Jonathan and I took Dan out last night. We decided to take him to Shoreditch, as I figured it would be London's version of New York's East Village hipster-nerd thing that Dan loves so much. I just hadn't counted on the throngs of drunken suits. Calling them "City workers" would be too kind - they were insurance company clerks and secretaries.

Our first port of call was Hamilton Hall at Liverpool Street station. I love meeting people here - it's just so fabulously fake, over-the-top faux baroque, a little slice of Viennese opera in London. The plaster surrounding the gilded cherubs and moulded grapes has now been painted a dirty yellow, to give it that authentic tobacco-aged patina.

We walked up to The Light. Housed in a former electric power station, it has kept its industrial feel, with exposed brickwork and heavy-duty machinery on show. The ground floor bar was a bit noisy, but - after sending Jonathan on three exploratory missions - we eventually found the upstairs bar. This was more like it - leather sofas, understated DJ, helpful bar staff - and we had the place virtually to ourselves. We had an intriguing encounter with a bouncer, who claimed - when he was on his own - to know both me and Jonathan. Yet when he was with his straight colleagues, he completely ignored us.

We were now starving, but none of us was overly taken with Great Eastern Dining Room, so we headed for reliable favourite Cantaloupe. "This reminds me so much of Brooklyn," said Dan, which I think was a compliment. We went through to the restaurant area, where Jonathan treated us to dinner. I had a dish seemingly designed for me: all my favourite things on one plate: Tender lamb shank! Chorizo! Butter Beans! Pumpkin! Red Wine! Hunky waiter!

Our serious discussion about racism, social issues and crime in South Africa was - perhaps thankfully - cut short by closing time in Home. We dispersed to hail cabs and run for tubes.

So, while the evening wasn't quite the two-fingered-salute and a sneer in the face of New York that I'd hoped for, it was more than just an arched pinkie and a stiff upper-lip.