Nostalgia's a wonderful feeling, reliving the glory days when synth-pop was in, Madonna was making headlines, and Kylie was the sexiest woman in Britain! (Really? Well, Twitter is new.) Dig even deeper into the Decade of Fun, at Maggies.
Opening next Thursday walking distance from Thatcher's home, Maggies is an 80s-throwback nightclub started by two buddies determined to relive the years that birthed them by assembling a dizzying array of paraphernalia: Beano-plastered pillars, leopard-print sofas, a wall of platinum discs from A-ha/Wham/Blondie/etc, a fishtank with sunken Malibu bottles, a huge hand-painted mural depicting various icons (Timmy Mallett, Mr. T sounding off "I ain't payin' no poll tax, fool!"), and low-lit Rubik's cube tables, with service coming via roller-skating waitresses and Cruiser-styled barmen ("do you want any ice...man?"). Throwing back juice is throwback as well, with numbers like the "Purple Rain" (gin, elderflower, blackberries, apple, lime, Prosecco top), the tiki-ish "Pac Man" (rum, Malibu, Trip Sec, orgeat, lime, grenadine) and the Campari/Midori/Chambord "Walk Man" shooter, though everyone knows the Walk Man was murdered by the iPod. Table-only menus are set in old-school Viewmasters, and feature a "School Lunch Box" packed full of retro sweets, a monstrous "Fish called Wanda" bowl for 8-10, mixing whole bottles of vodka and bubbly w/ guava, pomegranate and lime juice, and the 6-8 person, vodka/Blue Curacao/orange/lemon/sugar "A-Team", served up in milk bottles -- drink one of these everyday, and you could probably still play for Accrington Stanley.
The champagne menu's got 14 picks, plus a vintage "House of Lords" bottle signed by Maggie herself; whoever buys it gets their name permanently printed on the menu, ensuring that even if you go on Holiday, patrons can't get you out of their heads.