Vincent Guo from Apothecary and Ala House has teamed up with Jerry Zheng from Twilight and The Malt to lay the foundations for D&M Bar. The letters, apparently, come from their Chinese names: they’re translated as ‘Dragon and Mountain’, which sounds more like a pub frequented by attendees of a local renaissance fair than an upscale Beijing cocktail joint. There are over 200 bottles of amber whisky lining the back wall, which belies a focus on cocktail classics. The mixology skills clearly benefit from the pair’s previous workplaces. The terrific old fashioned (70 RMB) is made just like Ala House’s, where they set the orange peel alight before extinguishing it in the top-shelf whisky for a burnt citrusy tang. That drink’s a champion – making the trek south worth our while. Meanwhile the perfect Manhattan (70 RMB) and the sweet, lemony Tom Collins had us feeling like we had walked in on a Mad Men shoot. The menu is divvied up by alcohol base: gins, whiskeys, tequilas. However, our best drinks came straight from the bartender’s suggestions. Our B&B (70 RMB) completely ignores the traditional brandy recipe to produce an equally palate-blasting mixture. The Tanqueray gin and bourbon duo initially had us questioning his mettle, but boy, did it work: the herbal base combined with the sweetness of the bourbon was an ideal concoction for a sweltering day. Others were equally well presented and enjoyed: a Highland cooler (60 RMB) was a nice, light spritzer with a noticeable splash of whisky. These guys know their liquor. D&M is a great example of the ongoing ‘Shuangjing renaissance’; there certainly aren’t any other cocktail bars of this grade south of Guomao (The World Trade Center), and before D&M it was necessary to find some wheels to get a good buzz. For everyone else, it’s hard to imagine travelling to somewhere so regional, which means that seats should be wide open for regulars. It’s a great neighborhood cocktail spot for the off-work crowd, and fills a need Shuangjing probably didn’t even realize it had.

Just follow the punters through the imposing iron door into bearded winemaker Carl Setzer’s newly opened Gongti flagship. Setzer and his wife Liu Fang, have re-imagined the gastropub experience for the Beijing audience. It’s lost a lot of the charm of the original but mostly made up for it through the advantages of its massive scale. The novelty of chatting with the proprietors about how they make their brews, for example, is lost in this high-decibel, high-turnover pub. But that doesn’t detract from the fine taste of the beers – the hoppy Honey Ma Gold (35 RMB), with its nose full of Sichuan peppercorn, the malty, fragrant crispness of the Banana Wheat (50 RMB), or the smooth, amber-colored, slightly sweet Cinnamon Rock Ale (35 RMB). Not all brews measure up, though – the bland Prosperor (40 RMB) tasted vaguely bitter, while the cloudy Heaven on Earth Kölsch (40 RMB) was low on suds. This was especially disappointing as the GLB has a state-of-the art tap system that connects directly to the in-house brewery, ostensibly allowing staff to pull smoother, more reliable drafts. Four brews, taken from GLB’s rotating list of a dozen or so craft ales, were available on tap when we visited, and by the time you read this a full complement of 12 should be available. The menu also has basic mixers and house red and white wines (all 40 RMB). Plentiful, well-trained waiters somehow manage to pacify the roaring, mostly expat, crowd with attentive service. Most can speak English but getting them to explain the beers in their second language is something of a stretch. A list of all beers and their ABV is buried in the back of the menu, but it currently lacks a detailed introduction to the various types.

Bourbon got a literal lick of paint (light green, of course), five screens of sports, a projector, a band stage, a couple of football scarves and approximately twelve hundred thousand million billion tones of Guinness memorabilia, lest ye forget that this is an Irish pub, so it is, ah begorrah, the Blarney Stone, pot o’ gold, Westlife, me Lucky Charms, etc. The sports screens are there to replicate O’Shea’s packed-out sports nights, but the cramped environs and view-obstructing pillars aren’t conducive to that. The house bands that play on Fridays and Saturdays are pretty good, if overloud, but the second-floor location means they won’t draw in anyone off the street. The food is excellent. We ordered the roasted lamb loin with ratatouille, cinnamon and blueberry sauce (118 RMB), expecting to laugh at a ham-fisted recreation of fancy-pants cuisine. Reader, we were oafs. Delicately balanced flavors, tender meat, and lovely presentation – if we’d been served it in a mid-level restaurant we’d have been satisfied. The burgers (from 48 RMB) also came up trumps. A smattering of the usual suspects (Guinness 55 RMB per pint; other pints and bottles from 20 RMB), a good spread of whiskeys, spirits and not-too-bad cocktail work (all from 35 RMB) and you have the beginnings of a pretty good gastropub. Perhaps that’s the direction this new Paddy’s should pursue. Without it, we fear, it really will need the luck of the Irish.

The Bali Courtyard bar looks and feels a world away from the usual Sanlitun chaos, and only some cramped spaces belie the fact that this is a conversion and not a bespoke bar area. The drinks are affordable, too: well-mixed cocktails from 40 RMB, beers from 30 RMB (Tsingtao) and wine at 50 RMB a glass. Being located well above the bustling streets of Sanlitun, even the ubiquitous skyscrapers seem less oppressive than on more centrally located rooftop bars, such as Bar Blu. Indeed, setting is important to Bali Courtyard’s chilled-out vibe, although it is pulling in decent-sized audiences even at this stage. Still, the attentive and communicative bar staff cope well with the crowds, and it is nowhere near as uncomfortably packed as, say, Migas. Our only qualm is that the overall ambience of the place will be undercut by some events. However, if they can find the right balance of atmosphere and fun, Bali Courtyard will be an ideal hideaway for the discerning Sanlitun drinker.

Café CD Blues is anything but seedy. In fact most nights it’s filled with round tables of young, attractive groups excitedly chatting over cozy candlelight, decent cocktails (60-65 RMB) and imported beers. The staff’s T-shirts may claim that they’re drinkers ‘with a music problem’, but Café CD Blues feels more like a true music venue. We kicked off with a well-mixed, strong Alabama Slammer, which was perfectly complemented by a classic US folk song being belted out by one of the open-mic night bands. Café CD Blues doesn’t just stick to its eponymous genre; country (Tue) and jazz (Wed, Fri) and a whole lot more also have a home here. Dean Moriarty, the protagonist of Jack Kerouac’s On The Road, would surely be beating his chest in approval. As for us, cheaper beer (Tiger draught is 45 RMB) and more atmosphere upstairs would be the only minor improvements we’d make to Café CD Blues. Beijing’s music lovers have a shiny new home for blues and jazz, and Beijing’s jivers and drinkers that don’t much care for house music just got a whole new option.

Xian Bar is located near the 798 Art Zone on Jiuxianqiao Road. For the name of the bar, ‘Jiuxian’ means ‘the god of alcohol’. Perhaps the manager hoped for the blessing of this Chinese Bacchus by choosing the name Xian. There are classic cocktails (the usual suspects from Cosmos to Sidecars, all 60 RMB) and ten types of martinis (from 60 RMB), there are creative signature drinks such as ‘Thymeless Passion’, a gin, ginger, and lime blended with fresh thyme (80 RMB). The show-stealer though is the whiskey selection, with more than 150 by-the-glass options and if you buy a bottle and don’t finish it, they’ll keep it behind the bar for you for next time. Those coming here expecting the buzz of Punk – The Opposite House’s wildly popular basement bar that shut this summer – will be disappointed. Rather, Xian is Punk’s suave older brother, who knows how to show you a good time without getting you wasted. This is perhaps wise considering the clientele is more likely to be those living in the neighboring Lido area than – as was often the case with Punk – straddlers drifting in from Sanlitun Bar Street. Set over three floors, there’s a live jazz band Tuesday to Friday nights in one part of the bar, a basement with pool tables, foosball and retro arcade games, and, elsewhere, plenty of art-filled alcoves and private corners with leather armchairs.

Malty Dog at Beiluoguxiang has a trendy set-up, with its bare-bones aesthetic, elegant lighting and eclectic playlist. We’d expect nothing less from the owners of the popular Mai Bar, which is just a few meters down the hutong. The smell of yeast – emanating from the giant vat bubbling away behind the bar – is notable as soon as you walk in Malty Dog. The cheerful bar staff pour out six taster glasses – one for every homebrew on their blackboard – for us to have a snifter and make our selection. So far, so good: this place feels like the real deal. Unfortunately, the hops don’t live up to the hype, at least for the moment. Despite rumors that have been circulating, Beijing Homebrewing Society’s Jake Wickham isn’t involved in Malty Dog’s brews, which is a shame as it would have given much-needed experience to these amateurish tipples. Most Malty Dog beers either fall flat or overpower the senses. The cranberry summer (35 RMB) was sweet enough to be an alcopop and the Christmas in July (35 RMB) certainly had Yuletide flavors – but the heavy taste of clove, orange and cinnamon affronts the senses rather than gently tickling them. The microbrewers’ art of deft flavoring has been lost here. Nonetheless, there are encouraging signs: the British bitter (40 RMB) was as it should be and the IPA (40 RMB) in particular was a hoppy highlight.

The manager of Italian restaurant Cornerstone was told to redevelop it into this German eatery on very short notice. That might explain why ingredients such as mozzarella are shoehorned into dishes associated with Germany’s coastal beers. With all drinks coming from the Flensburg brewery, this is a heavily branded experience. Flensburger’s bottles (38-58 RMB) all come with the flip-top caps popular in the Fatherland; cue bruised knuckles as we try to open them with the sleight-of-hand used by Germany’s cool kids – although Flensburger caters more to privileged families in the CBD. The ostentatious lighting, exposed brickwork and industrial pillars of the open-plan bar are really more ‘Bauhaus arts factory’ than 'Brauhaus watering hole'.

The Corner Bar has its moments – mainly between 2:00 p.m. and 8:00 p.m., when its happy hour serves up 10 RMB Tsingtaos (normally 20 RMB) and the cash equivalent off a more-than-decent drinks range. Owners Xiaoxiao and Pearl have done their homework: a surprisingly good range of Japanese and Scottish whiskies, and even a spot of Lemercier absinthe (95 RMB), supplement the usual Belgian hopfest – from Kwak (55 RMB) to Kasteel (45-50 RMB). Just stay away from the cocktails (40-58RMB) – our Mojito (45 RMB) was weaker than a toddler’s forehand. Unfortunately, The Corner also suffers from a near-fatal case of ‘Lido-it is’. One-half is a slick, wood-furnished sports bar, with a giant TV screen and stools aplenty. It’s got that Cheers vibe – only without any homoerotic tension – the kind of bar that American males of a certain age get moist for, and it’s done well. In an ideal world, The Corner would offer an escape from the suffocating café culture. Instead, it embraces it. Live music is planned for the future.

The interior of Baby Face Bar is designed in such a way that if you haven’t parked yourself at a table, you won’t know what to do with yourself. The bar is off to the side and is crowded to the point that drunk patrons struggle to keep from branding each other with smoldering cigarette tips. Everything is 50 RMB aside from the beer (40 RMB) and Long Island iced tea (60 RMB). We saw a gaggle of attractive ladies having what looked like the time of their lives. Too bad they were on the inaccessible dance floor. We are not even sure they would have noticed a wink in their direction in the dim light of the club. They would probably just assume cigarette ash had drifted into our eyes, anyway.