Bar Kick
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Published August 30th 2012
Release the infant Don Draper inside you
There aren't many places where you can rediscover your inner six year old whilst simultaneously sipping on an Old Fashioned, pretending to be Don Draper. Bar Kick is one such place. Home to some of the finest foosball tables this side of the Danube (my research tells me that our middle European counterparts have compensated for their woeful Olympic performances by dedicating themselves to Table Football) and some of the most sippable Old Fashioned east of Hix Bar (Bar Kick scores more marks for a lack of pretension and the fact that happy hour means that two Old Fashioneds are under a tenner).
Although Bar Kick is a bar, and aside from the fact that I've waxed lyrical about the quality of their cocktails, to get too caught up in the type of unadulterated boozing that we, in England, are so fond of would be to waste a trip to Kick.
I have found that after two drinks, the amateur table footballer, such as myself, is at his peak performance.Suddenly the Adidas mantra of 'Impossible is Nothing' seems to feel as right cups of tea on a rainy day or the Great Escape on Christmas Day. The players move with a grace normally reserved for the ballet and the greatest satisfaction of all comes from the fact that all of this beauty, this tika taka football that Barcelona themselves would be proud of, is down to you. Much to my chagrin, however, these feelings of unadulterated euphoria can be shortly lived if your opponent is shrewd enough to offer to buy the next drink - the dreaded third drink.
Perhaps the best part of the 'Bar Kick Experience' is that you'll find yourself conversing with strangers as you challenge each other to games of foosball. This feeling is something foreign to many metropolis dwellers (even more foreign than feeling like a six year old Don Draper) and originally disconcerted me, out of fear of my amateurish foosball skills being mocked by maestros of the game. Emboldened by the third drink, however, I accepted but with performance level dropping, I did find myself on the receiving end of drubbing.
To my surprise I didn't mind and, to my pleasant surprise, my opponent was gracious in victory and offered to play again, with a fourth drink on the way I accepted his challenge. This is life at Bar Kick; it's not so bad.
Although Bar Kick is a bar, and aside from the fact that I've waxed lyrical about the quality of their cocktails, to get too caught up in the type of unadulterated boozing that we, in England, are so fond of would be to waste a trip to Kick.
I have found that after two drinks, the amateur table footballer, such as myself, is at his peak performance.Suddenly the Adidas mantra of 'Impossible is Nothing' seems to feel as right cups of tea on a rainy day or the Great Escape on Christmas Day. The players move with a grace normally reserved for the ballet and the greatest satisfaction of all comes from the fact that all of this beauty, this tika taka football that Barcelona themselves would be proud of, is down to you. Much to my chagrin, however, these feelings of unadulterated euphoria can be shortly lived if your opponent is shrewd enough to offer to buy the next drink - the dreaded third drink.
To my surprise I didn't mind and, to my pleasant surprise, my opponent was gracious in victory and offered to play again, with a fourth drink on the way I accepted his challenge. This is life at Bar Kick; it's not so bad.
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Why? Play foosball with a drink in your hand
Website: www.cafekick.co.uk/bar-kick
Where: 127 Shoreditch High Street, London, E1 6JE
Cost: £1 a game
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