At Main Street neighbourhood hangout tocador, a Havana-channelling beauty awash in aqua, pink and red, an old pal and I quickly abandon our corner booth. We want to get closer to the action at the bar and sit in the early-evening sun. It feels positively unnatural to sway to the tropical tunes while hiding in the shadowy back (though it would be a fabulous make-out corner, were one so inclined). I’m intrigued by a drink called Electric Hot Tub, which turns out to be a deep, absinthe-soaked number garnished with a white-sage sprig. My friend, who ran here from work, cools off with a pinky-peach spritz made with guava-infused Aperol and sparkling rosé. Both of them are Instagram-perfect, just like everything else here, from the tasty little pork-stuffed croquettes we snack on to the vintage vanities where the liquor is stored on the back wall. The drinks – like Tocororo, with its gentle smack of paprika-infused tequila and ginger notes – are full of personality, not unlike bartender Javier, who darts lightly around like the handsome bird that gives the cocktail its name. He may be restless, but Tocador is relaxed as all get-out.