Strongroom Bar

120 Curtain Road, Shoreditch, London, EC2

Curtain Road: that draped veil of extravagant amusements, suffocating the ability to easily decide which of its multitude of options is best suited to your needs. It is the Bohemian ying to the capitalist yang of Liverpool Street next door. Although the name Strongroom might conjure up images of cider-sponsored chambers - from within which Jodie Foster polishes off yards of apple goodness in order to be deserving of her freedom - the reality is much more externally-focused. Strongroom adds to Curtain Road’s myriad colours and flavours, which, in turn, keeps the mood-swapping citizens of the Borough quite happy. This is undoubtedly one of the liveliest stretches of tarmac in all of London, after all.

Strongroom isn’t immediately obvious. It shies away from neon arrows that lead the way into debauchery. Instead, it hides, set back from the street, lurking in a car park. The bar itself is busy, decoratively speaking, with texture and tone splashed around in the same manner as a class of 5 year olds when the teacher has momentarily left the room during ‘art time’. Yet, oddly, it’s simultaneously bland and boasts all the mystique of an Eastern European student bar, circa 1980.

The split level arrangement produces a quasi-club affair downstairs, utilised on nights that fall on the smiley side of Wednesday, but at all other times is a lounge room for the socially inept. Why? Because those freaks should get themselves outside instead, where Strongroom really shows it muscle. Strongroom is all (or mostly) about the courtyard/car park. Curtain Road is met by a curtain of ivy, turning the car park into a stage for the players entering from stage left throughout the evening. Sadly, seating is at a premium. Therefore, be wary of backing vehicles when standing, and be ready to pounce on the nearest picnic table if some innocent fool decides they cant wait for the toilets any longer.

Speaking of toilets; the facilities display a rampant love affair with the aural arts as the walls are daubed with scrapbook tears from pop’s bygone eras. On one wall is a young, nude Ozzy Osbourne, on another the pre-split Blur pose impishly for Melody Maker. Strongroom clearly got an A for GSCE Music (there are affiliations with a recording studio of the same name) and aside from the themed nights and time tunnel toilets, there’s a dazzling jukebox on the wall which, judging by its shine, doesn’t get used nearly enough. Despite this exhibition of musical madness, there’s a considerable, and tangible, lack of music. The music is inside, and the people are outside. Move the speakers and they could quite possible do without the interior altogether.

A brief word about refreshments; there’s really only three words to remember: burgers, burgers, and burgers. Juicy, succulent and, without doubt, the only territory worth venturing into from an uninspiring menu. This menu does just enough to ensure you pick the same option on repeat visits. The only glimmer of hope outside of adding mozzarella to your burger is perhaps the swordfish or, at a stretch, the Italian Job which includes two types of animal and is ironically reminiscent of a burger, only without its bun.

The liquid format of refreshments is lopsided. The ‘Classic’ (read ‘conventional’) cocktails are bettered narrowly by the wine list which, in turn, is beaten by the spirits for the silver. However, head towards the bar with your beer goggles on and suddenly the world seems a much clearer place. Strongroom is to beers what Heidi Fleiss was to prostitution. It doesn’t quite reach the ridiculously range of The Rake in Borough, but the bottled range does promptly force your hand to rest squarely on your chin, give it a thorough rubbing, before pronouncing your best ‘hmmmmm?’. Ignore the Vedett - wretched stuff - and instead make your way through the mind churning Maredsous, the cleansing crystal Sam Adams Boston Lager, and the Autumnal Old Hooky bitter, a Blighty speciality. Be careful when downing more than a couple of German Blondes, though, because they’ll leave you credulous in the face of the many Big Issue sellers and street scroungers who circulate every 20 minutes.

The service at Strongroom is razor sharp and empty glasses don’t dare to linger for very long. The staff have a look that reeks of getting high on your own supply, which isn’t to say they take illegal substances but more that they probably prefer slotting into the Strongroom revelry once their shift finishes instead of chipping off home.

Mystical occurrences take place within the walled garden of ivy. Bizarrely, husbands happen upon their wives on their way home from work, both drawn there separately by some puzzling magnetism, neither having no real reason to be there in the first place. It’s also a place where the witching hour occurs dead-on half passed nine. Prior to that time, it’s a graveyard of whispered conversations about the Bishopsgate offices and how great it’d be to go to Glastonbury if only The Boss would sign that bloody holiday request, the bastard! After 9.30pm, the College of Cool nearby must get out of class because a 1980s jumble sale suddenly emanates from the night riding a fixed wheel bicycle, looking as though it’s just off to the recording studio to make its next album. The mysticism is so intense at Strongroom it might be advisable to save choosing your lottery numbers until you arrive because Gaia is certainly gambling the night away. Chance and fate dance a merry jig in the shadow of a moonlit car park whilst JJ Abrams takes notes in the corner.

Overall, the only reprehensible aspects of Strongroom are its lack of indoor atmos and the trying (they do try) elements of food. The excellent choice of beers plus the oddly endearing back-to-basics Berlin exterior help it to maintain the exciting vibe of the area. If only there was a blank cheque that could procure the remainder of the car park; then it would be a really strong hitter.

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