Why, ma? Why?!

Proud Cabaret brings a touch of subterranean Weimar to the City

Four words, people: Cabaret. East London. Proud.

Only you see, this isn’t Cabaret in that half-arsed style that we’ve all come to know and tire of. And it’s certainly not East East. And it’s not even that Proud – at least not in the Camden rock sense.

Rather, picture Proud scale with a lavish Weimar nod; Vendôme meets Ronnie Scott’s. Underground. Hidden in the heart of the City.

There’s a proper stage. There are even real tablecloths and a decidedly grown-up food menu should you fancy. Sure it’s not The Ritz. But if there’s one thing to really elevate Proud Cabaret above its hoi polloi brethren, it’s the sincerity and thoroughness.

The army of waitresses flap around in flocks of frills and feathers. The male bartenders charm in black shirts and white ties, while their female counterparts shake their wares and bostons equally in svelte corsets. Yet somehow, perhaps because of sheer scale, it doesn’t feel forced and fake. Even with the purple curtains.

And even with the student-ish Mondays and the odd clamouring City-boy affair, Proud Camden looks to be offering an actual experience of a night out. And that’s something that London – even East London – has been lacking.

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Copyright (C) 2007 Alain Georgette / Copyright (C) 2006 Frantisek Hliva. All rights reserved.