The most-loved bars and pubs in London

Ryan Chetiyawardana, aka bartender Mr Lyan, is a London cocktail dignitary – he's worked in some of the city’s most pioneering bars and now has his own range of mixed spirits in Selfridges. He opened his first bar in Hoxton in 2013, and hot on its heels is this second one.  Number two couldn’t be more different. Dandelyan has a prime spot off the lobby of the new multimillion-pound Mondrian hotel in the former Sea Containers House. Dandelyan is run by a team of super-slick international-hotel ‘servers’.  White Lyan set out to shake up the cocktail scene by dispensing with ice and all perishables, and Dandelyan’s menu is just as groundbreaking – ingredients include 'chalk bitters', 'crystal peach nectar’ and the archaic-sounding 'dandelion capillaire'. The bar might be glamorous, luxurious and even a bit formal, but the drinks show Chetiyawardana’s invention and attention to detail. Ford & Warner (£12.50) was a fruitily fearsome blend of gin, 'bittered blackcurrant', dandelion flower and lemon, garnished with a little frozen cube of blackcurrant sorbet. An Evil Manhattan (£12.50) didn’t live up to its name but did contain a house-made beer 'vermouth', rye whiskey and bitters. Everything here has a hint of the garden about it, and everything is surprising without being show-off, and most of all, inherently drinkable.  Dress up before you drink up; it’s that sort of place. VIDEO: Check out Dandelyan's awesome new mousetrap trolley  

Though technically an upstairs adjunct to Jason Atherton’s celebrated Social Eating House (which itself garnered a five-star review in Time Out), The Blind Pig is a worthy destination in its own right. Perhaps as a nod to its Prohibition-flavoured nickname (‘blind pig’ being US underworld slang for a good old-fashioned den of iniquity), it’s not immediately obvious how to find it at street level; look under the vintage ‘Optician’ sign for the blindfolded hog doorknocker and boom, you’re in. The decor is authentically retro but never schmaltzy; lovely touches like the antique mirrored ceiling, copper-topped bar and charmingly mismatched (yet never discordant) wooden furniture made me feel (on date night) like a wide-lapelled Capone crony painting the town with his broad. If this all sounds a little contrived and too-clever-by-half, the cocktail menu brings welcome comic relief. Who could resist a Slap ’n’ Pickle (gin, brandy and pickle brine), Kindergarten Cup (incorporating ‘Skittles-washed Ketel One’), or Robin Hood, Quince of Thieves? (brandy, quince liqueur, mead). The puns are employed with abandon, but everything I tried was ace (even, yes, Dill or No Dill). Better yet, the bar snacks are made downstairs, so the grilled baby peppers, confit pork rillettes and duck fat chips are straight-up gangster.

You can’t get high quickly enough in Dalston; sadly there’s no express lift to the area’s prime roof space. But the few flights up to Dalston Roof Park (a bar from Bootstrap Company that reboots its look every year) set the creative scene with wicked graffiti on the walls. The £3 entry fee is worth it for the lurid AstroTurf, real-life flora in hanging baskets and makeshift planters, and bunting flapping in the breeze. Or in the storm, on our visit – there’s no guaranteeing that the Great British summer will actually make an appearance. With that in mind, the venue offers the shelter of a covered bar and a roofed area in front of the decks, so you can dance whatever the weather. Colour comes from bright beanbags (hang on, we thought we’d left those in the ’80s), allowing relaxed drinkers to carpet the floor as heavily as that AstroTurf. If that heatwave ever hits, there’s ample uncovered sunshine spots and plenty of deck chairs to lounge with a cocktail – mojitos and caipirinhas do a grand trade, but I tested out the Dalston Sunset, a cheerful blend of cranberry, lychee liqueur and gin that practically screams ‘summer’. Throughout the season, pop-up food traders will be setting up shop for monthly residencies (Le Bao are currently cooking up a storm on the roof), sunrise yoga sessions will crop up on the regs and those DJs keep coming, so get on up. If the beanbag is in for a revival, perhaps summer will be making a comeback too.

A fantasy- and sci-fi-inspired cocktail bar in Dalston. Please note, The Cauldron opens in March 2018.

The unstoppable uplift of the King’s Cross area brings a new bar/restaurant nearly every week, but the Booking Office remains the undisputed champion for cocktails. For one thing, it’s just a great place to sit, whether you’re in the lovely former booking hall, with its dark wood and soaring gothic arches, or outside overlooking the train tracks. There can be slightly longer waits outside, so don’t go there if you’re in a rush. Frequented by a lot of business people – and, naturally, by travellers – it’s not a place you go for a cool hangout vibe. But you make your own vibe at the comfortable, low-slung tables. The cocktail list starts at £9 for punches (a speciality) with most between £11 and £15. They play around with classic drinks adventurously but sensibly, and if nothing takes your fancy, ordering off-list is easy and rewarding. And take note (or be warned) – Office hours last until 3am from Thursday to Saturday.

Since this review was published, Rumpus Room has undergone refurbishment. Time Out Eating & Drinking editors, March 2017. Hotel bars used to be the straight-laced kind of place you’d take your ’rents. Not so at the Mondrian, where Dandelyan has been winning awards on the ground floor while level 12’s Rumpus Room has stayed a bit of an inside secret. Now this chic bar is ready to welcome the world, with a terrace overlooking St Paul’s and DJs to lure sophisticated after-workers and Friday night socialites. I say socialites, since the venue claims to take its cue from the Bright Young Things, a group of hedonists followed by the tabloids in the 1920s. Think England’s non-fiction ‘Great Gatsby’ (or the ’20s version of the sidebar of shame). In truth, the theme’s not obvious, but the setting is pure style. Waitresses work the room in floaty, floral numbers you’d expect to see on Kate Moss in the French Riviera. And she’d probably approve of their way (a million miles from ‘basic bitch’ service). There are mauve banquettes, glittering chandeliers, and a shiny gold bar, but it’s the view that really wins the crowd. Stick around for sunset, when the room gets more blingy. Don’t expect such an atmosphere without paying a pretty penny; solid classic cocktails cost £14. My paloma was faultless, but my bank card withered when I promptly reached the bottom of the glass. Stick with champagne cocktails to feel more at peace; after all, Rumpus Room is an occasion bar. We can’t vouch for

A weird and wonderful cocktail bar on Mare Street located above The Viktor Wynd Museum of Curiosities, Fine Art and Natural History. Expect oddities, bones and books in a nod to downstairs, as well as a gallery space and a full-sized taxidermied lion named Leonora at one of the tables.  Inspired by the prohibiton era, TLTS have a menu devoted to Absinthe, as well as two pages of cocktails and a handful of beers and wines. Bar nibbles include a cheese board, kalamata tapenade and roasted cashews. Regular events are held here, too, including workshops in taxidermy or cocktails, lectures, literary launches and more.

When is it easy to find an empty seat at the London Gin Club? Only on Sundays and Mondays, when this Soho bar is closed. If you need proof that gin is the current It Girl among London’s liquid lovelies, come here any other evening of the week without a booking, and try to get a seat. More fool you. The Gin Club sells nearly 200 gins, and there are four ways to order it. G&Ts are poured in double measures and start from £8, but breaking the two-digit barrier gets you more unusual gins. Served in whacking great goblets, each gin with a particular brand of tonic, they look fabulous and make a foolproof Friday-night muscle relaxant. Then there’s a cocktail list, majoring on classics (negronis, collinses) but with some of their own inventions as well. Check out their list of ‘ginfusions’ too – the Broker’s gin brand vigorously mixed with different flavourings before being served as a G&T. For the hardcore curious, there are tasting menus: four or eight gins, served on trays, for those who like to compare and contrast. Prices start from £25, and after talking you through your menu, the staff will leave you to sip in peace. Unless you want them to hang around. If this all sounds a bit gin-geeky, don’t be put off. The atmosphere is that of a bar, not a laboratory or place of worship. The room is high-ceilinged and moodily lit. You may come here for the love of gin, but you’ll stay for the love of life.

This is the second time I’ve found myself twitching on the RSPB’s website. But it had to be done because the team behind celebrated City cocktail spot Nightjar (as in the squat, nocturnal songbird) have gone and opened another avian-named bar, this one in Smithfield. This particular species is an enigmatic creature with exotic green and yellow plumage, so we’re in no doubt: Oriole is Nightjar’s showy little sister.  Oriole bears some of the same ‘speakeasy’ hallmarks. It’s already impossible to get a table at short notice and we were held at the door until radioed in, when a golden curtain was pulled back to reveal a darkened staircase. It is a lovely curtain, though. And there is a certain theatricality to entering this beauty of a basement bar. Flashes of on-theme jade and gold in leather and fur furnishings punctuate the room, while a stunning print of a tropical, palm-tree-covered landscape adorns one of the walls.  Naturally, a drink here comes at quite a cost. There’s a cover charge for jazz – dearer than it is at Nightjar and harder to avoid, since the music here kicks off at 8.30pm (though it is free on Monday and Tuesday). We also found fault with the bar food: a tempting menu shows promise, but black truffle croquettes (£5) had a sad, gloopy texture and sea bass ceviche (£6.50) lacked depth of flavour. But, of course, you come here for the drinks – and they are so on the money, with cocktails as creative as any you’ll find in London. They’re set out across three

The name of this Old Street cocktail bar may have delicate drinkers running for the hills, since a Gibson is also the name for a martini with a pickled onion bobbing in its depths. There’s nothing inelegant about the setting though, a small space that’s been given a 1920s look. Well, the Kirstie Allsopp version, with DIY lighting effects from decanters filled with tea lights and such. It’s an attractive room, if not all that authentic. But what is the real deal is the skill behind the operation, with bartenders having done their time over at prohibition-themed Nightjar down the road. And you can tell, with that vague ’20s decor, a similar tome-like menu and flamboyant decorations on drinks. And there’s table service from a flapper girl, which feels a touch unnecessary in a bar this size, especially when the barman can hear your pleas for recommendations (it really is a long menu). Thankfully, our flapper is unflappable, breezily rattling through our best options based on spirit and flavour preferences. I opted for an Electric Earl (£11), which is a knock-out mix of gin, earl grey liqueur, grapefruit juice and a whole host of citrusy ingredients. They blend it with in-house bitters made from the ‘buzz button’, a flower whose bud has an electrifying effect on the tongue that lives up to the drink’s name – my tastebuds were dancing for quite some time after each sip. A less classy version, The Great Japito (gin, tamarillo puree, Campari, tonka beans, pink grape soda, £11), was

Ryan Chetiyawardana, aka bartender Mr Lyan, is a London cocktail dignitary – he's worked in some of the city’s most pioneering bars and now has his own range of mixed spirits in Selfridges. He opened his first bar in Hoxton in 2013, and hot on its heels is this second one.  Number two couldn’t be more different. Dandelyan has a prime spot off the lobby of the new multimillion-pound Mondrian hotel in the former Sea Containers House. Dandelyan is run by a team of super-slick international-hotel ‘servers’.  White Lyan set out to shake up the cocktail scene by dispensing with ice and all perishables, and Dandelyan’s menu is just as groundbreaking – ingredients include 'chalk bitters', 'crystal peach nectar’ and the archaic-sounding 'dandelion capillaire'. The bar might be glamorous, luxurious and even a bit formal, but the drinks show Chetiyawardana’s invention and attention to detail. Ford & Warner (£12.50) was a fruitily fearsome blend of gin, 'bittered blackcurrant', dandelion flower and lemon, garnished with a little frozen cube of blackcurrant sorbet. An Evil Manhattan (£12.50) didn’t live up to its name but did contain a house-made beer 'vermouth', rye whiskey and bitters. Everything here has a hint of the garden about it, and everything is surprising without being show-off, and most of all, inherently drinkable.  Dress up before you drink up; it’s that sort of place. VIDEO: Check out Dandelyan's awesome new mousetrap trolley  

Though technically an upstairs adjunct to Jason Atherton’s celebrated Social Eating House (which itself garnered a five-star review in Time Out), The Blind Pig is a worthy destination in its own right. Perhaps as a nod to its Prohibition-flavoured nickname (‘blind pig’ being US underworld slang for a good old-fashioned den of iniquity), it’s not immediately obvious how to find it at street level; look under the vintage ‘Optician’ sign for the blindfolded hog doorknocker and boom, you’re in. The decor is authentically retro but never schmaltzy; lovely touches like the antique mirrored ceiling, copper-topped bar and charmingly mismatched (yet never discordant) wooden furniture made me feel (on date night) like a wide-lapelled Capone crony painting the town with his broad. If this all sounds a little contrived and too-clever-by-half, the cocktail menu brings welcome comic relief. Who could resist a Slap ’n’ Pickle (gin, brandy and pickle brine), Kindergarten Cup (incorporating ‘Skittles-washed Ketel One’), or Robin Hood, Quince of Thieves? (brandy, quince liqueur, mead). The puns are employed with abandon, but everything I tried was ace (even, yes, Dill or No Dill). Better yet, the bar snacks are made downstairs, so the grilled baby peppers, confit pork rillettes and duck fat chips are straight-up gangster.

When your neighbourhood café serves cocktails worthy of Zone 1, you know the only way you’ll ever leave London will be in a box. But this Herne Hill newcomer – the second from the team behind Brixton’s Shrub and Shutter –  will even go so far as to help you keep the Grim Reaper at bay. Because, as the name suggests, it specialises in ‘cure-all’ drinks. A great fit for the area’s relaxed, thirtysomething inhabitants, First Aid Box’s white tiled walls, shelves of pseudo-pharmacological gear and menu with a medicinal theme suggest the snap of a latex glove, but it’s a concept lubricated by charming staff, upbeat music and flattering, flickering candlelight. Drinks make ample use of ‘shrubs’: spirits suspended in vinegar-based syrups that make for thrilling flavour bases. Updates of tried-and-tested classics include an aviation-style mix called Conscious Pilot (£8.50). Here, the rhubarb-infused gin lends the drink a subtle tartness that prevents the triple whammy of violette liqueur, violette shrub and violette droplets from delving too deep into granny’s knicker drawer. Elsewhere, the creamy exuberance of a Ramos gin fizz is given added depth with a shot of rich, earthy matcha-and-pistachio shrub. Both are served without gimmicks – though if it’s theatre you’re after, there’s a smoking cocktail served in a bell jar (£8), a cucumber sherbet in a bottle with a miniature cone of sorbet as a stopper (£9) or a vitamin C-laced bramble with a syringe of blood-hued Chambord (£8).But t

Remember when Pat Butcher came back from the dead? The homecoming of Little Nan’s Bar to Deptford – it originally opened in 2013 and was forced to close in 2014 – feels just as euphoric. The ‘EastEnders’ analogy will make sense to those who experienced the pure joy of visiting the bar in pop-up form, as it roamed around London waiting to find a way back to Deptford. It’s a retro living room parody in a railway arch at Deptford Market Yard, with leopard print, china and Pat references aplenty. The little nan in question belongs to Tristan Scutt, who refers to himself as the grandson of this operation. He set up the bar in honour of his late grandmother (who made it to 104), and has been very clear that while it’s all vintage, there’s nothing ‘shabby chic’. Instead, it’s full-throttle ’80s front room fetishism, with cocktail menus hidden inside Charles and Diana memorabilia books, mocktails served in leopard-print mugs, soap stars in photo frames and cat-covered cushions galore. You can order cocktails by the teapot, or go solo and get a cocktail umbrella in the bargain. The drinks are on the sweeter, sillier end of the scale, my Chief Girl of Deptford being a bubbly mix of gin, prosecco, lemon and Morello cherry syrup, which tasted a bit like a boozy cherry Vimto. Snacks are true Brits – from a cracking fish-finger sarnie to hoops on toast if you’re into nostalgia. They even stuck sparklers in our portion of hipster fries (dusted with paprika). If you’re trying to make sens

After finding the DSC (not easy for first-timers), descend the steep stairs and watch your head so you don’t bump it on the incredibly low ceilings. The effort is worth it: DSC may look like just another wood-heavy, dimly atmospheric London ‘speakeasy’, but in quality it’s made-to-measure rather than prêt-à-porter. What marks it out is profound and polished skill behind the bar: we’ve watched a single bartender manage three large orders at once, doing everything in the right order and not wasting a second. The changing cocktail list can sound wacky (Captain Cobbler is dark rum, amontillado sherry, kumquat, ginger and honey marmalade, pink grapefruit and IPA top), but in our experience here wacky always equals wonderful. Ordering off-list is always a safe bet. Gents in suits love it. So do those wearing denim, ink and facial hair. One size definitely fits all here.

Welcome to party island. You’ll have to battle past crowds of frazzled commuters at Waterloo station and climb up a series of brightly coloured staircases to get there. But it’s worth it to reach this buzzy rooftop oasis with swoonsome views of the city’s skyline. It takes its inspiration from the tiny island of Elba, just off the Tuscan coast, where Napoleon Bonaparte was forcibly sent in 1814. He took his horse and a few hundred of his closest pals. Political exile? Apparently he just partied in the Med for 300 days. Enough of that, though. Bar Elba’s historical theme is as loose as they come. With fairy lights, communal benches and a sizeable cocktail list, this rooftop bar is more about the (bona)party than the nineteenth-century military leader. The bar boasts a small wine, beer and cider menu, as well as a selection of bubbles for those with an emperor’s budget. Cocktails are sweet and summery: the frosé, a velvety-smooth, rosé and vermouth-spiked strawberry slushie, was easily the stand-out, while the Aperol Spritz was solid and came served in big sharing jugs for the thirsty. Balmy Italian paradise, Bar Elba is not. But, as the sun sets over Waterloo, with a view of the Shard glinting in the day’s last light, it is a sweet place to be. Of course, there’s no proof that the premise is in any way historically accurate, but ‘liberté, egalité, rosé’? That’s a motto I can get behind.

You can’t get high quickly enough in Dalston; sadly there’s no express lift to the area’s prime roof space. But the few flights up to Dalston Roof Park (a bar from Bootstrap Company that reboots its look every year) set the creative scene with wicked graffiti on the walls. The £3 entry fee is worth it for the lurid AstroTurf, real-life flora in hanging baskets and makeshift planters, and bunting flapping in the breeze. Or in the storm, on our visit – there’s no guaranteeing that the Great British summer will actually make an appearance. With that in mind, the venue offers the shelter of a covered bar and a roofed area in front of the decks, so you can dance whatever the weather. Colour comes from bright beanbags (hang on, we thought we’d left those in the ’80s), allowing relaxed drinkers to carpet the floor as heavily as that AstroTurf. If that heatwave ever hits, there’s ample uncovered sunshine spots and plenty of deck chairs to lounge with a cocktail – mojitos and caipirinhas do a grand trade, but I tested out the Dalston Sunset, a cheerful blend of cranberry, lychee liqueur and gin that practically screams ‘summer’. Throughout the season, pop-up food traders will be setting up shop for monthly residencies (Le Bao are currently cooking up a storm on the roof), sunrise yoga sessions will crop up on the regs and those DJs keep coming, so get on up. If the beanbag is in for a revival, perhaps summer will be making a comeback too.

Since this review was published, Rumpus Room has undergone refurbishment. Time Out Eating & Drinking editors, March 2017. Hotel bars used to be the straight-laced kind of place you’d take your ’rents. Not so at the Mondrian, where Dandelyan has been winning awards on the ground floor while level 12’s Rumpus Room has stayed a bit of an inside secret. Now this chic bar is ready to welcome the world, with a terrace overlooking St Paul’s and DJs to lure sophisticated after-workers and Friday night socialites. I say socialites, since the venue claims to take its cue from the Bright Young Things, a group of hedonists followed by the tabloids in the 1920s. Think England’s non-fiction ‘Great Gatsby’ (or the ’20s version of the sidebar of shame). In truth, the theme’s not obvious, but the setting is pure style. Waitresses work the room in floaty, floral numbers you’d expect to see on Kate Moss in the French Riviera. And she’d probably approve of their way (a million miles from ‘basic bitch’ service). There are mauve banquettes, glittering chandeliers, and a shiny gold bar, but it’s the view that really wins the crowd. Stick around for sunset, when the room gets more blingy. Don’t expect such an atmosphere without paying a pretty penny; solid classic cocktails cost £14. My paloma was faultless, but my bank card withered when I promptly reached the bottom of the glass. Stick with champagne cocktails to feel more at peace; after all, Rumpus Room is an occasion bar. We can’t vouch for

Experimental Cocktail Club isn’t the kind of place you’d expect to find in Chinatown. In fact, it’s not the kind of place you can expect to find very easily at all: don’t be surprised if you walk past the bar’s unassuming battered door several times before realising it leads to this buzzing three-floor joint filled with trendy groups and dating couples absorbed in lively chatter. Many of them will have reserved – it's a good idea if you don't want to be left disappointed and standing on Gerrard Street. The drinks aren’t so experimental that they come in test tubes, but they’re consistently outstanding, making choosing what to order an almost impossible task. Throw in a gently lit backdrop of minimalist brick walls, mirrored walls and cut-glass tumblers and you're left with an opulent and cosy bar which, once found, you won't want to leave.

London’s Coolest bars are usually found on a rooftop or underground – drinking on the ground floor is so last year. The Escapologist, a Covent Garden cocktail joint from the folks behind Adventure Bar, is one of the latter. But it’s hardly a diminutive basement bar, with a ‘grand hall’ behind a secret door and a ‘vault’ even further underground.  The venue gets its name from a Victorian scoundrel, Baron Von Took, whose supposed last wish before a date with the gallows was to have a drink in one of Covent Garden’s brew houses; as you can probably guess, he managed to escape. Whether or not the story rings true, the bar uses it as an excuse to style itself as a low-lit Victorian gentlemen’s club.  With a 20-strong cocktail menu divided into ‘premium’ and ‘party time’, the theme ends there. But it’s fun: The Flaming Zombie (£11.50) came in a white skull glass with a flaming sugar cube on top, naturally. It was pretty boozy from three types of rum, but balanced by fruity sweetness.  A selection of pizzas should soak up that triple rum nicely. But if sobering up isn’t on the agenda, head down between 5pm and 7pm for the daily happy hour. Unlike the baron, you won’t want to run after just one drink.

Hidden from the hustle and bustle of Dalston and Highbury Corner is this friendly Islington local. There's a welcoming vibe as soon as you step inside, plus an array of movie posters, alongside other film paraphernalia, lining the walls. A British menu is served up from their kitchen daily (including the weekly Sunday roast), while the bar is well-stocked with imported and local craft beers, real ales, ciders, wines and spirits. The Alma also hosts a weekly pub quiz and open jam folk night.

One of Hackney’s hidden gems, this eclectic boozer draws a crowd of loyal locals to an interior that mixes candlelit antiques and modern curiosities. Food during the week comes courtesy of Beast Feast, alongside tasty, traditional roasts on a Sunday. Beers look like they could be a draw, with Kona Big Wave Golden Ale, Berlin Pilsner and Brooklyn Lager just some of those on draught. Keep an eye out for quizzes on Tuesdays, plus DJs playing at the weekend. 

Please note, Farley Macallan is now closed. Time Out Editors, June 2018. ‘Farley Macallan’ may sound like a character from a Scottish seafaring legend, but it’s actually a Hackney bar-restaurant where a bright neon sign above the counter glows with the motto ‘#Reinventing the local’. A cosy one-room bar with an events space downstairs, it offers brunch during the day Wednesday to Sunday (including the bottomless sort on weekends), classy small plates and a decent wine list in the evenings from Wednesday to Saturday. The words ‘Hackney’s fashion hub’ take some getting used to, but according to Farley Macallan’s website, that’s where you’ll find this new breed of higher-end East End boozer: it sits on a shabby corner on the not-so-appealing main road between Hackney Central and Homerton, where there’s a concentrated line-up of shiny discount outlets run by Nike, Burberry, Pringle and other big brands. This place isn’t fashion-y at all, though. The décor is easy and functional, with simple tables, pine chairs and stools, it’s foodie in a friendly way – the staff are happy to talk through their core offering of wines, cheeses and cured meats – and it attracts a young neighbourhood crowd. But beware of just ‘popping in’ to Farley Macallan. The place shuts occasionally for private parties or themed and ticketed nights (they run music and comedy events downstairs). The first time I visited, they were about to have a Caribbean evening, lining up potent-looking punches behind the b

Though technically an upstairs adjunct to Jason Atherton’s celebrated Social Eating House (which itself garnered a five-star review in Time Out), The Blind Pig is a worthy destination in its own right. Perhaps as a nod to its Prohibition-flavoured nickname (‘blind pig’ being US underworld slang for a good old-fashioned den of iniquity), it’s not immediately obvious how to find it at street level; look under the vintage ‘Optician’ sign for the blindfolded hog doorknocker and boom, you’re in. The decor is authentically retro but never schmaltzy; lovely touches like the antique mirrored ceiling, copper-topped bar and charmingly mismatched (yet never discordant) wooden furniture made me feel (on date night) like a wide-lapelled Capone crony painting the town with his broad. If this all sounds a little contrived and too-clever-by-half, the cocktail menu brings welcome comic relief. Who could resist a Slap ’n’ Pickle (gin, brandy and pickle brine), Kindergarten Cup (incorporating ‘Skittles-washed Ketel One’), or Robin Hood, Quince of Thieves? (brandy, quince liqueur, mead). The puns are employed with abandon, but everything I tried was ace (even, yes, Dill or No Dill). Better yet, the bar snacks are made downstairs, so the grilled baby peppers, confit pork rillettes and duck fat chips are straight-up gangster.

The unstoppable uplift of the King’s Cross area brings a new bar/restaurant nearly every week, but the Booking Office remains the undisputed champion for cocktails. For one thing, it’s just a great place to sit, whether you’re in the lovely former booking hall, with its dark wood and soaring gothic arches, or outside overlooking the train tracks. There can be slightly longer waits outside, so don’t go there if you’re in a rush. Frequented by a lot of business people – and, naturally, by travellers – it’s not a place you go for a cool hangout vibe. But you make your own vibe at the comfortable, low-slung tables. The cocktail list starts at £9 for punches (a speciality) with most between £11 and £15. They play around with classic drinks adventurously but sensibly, and if nothing takes your fancy, ordering off-list is easy and rewarding. And take note (or be warned) – Office hours last until 3am from Thursday to Saturday.

Experimental Cocktail Club isn’t the kind of place you’d expect to find in Chinatown. In fact, it’s not the kind of place you can expect to find very easily at all: don’t be surprised if you walk past the bar’s unassuming battered door several times before realising it leads to this buzzing three-floor joint filled with trendy groups and dating couples absorbed in lively chatter. Many of them will have reserved – it's a good idea if you don't want to be left disappointed and standing on Gerrard Street. The drinks aren’t so experimental that they come in test tubes, but they’re consistently outstanding, making choosing what to order an almost impossible task. Throw in a gently lit backdrop of minimalist brick walls, mirrored walls and cut-glass tumblers and you're left with an opulent and cosy bar which, once found, you won't want to leave.

Since opening in 2002, this London outpost of the top-drawer Manhattan M&H has been one of central London’s best places for drinking proper cocktails in clubby but unstuffy surroundings. Officially it is a members’ bar, and so discreet that the only outward evidence of its existence is a tiny sign next to a buzzer on Poland Street. But non-members can go – by booking the ground floor or basement bar only – up to 11pm. A list of rules states that the house doesn’t like noise, it doesn’t like rowdy, it doesn’t like poseurs or pickups. The restrictions are worth it for unfailing excellence in cocktail-making and a very civilised evening.

The only problem we’ve encountered here is an excess of popularity: if you haven’t booked, don’t bank on getting a table whatever day of the week it is. Hoxton is not short of a bar or two, but this basement room packs in the punters with a lively vibe, incredible cocktails, and, in our experience, dazzlingly wonderful service. Staff go out of their way to make sure you’re happy. Some drinks have been on the list since the bar opened. They’re innovative but sensible, based on a tight grasp of cocktail fundamentals. Decor is minimal, table lighting is from candles, no standing is allowed. One of the best bars in east London – or in all of London, for that matter. 

I really wasn’t expecting to like Cahoots, the vintage tube-themed bar that’s a bigger hit with tourists than Madame Tussauds. From its ‘tally ho’ e-comms after making a reservation, to the awkward ‘train guard’ actor on the door and his sheer refusal to break Mockney character, it was more fear-inducing than rush hour on the Central Line, and that’s before we’d even reached the ‘platform’ (you know, the bar). Once inside though, we quickly relaxed into cocktail hour thanks to efficient staff, low lighting and retro (read kitsch) underground paraphernalia. It’s a little confused about what era it’s portraying (we figure it’s the Blitz), but you’re not really looking for historical accuracy – Cahoots sure isn’t taking itself seriously. It’s all aided by a list of drinks spread across a newspaper-sized menu – plenty of options to get in the mood but a bloody long read. Luckily they flag a few from the menu to best suit certain tastes, and staff give recommendations.  Perhaps unsurprisingly, a Judy Garland (£10) arrived in cup and saucer. It was a refreshing citrusy mix of gin, aperol, grapefruit and camomille tea. For more of an edge, the old fashioned (£11) was a jolly good show, its foundations made from the bar’s ‘grog’ mix on the clever ‘Cahooch’ section of the menu. Snacks are basic, failing to nail the retro thing (we can’t remember our ‘vintage’ relatives ever craving a crisp and salad cream sandwich) but are an extra bit of silliness presented in ration trays for qu

Please note, Frank's Café re-opens on Friday May 18, 2018, with a brand-new look for the summer. Time Out Editors. Londoners continue to make the annual pilgrimage to this Peckham multi-storey car park for a Campari at Frank’s. Open until late September, the summer pop–up plays host to hundreds who mob a bar that, after a few years of notably festival-like service, seems to have upped its game this year.  For 2015, artist Richard Wentworth has covered Frank’s tarmac floor with wiggly aluminium paint akin to a glittering snail trail. The bar’s striking red tarpaulin cover and those sunset views (showcasing a London panorama) are plastered across social media as soon as temperatures soar. The crowd remains largely the same (you’ll spy plenty of denim cut-offs), although all walks of life make the trip to tick Frank’s off their London bucket list. Even when the capital hit record temperatures we were able to gain early entry with minimal fuss. Much later than 7pm though and we’d have faced a one-in-one-out door policy. While the bar  seems speedier than before, there’s no easy way to get a meal or snacks on warm days as the small kitchen strains under the pressure. It's a shame, since the new menu of enticing kebabs, grilled fish and side dishes wouldn’t go amiss in a Shoreditch small plates restaurant.   Italian cocktails are at the height of trendy too, ideal when cooling off in the heat. Rather than knocking back a sloppily-made negroni (£6), stick with drinks that are ea