A 'Fine City' though it may be, Norwich's reputation as a more laid back community in comparison with many of the United Kingdom's most active economic centres is not exactly hard-won. That said, the fact that Norwich's economy is so strong, and has remained so throughout the Great British economic downturn at large, reinforces the sleepy city's penchant for attracting businesses to its labyrithine streets.
Which is a really fancy way of opening an article that is basically me saying, "Oh look! Another cocktail bar has opened." That's right -- budge up, all you craft pubs and gin houses and whatever the blazes they've decided to open on St Benedict's Street this week! There's a new bar in town, and its name is Be At One. Situated in the Tombland area of the city, a locale already teeming with chains such as Vodka Revolution, Revolucion de Cuba and, confusingly, All Bar One, Be At One has stormed into sight like the drunk blonde at a cocktail party. Which, incidentally, this review shall likely verify to be said establishment's core demographic.
In late 2015, Norwich made headlines when it was discovered that Prince of Wales Road -- the hub of the late night drinking community, replete with nightclubs, strip clubs and the odd confused pub, each of the latter demonstrating the befuddled architectural equivalent of your granddad at a music festival -- is
apparently the fourth 'most dangerous' street in Britain to drink on. Given that said road is just around the corner from Be At One, the city's drinking establishments are keen to shirk such an unsavory reputation, instead presenting themselves as cheeky and fun.
Me? I don't buy the 'dangerous street' thing at all. Most dangerous thing I ever came across was the time The Teege™ and I were on our way home late one night after some salacious drinkage, at such time as we were gigglesomely kidnapped by a trio of Japanese women.
If that's your definition of 'dangerous', sign me the frell up.
Anyway. The venue. The review's being written on the basis of three separate visits, in order to administer what I consider even judgement. Be At One's Norwich branch opened in November 2015, situated in what had formerly been Lola-Lo. The ambience that the place seems to go for, all leather chairs and red lights and neon, is that of a sophisticated evening venue for sophisticated people -- and the middle class clientele, all young professionals, giggling girls, well-groomed boys and the odd gaggle of yowling menopausal mavens in yonder corner -- certainly reinforces the ethos.
However, such recumbent surroundings are starkly juxtaposed against a backdrop of seething, noisy music, which completely drowns out any of the relaxed, chucklesome banter you might come to expect from the low lighting and artful decor. Indeed, you're instead screaming the drink you're after at the bar staff above Icona Pop's helpfully cacophonous reminder of how they simply
do not care that they were involved in an automobile accident involving an overpass. And while you're doing this, half the bar staff are dancing around,
because look how fun Be At One is, you guys!
It's a hopelessly mixed message. While jaunty, friendly staff are a boon to any business -- and the service is swift and courteous -- the penchant for bounding around robs the place of any semblance of professionalism. Again, if this is what you're going for, Be At One, then great -- but then why all this varnished wood, leather plush seating, women in fine dresses? Why are your doormen personally opening the front doors of your establishment and politely greeting your patrons? How is that couple over there in the corner going to perpetuate a deep and meaningful conversation above Beyonce's insistence that anything that is liked ought have a ring affixed to it at the earliest opportunity?
The three visits I've conducted in reaching the conclusions as wrought out before you, dear reader, were across the sprawl of a Thursday shortly after opening, a Tuesday the following week -- because a bar truly shows its character during downtime -- and a Friday. Each time, the service was fast, the doormen were courteous, the rum was fine, the patrons were pretty/handsome, the ambience was aesthetically pleasing, and Jesus
Christ on
toast was the music ever
loud.
 |
| But look how FUN everyone is! |
But the thing that's really pissing in my oatmeal? Two things, actually. Firstly, the
forced fun. Because there's a trouble with chains, even those with family business roots. Somewhere along the way, they lose their heart. Be At One is to cocktail bars what Starbucks is to coffee houses -- delightful at first, but rapidly revealing itself to be a soulless place wrapped up in perfunctory
joie de vivre.
Look at the dancing barman! What a jolly! See how the middle-aged ladies crow in delight at his jocular madness! Why, the first time I saw this display, I regarded Be At One as a fine breath of fresh air to a city formerly threatening stagnation.
Second time I visited and saw the barmen dancing? Great! Wasn't just an opening week thing!
Third time? Oh. This again.
The act never changes,
because it's just an act. It's not born of spontanaeity or true zeal. And it's all just a distraction from my
real beef with the place, which is that
the bar staff, with perfectly straight faces, will charge you frankly outrageous sums of money for your beverages.
Indeed, most of the cocktail menu leans towards the range of the mighty tenner, which would be fair enough were this a) London, or b) not a bar situated in
the hub of Norwich's cocktail bar district. Hell, if I want a cocktail I can take my ease in choosing a venue, so why am I chucking a tenner at you? To watch Flash Freddie Bar Boy boogie to Ja Rule? And while the cocktail I had -- Dark and Stormy, which is Kraken rum and ginger beer, as well as the express train to Tipsy Tony Town -- was damn delicious, what if I don't want a cocktail? What if I just want, say, a single shot of Kraken?
Five quid.
A single shot of Woodford's Navy rum?
Six. English. Pounds. Stirling.
Where in the name of Catholic buggery are you conjuring these damn prices from?! Do the bar staff go up to the till, pull a lever like a one-armed bandit machine and then just blithely read out whatever random number it coughs up? Each of those shots can be readily obtained for
half the prices I've furiously tabulated here. Indeed, for a fiver I can trot across town and drink Diplomatico, one of the finest rums known to man, or a
double Kraken. Saunter a little further? I'm in the Norwich Playhouse, and although that means tolerating a staff complement of peculiar hipsters and moody, tiny barmaids (Be At One, to its credit, contains refreshingly few of what is otherwise just such a Norwich bar staff staple), I'm sipping Pink Pigeon, an astonishingly fine rum. An astonishingly fine rum that I'd have bought for not much more than two quid, thank you
very much.
So what am I paying for in Be At One, then, that warrants such copious coinage? The ambience, you say? Yes, yes, of course. Because now I am among the pretty people. Lucky me. Look how refined it all is, and how our sophisticated demeanour matches the lovely red lights and the cushy furniture.
No. It's just a posh piss up, is all. This cultured aura Be At One is so eager to reinforce is, indeed, shot down in wailing flames by the lunatic barman boogying, the fake fun and the prices I'm never
quite tipsy enough to convince myself are worth paying.
Indeed, I'd tell your bar staff just where they can put six bloody quid for a single bloody shot of bloody rum, but they'd never hear me above the thundrous and pulsating aural onslaught they're pumping into the place, and I'm not getting into a
cocking shouting match against Kanye cocking West.
Alackaday -- for a venue insisting that we all Be At One, this place seems split between two different directives.
Et voila, a befittingly dualistic rating.
2.5 / 5 Stars
Teege's input on not even venturing close or even IN this establishment, as so eloquently put by my wordier half, is simply this. Nearby Norwich pub, The Mischief, has pints for £3.15. It's not rum, but you can therefore buy two pints for what would be just a shot of Be At One's Woodfords Navy rum.
I'm out!
