Juvenile Delinquent

Nevermind The Gladstone...here's The Drake. Bars that is, in the hippie hippie shake of downtown Toronto. Located west of Spadina on West Queen West; put on your walking shoes and best browsing eyes to get to this gem and more.

Initially discovered while researching material for Canadian Music Week and then incorporated into a date night with my other half, The Drake hotel bar is worth the trek and the trek is worth the trek because along the way you will be treated to a colourful funfair ride of style, taste and lifestyle choices. Bursting with bohemian chic and retro originality it's like a mash-up of 60's vibe Carnaby Street, Haight-Ashbury and Soho (as I imagine and romanticize having been born too late for the 60s - my biggest regret!). From the one-off fashion and design boutiques to the postest of post modern art galleries; from the hole in the wall watering troughs to The Drake Hotel. It's pop art social science.

The Drake, a hotel bar with more style and atmosphere in it's lobby than an all night cocktail party at Jack Nicholson's bachelor pad, encapsulates the essence of the dimly lit, tasteful wine bar with universal good design and a touch of class. A glass encased fireplace serves as the focal point while giant abstract light fixtures form the canopy above and best of all - no silly pricing.

Another lucky find was The Beaconsfield; located a few blocks down nestled on a quiet corner in a converted Bank of Molson branch, I had the most delicious roasted beet and chevre salad with a devilishly strong Leffe Blonde bier.

True to my punk roots I couldn't end the night without trying something less polished, more raw. Like an oasis a little place arose from a side street. Called Sweaty Betty's we initially only went in for respite from the night chill while we thought about what to do next. We had a couple of choices, pay the cover for The Stones Place or seek out a club for live music. Then we recognized some tunes from our 'happy' place. The Specials. We stayed. The music and the vibe were too good to waste. We decided that this date warranted a sequel to cover off what we didn't achieve this time round. In the meantime, we felt like freshmen on freshers' week.

We made the last train home - I felt 17 again running for the night bus in Camden after a night trawling the musicality of the area, chalky with cigarette smoke, despite not being a smoker myself. That was in fact the only difference this time round - no smoke at all. That and the fact the following day I was going to Disney on Ice with my almost 3 year old for UK Mother's Day. Some traditions transcend geography. That was another type of juvenile delinquent delight altogether.