Three of London's finest drinking dens

January calls for extreme hunkering down in a leather armchair with a stiff, hair-on-chest-producing drink.

It calls for what we once may have referred to as a man cave. Not something gender exclusive, obvs — this is London 2018 and we’re way past gentlemen’s clubs stuffed with gout-ridden dinosaurs.

Nor is it somewhere for lads on the lash to get binned on snakebite while the Premier League blares. Instead, these are a mix of plushly armchaired dens, slick whisky-soaked joints and sartorial speakeasies suitable for those of any gender who need solace from the cold. They’re dark and dark-spirit heavy, and the only sensible place to see out the month.

Black Rock, EC2

Okay, this place actually is manly, seeing as the last time I visited I was the only person with two X chromosomes in a room packed with City boys sipping highballs. The long wooden table in the middle also looks, in the best way, a bit like a high-end, communal urinal. But Black Rock is also quite a marvellous little whisky bar. Shots are rated with 1 to 3 black rock symbols, priced from £7 to 11 per 35ml; highballs are ranked from spicy (Kavalan single malt, sherry, pomelo and Szechuan liqueur) to fragrant (Speyside’s Cardhu single malt, absinthe and crème brûlée soda). Even better? A trip upstairs, past sherry bar Sack and cocktail bar Devil’s Darling, and there’s the city’s smallest one-bedroom hotel to sleep it off.

The Fumoir at Claridge’s, W1

How do we love thee, Claridge’s? Let us count the ways — and then swiftly lose count after two Saffron Sidecars (inset, top end cognac, saffron-infused Cointreau, lemon- and pear-rich lushness) at Fumoir. The vibe in the art deco bar, with its magenta velvet sofas and table lamps so gorgeous you’d be forgiven for trying to slip one into your handbag, is ‘seriously intense and sexually charged’, as one Fumoir habitué puts it. Don’t miss the game-changing olives to be devoured alongside your coffee ice cube-spiked Boulevardier.

Discount Suit Company, E1

A cocktail bar that was originally, yes, a suit outfitters in the Eighties, this tiny underground Shoreditch spot (below) is about as cosy as it gets. Don’t expect piña coladas and watery gin-and-tonics: DSC is all about weird, forgotten cocktails strong enough that you forget their names in the morning. You want to be that person who nonchalantly orders a Skipper (aged rum, sweet vermouth, white port — caramel-rich and boozy) or the wickedly wintry Rum Sipper (dark rum, spiced liqueur, absinthe, black tea, pomegranate and apple). Expect peak speakeasy vibes, especially when the DJs start playing Northern soul.