Drawing Paris’ culturally clued-up crowd to the outlands of the 15th arrondissement is no easy feat, but Electric—the city’s new, futuristic focal-point of bohemia—has got them flocking south-west in their droves. Billing itself as an ‘alternative cultural center’ (part geographical jape perhap?), the venue plays host to a variety of bespoke cross-disciplinary events—ranging from fashion trade fairs to late-night party blowouts. It’s the space itself though that’s been sending shocks through the Parisian landscape. The 1000m2 main room, with its gnarled fibreglass tree centrepiece, affords stunning panoramic views over the city that a trip up the Eiffel Tower would have trouble bettering. Add to that a 400m2 adjoining balcony, a gargantuan 22,000m2 outdoor esplanade and a lighting system based entirely around video projection (the first of its kind in the world), and it’s not hard to see why Electric has the scope to indulge the wildest of ambitions that other more centrally located venues couldn’t indulge in their wildest of dreams.

Vegetarians, look away now. This could get very, very meaty… Carnivores, rejoice and make yourself familiar with Theresa, the yuppie upstart of a steakhouse that knows how to take care of its meat—all the way from grass-munching quadruped beginnings to the red-centred, slab-of-steak finale. With vents running across the ceiling, tiled walls and simple wood furnishings, this ain’t about the frills, it’s about the grills and what’s sizzling on them. All the steaks are matured to perfection on site (some wet, some dry-aged), cooked as decreed by your humble self and served up with fat chips and a lip-smackin’ array of homemade sauces and relishes.

The old Trust—brainchild of Weekend owner Marcus Trojan, Cookie’s head honcho Cookie and photographer Sascha Kramer—was a place where Mitte’s movers and shakers went to be seen and heard. So naturally when the most exclusive mini-club on Torstraße closed its doors in 2012 many a scenester was left wondering where their nightlife would go from there…

They needn’t have worried. Fast forward a few months and messrs Trojan, Cookie and Kramer are at it again in a new, bigger location that sprawls underneath the railway tracks at Hackescher Markt. It’s still that unmarked-door-and-peephole sort of exclusive, but to immerse yourself in what lies within is more than worth enduring those scrutinizing eyes—a straight up lesson in urban cool, expertly realized over two floors of exposed concrete and flashes of gold.

Drinks-wise, like the Trust of old, it’s all about bottles of Champagne and spirits (available in 0.2 or 0.7 liter) and they’ve even made the concession of stocking beers as well. If you order one, though, you’ve missed the point and will have to endure the ignominy of having it served in a brown paper bag. Because nothing decimates a hip cat’s image more than drinking hobo-street style.

Parisian parties took a serious nosedive somewhere in the noughties. Everything was all becoming a bit samey until Concrete blew a massive boat-sized hole in the city’s nightlife. So much so that it isn’t even at night any more. With a game-changing Seine-side locale, they can max out their Funktion One speakers for one filthy 19-hour mashup, and there’s not a peep out of the neighbors, simply ‘cos there aren’t any. Thoughts of this being some dark ’n loud after-hour gurn-fest, should be (at least partly) erased from your mind however. Lots of light reaches into the venue and in the summer, well, it’s all feet on deck! The techno-house soundtrack is marshalled by some real international ringers—no space to drop names here though, the word count won’t allow it. And everything takes place on the sleepiest of family days, so get your Sunday dinner excuse in early.