London bar reviews

Keep your eyes peeled for this one: it’s sunk beneath Greek Street, accessed through a dodgy-looking doorway and a seriously scruffy staircase. If there’s a less salubrious introduction to a bar in London then, well, we’d like to see it. These days, the term ‘speakeasy’ is bandied about with reckless abandon by bar owners desperate to adorn their venue with an elusive, exclusive and illicit allure yet few are the genuine McCoy – not least because if you’re shouting about what you’re doing, then you’re not a genuine speakeasy. This old school drinking den and members club, however, is refreshingly free of any such affectation. It was formerly called Trisha’s (aka The Hideout), and there’s a small bar, a scattering of tables and chairs and pictures of boxers, mafia types and Italian football teams adorning the worn walls. There’s a very small courtyard out the back and only one proper lavatory. It looks like the kind of place where someone would get whacked in ‘The Sopranos’ – except there was an episode of ‘Emmerdale’ showing when we last went. True to a real speakeasy, the drink selection is pretty average. There are some bottled beers, a couple of wines and a quite random selection of spirits. The New Evaristo Club has some very devoted regulars. If they aren't entertainment enough, there are some jazz nights. And there’s always ‘Emmerdale’.

If you want to drink well in London, Hackney has long been one of the best places to do so. The pubs are unparalleled and you’re rarely more than five feet away from a small-plates restaurant with an erudite line in natural wine. Over the past decade Hackney has also been refining an excellent collection of astutely un-grotty dive bars, from the emo-adjacent Blondie’s in the far reaches of Clapton to the satan-worshiping Helgi’s, which you’ll find right next door to Mare Street’s latest booze hole. The overall vibe is Sex and the City directed by Tarantino Rasputin’s comes from, weirdly, the same folk as cult sandwich slingers Dom’s Subs. And though there’s not a single sarnie on the menu here, cheap hot dogs help place Rasputin’s somewhere in the middle of a niche Osakan mini bar and rowdy Texan drinking den. It’s a giddy little space, and one lit mainly by sultry red light but also TV sets pumping out cult movies. Film noir-worthy shutters on the front windows let in minimal distraction from the street, and the resulting effect is a chaotic kind of chic.   When we visit, it’s early on a Thursday night, and there’s a spaghetti western soundtrack to punters basking in the neon glow. Some are sat on mid-century sofas next to equally neat coffee tables, or perched by the long, well-stocked bar. Most are drinking sweet but powerful five olive martinis, which at £7 might just be the best value cocktail in town. The overall vibe is Sex and the City directed by Tarantino. The...

Deep in the leafy residential swathes of De Beauvoir Town – aka the St Tropez of Islington – you’ll find Goodbye Horses, yet another wine bar and small-plates affair. This one just so happens to also be a pour-over coffee shop called Day Trip, and is named in honour of the moody 1980s synthpop song by Q Lazzarus. So far, so north London.  This former pub has been spruced up accordingly. There are white-washed brick walls, swirling Marc Chagall-esque scribbles across a vast fabric lighting fixture that runs the length of the bar and sturdy, low wooden tables that you can’t quite cross your legs under. A vintage 1970s Tannoy Lancaster speaker hangs imposingly in each corner of the long room, and all must pass the wall of 4,000 vinyl records as they enter. Fancy Swiss architects have been involved in revamping the space and it looks sleek, clean and very, very expensive. Who needs comfort when you have style?  Charming and enthusiastic staff seriously know their stuff This though, is a wine bar, not a toddler’s soft-play centre, and here the grape is king – especially those of the organic and biodynamic variety. Charming and enthusiastic staff seriously know their stuff, and sample sips and sloshes are dished out when trying to find a wine matched to a guest’s mood and fripperies. We begin with a perfectly pink and fabulously fizzy Bruno Rochard Folie des Grains served in a glass cutely etched with the bar’s endearing equine logo. It is liquid, x-rated strawberries and all...

It might look like a classic London pub from the outside, all Britain in Bloom-worthy hanging baskets and an extremely pub-like name picked out in gold lettering, but the Camberwell Arms is not a place to watch the footie or sink eight pints and waddle home semi-conscious (maybe try the Hermits Cave across the road for such tomfoolery). Locals have known this for the past decade, ever since the grand Victorian boozer was given a serious sprucing up in 2014 under the auspices of chef director Mike Davies. Mike had form; starting out at one of south London’s original gastropubs, the Anchor & Hope in Waterloo, before setting up another south London institution, the much-loved hipster HQ that is Frank’s rooftop bar in Peckham.  ‘Sublime’ doesn’t even begin to do it justice. It is nothing less than art Since then, the Camberwell Arms has remained the very picture of modesty. Settle into the spacious back room, an airy but still-intimate space, and the lack of fanfare (stripped wooden floorboards and the occasional stylish print is about as close to grandiose design as it gets here) only goes to prove how confident they are in the quality of the food. Who needs jazzed-up interiors when the cooking is this compelling?  The menu is short but not too short, seasonal without being smug, and features a wry nod to the room’s pub past; a starter of beer onions on toast with aged gruyère. It’s a frankly indecent snack, snaked with sloppy boozed-up ribbons of onions, the particularly...

Since its opening in 2016, the outwardly unassuming Dalston cocktail bar Three Sheets – owned and run by brothers Max and Noel Venning – has become a city-wide favourite, known for the inventiveness and quality of its drinks, which often play on established classics. Unsurprisingly then, for Three Sheets’ second iteration, the Vennings have pulled up in Soho, London’s storied cocktail hub, to launch a new menu of brilliantly re-thought standards upon a more central crowd. While the Dalston spot is narrower and more secret-feeling – maybe a touch cooler, if you really want me to say it – the W1 iteration adapts to its new surroundings. It’s warmer and fancier, all soft, inviting booths and dark wood. So far, so Soho.  The Mezcal Sunset is the grown-up older sister of a tequila sunrise, only more Ibiza than Benidorm In keeping with Soho tradition, you must – once you are installed in your plush seat, or on your bar stool – begin with a martini. The Three Sheets bartenders are seasoned pros, who will make yours however you like it, but the house Dirty Martini is worth a go even if you’re a purist. Done with Belvedere, a little olive oil, and some Koseret tea to take the edge off the booze, it’s a gentler take on the OG, and even those who like the drink blisteringly alcoholic will appreciate the riff. For something more serene as you’re getting settled in, go for Three Sheets’ signature pre-bottled French 75 – a bubbly blend of gin and Chardonnay, plus some lilting...

On first appearances, Harwood Arms is an actual, honest-to-goodness pub, the kind of place where you could wander up to the bar and sink a pint (without drowning in embarassment). It's all warm exposed wood and unfussy British comfort, a cosy, slightly countrified haven on an unlikely Fulham back street. But look a bit more closely at the details – a ritzy ostrich feather lampshade here, a flourish of antlers there – and you'll quickly realise that something a little more elaborate is going on (and that maybe running an iron over your outfit might have been wise). After all, this is London's only Michelin-starred gastropub, and locals and tourists alike will book weeks in advance to worship at the altar of its luxe game-focused menu. The presentation is all fine dining fanciness, the textures are precision-honed, but the flavours are remixed versions of time-honoured British standbys The daily line-up is short and changes often, but it's stuffed with local produce, British flavours, and a pretty-much-guaranteed starring role for venison, treated with a delicacy that contrasts with the chunky boards and plates it's served on. On our visit, a plate of red deer tongue looked as pinkly pretty as a dessert, with its delicate ruby orbs of beetroot and blobs of quince paste offsetting the gaminess of the main event. The goat's cheese and onion tart was more suited to anyone with sentimental feelings about Bambi, but far from the kind of back-of-the-deep-freeze standby your...

A cosy, speakeasy-esque bar under Soho’s iconic Italian delicatessen.

If you know, you know. You might have walked past the Old China Hand a load of times and not realised quite what a brilliant pub it is. After all, its friendly looking, cream-coloured exterior hardly screams ‘boozer’. One step inside, however, and you realise this place is something special.  It’s hard to say what gives the Old China Hand its vibe. The interior is unfussy, stripped back and wooden. Lighting is low and music remains unobtrusive. The beer, wine and cider selection is surprising and varied. And the owner, Rowena, is a total sweetheart and very hospitable. But the Old China Hand’s appeal is greater than the sum of its parts. Clerkenwell is full of flashy pubs that fill to capacity after work, often becoming deafening hell holes in the process. The Old China Hand, by comparison, is a very fun, very boozy oasis of conviviality and good taste. With lots of tables (including some very iconic barrels), nice outside space and breezily efficient staff, you’re seldom waiting long for a drink or a place to sit. It may bill itself as Clerkenwell’s ‘uncoolest pub’, but the Old China Hand has unforced credibility seeping out of its every unvarnished floorboard. The fact it also has darts only adds to the undeniable kudos. If this was near your house, you’d pop in every day.

To misquote the late Brian Moore, this is a pub of two halves. Upstairs is a cultured, calm and almost sedate dining room, within which nouveau EastEnders tuck into expensive but impressive Modern European cooking. Downstairs in the good-looking pub, built around a handsome central bar, the scene is more boisterous, as easily distracted staff deliver pricey wines and ales to an assortment of vintage-clad creatives who keep the hum of conversation going throughout the night. It’s at its best earlier in the week: Fridays and Saturdays can be uncomfortably frantic, and the flower market on the doorstep means Sundays can be a crush. Keen-eyed sitcom enthusiasts may recognise the Royal Oak from its starring role in Goodnight Sweetheart, although the current owners seem strangely reluctant to advertise the source of the pub’s 15 minutes.

Let’s be real: it’s a Sam Smiths boozer, which formerly signified excellent value but now indicates only middling value, along with bearable beverages. But let’s talk instead of old Louise’s ground-floor saloon, which is truly, incredibly, spectacularly ornate: a warren of Victorian frosted-glass booths, each with direct access to the bar; mirrors; buffed wood panelling; a fire; mosaic floors; florid carpets; and all the other decorative touches you’d ever care to appreciate. Trying to rendezvous with a drinking companion amid the nooks and crannies can prove a bit of a challenge, although it does mean you’ll inevitably have the chance to explore properly. (There’s a simpler, larger room upstairs, but where’s the fun in drinking there?) A preponderance of stools and bright lighting give the Princess a post-work rather than pre-night-out vibe, but much like breakfast, there’s no reason not to make your first pint of the day the most important one.