Last night we escaped the cold and ventured to the beach. Well not exactly the beach, but a bar called Beach Blanket Babylon. The name is slightly ironic since the bar does not posses any resemblance to a beachside location. Either way it is one of my most coveted haunts in Notting Hill, part French boudoir, part Tuscan dungeon. The decor trickles class and eccentricity, and the barstaff concoct the most addictive cocktails. You must try their watermelon martini and I was giddy when I noticed “Vogue” written into my foamy “French Kiss Martini.” 
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