Bar Review: Escucha, Nottingham

My favourite cocktail, a "Peniscolider"

Escucha is the Spanish word for ‘Listen’. Ironically Escucha leaves a great deal to be desired in the ‘hearing’ department. It occasionally tickles the ear with male wolf whistles or bad chat up lines, “In case you didn’t know, I love cunt”, the styling’s of a DJ so talented he refers to himself as ‘Funky T’, or women screaming the names of cocktails that don’t exist but sound like cocks, ”Make me a Long John Silver”. I don’t know if when you hit 30 you stop realising how ugly you are, but no amount of booze will fix the years of being disgusting you’ve already lived through.

The clientele, as implied, are of the highest calibre. Some are men, just back from work, letting their hair down for the weekend. This kind of light frivolity normally ends up with them consuming large amounts of lager, while also considering life’s greater problems, such as all the ‘Poofs and blacks’. Occasionally they entertain a political flare to their conversations, turning on all the, ‘Queers and immigrants’. In no way of course would I imply the entire demographic of this fine establishments client base is racist.  Escucha’s abundance of, ‘African Nights’, ‘Greek Nights’ and ‘Eastern European nights’ surely reflect Escucha’s desires of being a cultural melting pot, or ‘Melting Pint’ if you’ll excuse the pun. Nothing says ‘Mixed Majority’ more than a pricing system based on the night’s racial acclimatisation. “African Night is it? Make Hennessey slightly more expensive and put all the napkins in the back room!”

Pictured: A tiny selfish cunt

Its constant drop-ins from top tier celebrities only better the mixed bag that Escucha provides. JERMAINE JEANICE is a frequent visitor and CAN often be found loitering near any young, impressionable women. If you’re hoping he’ll tip you, you’d be wrong, because he’s a tight bastard.

Take a quick trip downstairs and you’ll find yet more price differentials. Apparently price is relevant to altitude, as Escucha’s sister bar, Minus One, is so low down that import tax has been added onto all drinks, making it thirty pence more expensive, as nothing says ‘class’ like thirty pence more, old glassware and no windows. Minus One also indulges in some of the more ‘sexy’ styling’s of modern bars, using dim: “She might be fit” and “Did I get the right change” mood lighting. Its not all doom and gloom however, Minus One provide a wide array of gaudy beds and thin curtains for you to sit behind. This of course would be more fashionable in any country that houses elephants or any establishment that allows you to have sex with prostitutes.

If you're looking closely,
you're gay.

Altogether Escucha isn’t that bad of a place; the floors may be sticky with blood and semen, but if in your heart of hearts you’ve always wanted to know what a rugby players dick looks like, wander down on a Wednesday, stare about one metre from the floor and don’t open your mouth. 

*(written last year, published today, is it relevant? I dont know?)

From The Editor 'a pretty greek deal'