Drawing Room

I pretty much concur with the previous reviewers who have described The Drawing Room as being sterile, with bad lighting, tasteless art work and customer service that leaves much to be desired. Perhaps they wouldn’t get such negative feedback if they thought about changing the name, because as soon as you’ve stepped into The Drawing Room, you feel like you’ve been seriously ripped off.
I want to see a wood burning fire, chesterfield sofas, emerald glass lamps and maybe a grand piano. The Drawing Room features none of these. I certainly won’t be returning.

The name The Drawing Room evokes images of a room filled with Chesterfield sofas, blazing fires and wood panelled walls. However, the reality is far from the daydream. The sterile white walls are adorned with dreadful artwork and there’s certainly nothing cosy about the venue.
We were seated in the sunken pit at the end of the drawing room and despite being here for a talk, it was sometimes hard to hear the speaker above the loud music, which they insisted on playing. The bar was empty except for our group, so it was a shame that we were treated as a bit of a hindrance.

This place should really be called The Long Thin Corridor with a Sunken Room at the End. The term ‘drawing room’ evokes space. high ceilings, roaring open fires. thick shag pile. Well I’m afraid the Drawing room has none of the above.
I went there the other night to a friend’s private jazz soirée. Having been to his other jazz nights at the somewhat grander basement club of Pizza on the Park, I was expecting great things.
Of course, if there’s one thing to be said about long, thin corridors, it’s that they are intimate. My friend and I settled down at a small — funny that — table along the spartan corridor some distance from the sunken room at the end where the jazz was playing, thinking that it would be a good compromise — within earshot, but not earsplitting. So far, so good. The double bass was plucked, a soulful few notes were heard.
Next came the dinner. We had paid £12 per head which included the live entertainment. Now £12 is not a lot of money for dinner and a night out but the food was decidedly unmelodious.
It was a buffet, and as we all know (much better than restauranteurs think we do) it’s a chance to get rid of all those leftovers.
You could either have everything on the list of about 6 things, or make a selection. As I didn’t really like the look of all the things on the menu, I chose four of the options. This amounted to two slices of tomato and a thimbleful of mozzarella, some tasteless paste masquerading as houmous, an untoasted, uncut piece of pitta bread and some passable taboule. Oh and some cajun chicken that was 96% bone, 3% skin and 1% meat.
It was edible, and I daresay if I had just returned from a long spell in a famine-​stricken country, would have been sensational. But I hadn’t and it wasn’t.