

In conclusion: long, drawn-out, boozy, school night shenanigans consisting entirely of sitting, talking and perhaps the odd bit of listening. So, can you function fully at work whilst still drying out from last night? This is Islington, USA. State capital of Escapism.