The most-loved bars and pubs in London

Please note: since this review was published, Rumpus Room has been renamed to 12th Knot and Mondrian London has been renamed to Sea Containers. Time Out editors, 2019. Hotel bars used to be the straight-laced kind of place you’d take your ’rents. Not so at Sea Containers, 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, Ru

‘What makes this one so much better than the others?’ I overheard a disgruntled punter huff upon reaching the fourteenth floor of Aldgate’s Dorsett City Hotel. She might have a point: these days, London’s skies are increasingly filled with rooftop bars tacked on to any available elevated surface. But it doesn’t make the first steps into Jin Bo Law any less impressive. In this L-shaped bar, you’re greeted by a floor-to-ceiling view of the City and beyond. The Gherkin seems within nibbling distance, The Shard spikes up to your left and Tower Bridge looks like it’s made of Lego. Inside, a giant golden pineapple that adorns the wall from back bar to ceiling gives an air of playful opulence. Though there’s a lot of gilt going on, it nestles up against a largely black and yellow colour scheme, with flourishes of oriental iconography. In short, it’s fancy but not intimidatingly so. We headed to the bar for an early evening cocktail, when all tables had reserved signs in place for later on. If you’re looking to drink here post-6pm, you should make like the others and book in advance – the drinks make the pre-planning worth every bit of effort. We opted for an East/West Cobbler, a long, refreshing mix of vodka and elderflower liqueur given a lip-smacking, sour yuzu kick. It’s these subtle Asian influences that elevate things. A light, summery but terribly named Spice to Mead You (gin, quince liqueur, five-spiced honey mead and Chinese cherry apple) was saved from a potentially Chri

Please note, Frank’s Cafe reopens on Thursday May 30 2019. 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 easy to mix in a hurry – a dark and stom

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.

Did Sir Christopher Wren adroitly combine the traditional gothic style of church-building with the grace and ambition of Renaissance design, or was his cathedral too decorative for a seat of English ecclesiastical power and a dangerous transgression towards the old faith? There’s no better place to consider the points of debate circling around St Paul’s than this new rooftop terrace bar in Jean Nouvel’s One New Change shopping complex. The name of the bar is meaningless – a vague attempt at Manhattan glamour. The looks are unimportant, as the whole mall is in thrall to its neighbour. Madison seems to exist largely as a viewing platform. But what a view it is. A glass lift takes gawpers from the ground floor, sweeping up parallel with St Pauls’ east elevation. Once in the bar or its generous outdoor space, an unrivalled close-up is offered of the drum, peristyle, upper balustrade, upper drum, dome and lantern of the cathedral – all the godliest bits – with the ball and cross silhouetted perfectly against the sky. You can of course drink in more than the views: cocktails range from standards (mojitos and whatnot) to concoctions with names ripe for being cackled at by hen parties (Pornstar Martini, Hot Bitch Martini). There’s a good range of spirits, and Heineken is offered by the ‘schooner’ (a two-thirds of a pint measure). There are snacks, some of which may cause puzzlement if piled on small plates in Spain, but called tapas here nonetheless: the likes of Welsh rarebit fr

Since first opening in 2013, Radio Rooftop Bar high above the Strand has secured its status as one of central London’s prime rooftop drinking destinations. But it’s also drawn its fair share of negative attention from customers stuck in queues or turned away at the door, by staff described in very unflattering terms across social media. Timing is key. On a Monday evening, we were up on the terrace faster than a raincloud could appear. Service once we found a seat wasn’t quite so pacey, but that only buys you more time to absorb those extraordinary 360-degree views of every star of the London skyline. The terrace is much like a slick Ibiza sun lounge – although you probably won’t find such plush blankets and patio heaters in the Balearic Islands. There’s a soundtrack to match, with background house beats a hit with the inevitable flashy Essex boys in town for a knees-up. (It’s worth noting that same-sex groups of more than five are barred.) It can be a strange mix of people here, spanning the aforementioned lad crew, older American tourists, fashionistas in floppy hats and work colleagues on awkward outings all rubbing shoulders. Expect the usual rooftop prices, but if you’re just stopping in for a one-off drink with a view, wine (fizzy and still) is served by the glass. For summer sipping, G&T comes in fifteen forms, with different brands of gin, flavoured tonics and fruit infusions in the mix. With each costing £14, you’re paying for the altitude.

Spoiler alert: there’s an ace rooftop bar in Peckham, and it’s not Frank’s Café. The Bussey Building might be best known for its club nights, but it’s got another string to its bow in the form of a trendy rooftop bar, which has just reopened for the summer. Perched atop the multi-purpose venue on Rye Lane, Bussey Rooftop Bar acts as an ideal precursor to an impending night out. Views of the London skyline come practically unobstructed, making this little watering hole a scenic drinking location both day and night. It’s very low key: chilled-out tunes, palm trees, fairy lights and pastel-coloured decking give the space a beach bar feel – the perfect urban getaway to soak up the sun’s rays (rays aren’t guaranteed, though; this is still England). The bar itself is small and service was sluggish, but tipples are worth the wait. The cocktail list oozes summer: the Meloncholy – with gin, honey, prosecco and elderflower – was light and zingy, while the Berry Garcia was a refreshing blend of white rum, berries and mint. Cocktails run to no more than a tenner, but if you’re feeling thrifty you can get a glass of wine from £5.50. There’s also a shack hosting a range of street food pop-ups on rotation – RockaDollar was serving its hot dogs and nachos with an impressive homemade jalapeño salsa when we visited. Frank’s might have written the book on rooftop drinking, but this bar offers the next chapter, and it’s filled with style, good music and cracking cocktails.

As rooftop views go, this one is iconic. The bar on top of the Trafalgar Hotel is in the direct eye line of Admiral Nelson. Cue smug selfie-takers providing entertainment up on floor seven. But the hashtaggers break up a predominantly blokey crowd loosening their collars. The bar has had a revamp: it’s now modernist-looking in marble and royal blue. Boxed-in spaces have retractable roofs, or you can brave the elements under heaters and blankets. Prices are still sky-high, but they’ve done away with the £5 cover charge, making a splurge more justifiable. Cocktails were competently made with a few named after London landmarks. The Skyline was a pink twist on a pisco sour that tasted like marshmallow, while a Soho Sunset was a simple gin mix with a champers top. With £16 the average price for a cocktail, I could see why wine and beer were more popular around the bar. Asian-influenced snacks were a letdown, including flabby bao buns with a vinegary filling. Generous flatbreads were more to my liking. Although the good weather didn’t last, the monotonous tech house showed no signs of ending, so (unlike at many other London rooftops) we were ready to get back down to earth. But for Nelson’s gaze alone, this rooftop deserves a visit. Selfie stick optional.

From the couple who brought us cult faves Nightjar and Oriole comes Swift, swooping into the former site of the celebrated, groundbreaking Lab Bar. Frankly, if they’d named it Tit I’d have still been excited, since here they’ve also teamed up with folks who’ve worked across Milk & Honey and Callooh Callay, to overwhelming success. Swift is split in two: a buzzy, casual-yet-sparkling bar on the ground level and a dark lounge below. Upstairs, the look is faintly Italian, mirrored in a menu of affordable aperitivos. This includes an unmissable sgroppino – a thick and frothy prosecco-based drink with lemony sorbet floating on top. For snacks, nearby drinkers ordered oysters, but I was happily ensconsed in a Guinness welsh rarebit, heavy with pungent cheese and onion. Pongy titbits notwithstanding, Swift makes a great date spot. If it’s going well, take it downstairs. The basement is lit for romantic trysts, the showy side of Oriole and Nightjar eschewed in favour of pared-back sophistication. Staff are attentive, guiding you through an original menu edging towards nightcaps. I tried a powerful Amber Cane, a reinvented manhattan using rum in place of whisky. So taking over the spot where London’s cocktail-making reputation was cemented doesn’t seem too bold. Doing it in such a stripped-back way was the ballsy move, but, boy has it paid off. Time for a Swift one.

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.

Please note: since this review was published, Rumpus Room has been renamed to 12th Knot and Mondrian London has been renamed to Sea Containers. Time Out editors, 2019. Hotel bars used to be the straight-laced kind of place you’d take your ’rents. Not so at Sea Containers, 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, Ru

‘What makes this one so much better than the others?’ I overheard a disgruntled punter huff upon reaching the fourteenth floor of Aldgate’s Dorsett City Hotel. She might have a point: these days, London’s skies are increasingly filled with rooftop bars tacked on to any available elevated surface. But it doesn’t make the first steps into Jin Bo Law any less impressive. In this L-shaped bar, you’re greeted by a floor-to-ceiling view of the City and beyond. The Gherkin seems within nibbling distance, The Shard spikes up to your left and Tower Bridge looks like it’s made of Lego. Inside, a giant golden pineapple that adorns the wall from back bar to ceiling gives an air of playful opulence. Though there’s a lot of gilt going on, it nestles up against a largely black and yellow colour scheme, with flourishes of oriental iconography. In short, it’s fancy but not intimidatingly so. We headed to the bar for an early evening cocktail, when all tables had reserved signs in place for later on. If you’re looking to drink here post-6pm, you should make like the others and book in advance – the drinks make the pre-planning worth every bit of effort. We opted for an East/West Cobbler, a long, refreshing mix of vodka and elderflower liqueur given a lip-smacking, sour yuzu kick. It’s these subtle Asian influences that elevate things. A light, summery but terribly named Spice to Mead You (gin, quince liqueur, five-spiced honey mead and Chinese cherry apple) was saved from a potentially Chri

Please note, Frank’s Cafe reopens on Thursday May 30 2019. 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 easy to mix in a hurry – a dark and stom

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.

Did Sir Christopher Wren adroitly combine the traditional gothic style of church-building with the grace and ambition of Renaissance design, or was his cathedral too decorative for a seat of English ecclesiastical power and a dangerous transgression towards the old faith? There’s no better place to consider the points of debate circling around St Paul’s than this new rooftop terrace bar in Jean Nouvel’s One New Change shopping complex. The name of the bar is meaningless – a vague attempt at Manhattan glamour. The looks are unimportant, as the whole mall is in thrall to its neighbour. Madison seems to exist largely as a viewing platform. But what a view it is. A glass lift takes gawpers from the ground floor, sweeping up parallel with St Pauls’ east elevation. Once in the bar or its generous outdoor space, an unrivalled close-up is offered of the drum, peristyle, upper balustrade, upper drum, dome and lantern of the cathedral – all the godliest bits – with the ball and cross silhouetted perfectly against the sky. You can of course drink in more than the views: cocktails range from standards (mojitos and whatnot) to concoctions with names ripe for being cackled at by hen parties (Pornstar Martini, Hot Bitch Martini). There’s a good range of spirits, and Heineken is offered by the ‘schooner’ (a two-thirds of a pint measure). There are snacks, some of which may cause puzzlement if piled on small plates in Spain, but called tapas here nonetheless: the likes of Welsh rarebit fr

Since first opening in 2013, Radio Rooftop Bar high above the Strand has secured its status as one of central London’s prime rooftop drinking destinations. But it’s also drawn its fair share of negative attention from customers stuck in queues or turned away at the door, by staff described in very unflattering terms across social media. Timing is key. On a Monday evening, we were up on the terrace faster than a raincloud could appear. Service once we found a seat wasn’t quite so pacey, but that only buys you more time to absorb those extraordinary 360-degree views of every star of the London skyline. The terrace is much like a slick Ibiza sun lounge – although you probably won’t find such plush blankets and patio heaters in the Balearic Islands. There’s a soundtrack to match, with background house beats a hit with the inevitable flashy Essex boys in town for a knees-up. (It’s worth noting that same-sex groups of more than five are barred.) It can be a strange mix of people here, spanning the aforementioned lad crew, older American tourists, fashionistas in floppy hats and work colleagues on awkward outings all rubbing shoulders. Expect the usual rooftop prices, but if you’re just stopping in for a one-off drink with a view, wine (fizzy and still) is served by the glass. For summer sipping, G&T comes in fifteen forms, with different brands of gin, flavoured tonics and fruit infusions in the mix. With each costing £14, you’re paying for the altitude.

Spoiler alert: there’s an ace rooftop bar in Peckham, and it’s not Frank’s Café. The Bussey Building might be best known for its club nights, but it’s got another string to its bow in the form of a trendy rooftop bar, which has just reopened for the summer. Perched atop the multi-purpose venue on Rye Lane, Bussey Rooftop Bar acts as an ideal precursor to an impending night out. Views of the London skyline come practically unobstructed, making this little watering hole a scenic drinking location both day and night. It’s very low key: chilled-out tunes, palm trees, fairy lights and pastel-coloured decking give the space a beach bar feel – the perfect urban getaway to soak up the sun’s rays (rays aren’t guaranteed, though; this is still England). The bar itself is small and service was sluggish, but tipples are worth the wait. The cocktail list oozes summer: the Meloncholy – with gin, honey, prosecco and elderflower – was light and zingy, while the Berry Garcia was a refreshing blend of white rum, berries and mint. Cocktails run to no more than a tenner, but if you’re feeling thrifty you can get a glass of wine from £5.50. There’s also a shack hosting a range of street food pop-ups on rotation – RockaDollar was serving its hot dogs and nachos with an impressive homemade jalapeño salsa when we visited. Frank’s might have written the book on rooftop drinking, but this bar offers the next chapter, and it’s filled with style, good music and cracking cocktails.

As rooftop views go, this one is iconic. The bar on top of the Trafalgar Hotel is in the direct eye line of Admiral Nelson. Cue smug selfie-takers providing entertainment up on floor seven. But the hashtaggers break up a predominantly blokey crowd loosening their collars. The bar has had a revamp: it’s now modernist-looking in marble and royal blue. Boxed-in spaces have retractable roofs, or you can brave the elements under heaters and blankets. Prices are still sky-high, but they’ve done away with the £5 cover charge, making a splurge more justifiable. Cocktails were competently made with a few named after London landmarks. The Skyline was a pink twist on a pisco sour that tasted like marshmallow, while a Soho Sunset was a simple gin mix with a champers top. With £16 the average price for a cocktail, I could see why wine and beer were more popular around the bar. Asian-influenced snacks were a letdown, including flabby bao buns with a vinegary filling. Generous flatbreads were more to my liking. Although the good weather didn’t last, the monotonous tech house showed no signs of ending, so (unlike at many other London rooftops) we were ready to get back down to earth. But for Nelson’s gaze alone, this rooftop deserves a visit. Selfie stick optional.

From the couple who brought us cult faves Nightjar and Oriole comes Swift, swooping into the former site of the celebrated, groundbreaking Lab Bar. Frankly, if they’d named it Tit I’d have still been excited, since here they’ve also teamed up with folks who’ve worked across Milk & Honey and Callooh Callay, to overwhelming success. Swift is split in two: a buzzy, casual-yet-sparkling bar on the ground level and a dark lounge below. Upstairs, the look is faintly Italian, mirrored in a menu of affordable aperitivos. This includes an unmissable sgroppino – a thick and frothy prosecco-based drink with lemony sorbet floating on top. For snacks, nearby drinkers ordered oysters, but I was happily ensconsed in a Guinness welsh rarebit, heavy with pungent cheese and onion. Pongy titbits notwithstanding, Swift makes a great date spot. If it’s going well, take it downstairs. The basement is lit for romantic trysts, the showy side of Oriole and Nightjar eschewed in favour of pared-back sophistication. Staff are attentive, guiding you through an original menu edging towards nightcaps. I tried a powerful Amber Cane, a reinvented manhattan using rum in place of whisky. So taking over the spot where London’s cocktail-making reputation was cemented doesn’t seem too bold. Doing it in such a stripped-back way was the ballsy move, but, boy has it paid off. Time for a Swift one.

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.

Please note: since this review was published, Rumpus Room has been renamed to 12th Knot and Mondrian London has been renamed to Sea Containers. Time Out editors, 2019. Hotel bars used to be the straight-laced kind of place you’d take your ’rents. Not so at Sea Containers, 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, Ru

‘What makes this one so much better than the others?’ I overheard a disgruntled punter huff upon reaching the fourteenth floor of Aldgate’s Dorsett City Hotel. She might have a point: these days, London’s skies are increasingly filled with rooftop bars tacked on to any available elevated surface. But it doesn’t make the first steps into Jin Bo Law any less impressive. In this L-shaped bar, you’re greeted by a floor-to-ceiling view of the City and beyond. The Gherkin seems within nibbling distance, The Shard spikes up to your left and Tower Bridge looks like it’s made of Lego. Inside, a giant golden pineapple that adorns the wall from back bar to ceiling gives an air of playful opulence. Though there’s a lot of gilt going on, it nestles up against a largely black and yellow colour scheme, with flourishes of oriental iconography. In short, it’s fancy but not intimidatingly so. We headed to the bar for an early evening cocktail, when all tables had reserved signs in place for later on. If you’re looking to drink here post-6pm, you should make like the others and book in advance – the drinks make the pre-planning worth every bit of effort. We opted for an East/West Cobbler, a long, refreshing mix of vodka and elderflower liqueur given a lip-smacking, sour yuzu kick. It’s these subtle Asian influences that elevate things. A light, summery but terribly named Spice to Mead You (gin, quince liqueur, five-spiced honey mead and Chinese cherry apple) was saved from a potentially Chri

Please note, Frank’s Cafe reopens on Thursday May 30 2019. 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 easy to mix in a hurry – a dark and stom

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.

Did Sir Christopher Wren adroitly combine the traditional gothic style of church-building with the grace and ambition of Renaissance design, or was his cathedral too decorative for a seat of English ecclesiastical power and a dangerous transgression towards the old faith? There’s no better place to consider the points of debate circling around St Paul’s than this new rooftop terrace bar in Jean Nouvel’s One New Change shopping complex. The name of the bar is meaningless – a vague attempt at Manhattan glamour. The looks are unimportant, as the whole mall is in thrall to its neighbour. Madison seems to exist largely as a viewing platform. But what a view it is. A glass lift takes gawpers from the ground floor, sweeping up parallel with St Pauls’ east elevation. Once in the bar or its generous outdoor space, an unrivalled close-up is offered of the drum, peristyle, upper balustrade, upper drum, dome and lantern of the cathedral – all the godliest bits – with the ball and cross silhouetted perfectly against the sky. You can of course drink in more than the views: cocktails range from standards (mojitos and whatnot) to concoctions with names ripe for being cackled at by hen parties (Pornstar Martini, Hot Bitch Martini). There’s a good range of spirits, and Heineken is offered by the ‘schooner’ (a two-thirds of a pint measure). There are snacks, some of which may cause puzzlement if piled on small plates in Spain, but called tapas here nonetheless: the likes of Welsh rarebit fr

Since first opening in 2013, Radio Rooftop Bar high above the Strand has secured its status as one of central London’s prime rooftop drinking destinations. But it’s also drawn its fair share of negative attention from customers stuck in queues or turned away at the door, by staff described in very unflattering terms across social media. Timing is key. On a Monday evening, we were up on the terrace faster than a raincloud could appear. Service once we found a seat wasn’t quite so pacey, but that only buys you more time to absorb those extraordinary 360-degree views of every star of the London skyline. The terrace is much like a slick Ibiza sun lounge – although you probably won’t find such plush blankets and patio heaters in the Balearic Islands. There’s a soundtrack to match, with background house beats a hit with the inevitable flashy Essex boys in town for a knees-up. (It’s worth noting that same-sex groups of more than five are barred.) It can be a strange mix of people here, spanning the aforementioned lad crew, older American tourists, fashionistas in floppy hats and work colleagues on awkward outings all rubbing shoulders. Expect the usual rooftop prices, but if you’re just stopping in for a one-off drink with a view, wine (fizzy and still) is served by the glass. For summer sipping, G&T comes in fifteen forms, with different brands of gin, flavoured tonics and fruit infusions in the mix. With each costing £14, you’re paying for the altitude.

Spoiler alert: there’s an ace rooftop bar in Peckham, and it’s not Frank’s Café. The Bussey Building might be best known for its club nights, but it’s got another string to its bow in the form of a trendy rooftop bar, which has just reopened for the summer. Perched atop the multi-purpose venue on Rye Lane, Bussey Rooftop Bar acts as an ideal precursor to an impending night out. Views of the London skyline come practically unobstructed, making this little watering hole a scenic drinking location both day and night. It’s very low key: chilled-out tunes, palm trees, fairy lights and pastel-coloured decking give the space a beach bar feel – the perfect urban getaway to soak up the sun’s rays (rays aren’t guaranteed, though; this is still England). The bar itself is small and service was sluggish, but tipples are worth the wait. The cocktail list oozes summer: the Meloncholy – with gin, honey, prosecco and elderflower – was light and zingy, while the Berry Garcia was a refreshing blend of white rum, berries and mint. Cocktails run to no more than a tenner, but if you’re feeling thrifty you can get a glass of wine from £5.50. There’s also a shack hosting a range of street food pop-ups on rotation – RockaDollar was serving its hot dogs and nachos with an impressive homemade jalapeño salsa when we visited. Frank’s might have written the book on rooftop drinking, but this bar offers the next chapter, and it’s filled with style, good music and cracking cocktails.

As rooftop views go, this one is iconic. The bar on top of the Trafalgar Hotel is in the direct eye line of Admiral Nelson. Cue smug selfie-takers providing entertainment up on floor seven. But the hashtaggers break up a predominantly blokey crowd loosening their collars. The bar has had a revamp: it’s now modernist-looking in marble and royal blue. Boxed-in spaces have retractable roofs, or you can brave the elements under heaters and blankets. Prices are still sky-high, but they’ve done away with the £5 cover charge, making a splurge more justifiable. Cocktails were competently made with a few named after London landmarks. The Skyline was a pink twist on a pisco sour that tasted like marshmallow, while a Soho Sunset was a simple gin mix with a champers top. With £16 the average price for a cocktail, I could see why wine and beer were more popular around the bar. Asian-influenced snacks were a letdown, including flabby bao buns with a vinegary filling. Generous flatbreads were more to my liking. Although the good weather didn’t last, the monotonous tech house showed no signs of ending, so (unlike at many other London rooftops) we were ready to get back down to earth. But for Nelson’s gaze alone, this rooftop deserves a visit. Selfie stick optional.

From the couple who brought us cult faves Nightjar and Oriole comes Swift, swooping into the former site of the celebrated, groundbreaking Lab Bar. Frankly, if they’d named it Tit I’d have still been excited, since here they’ve also teamed up with folks who’ve worked across Milk & Honey and Callooh Callay, to overwhelming success. Swift is split in two: a buzzy, casual-yet-sparkling bar on the ground level and a dark lounge below. Upstairs, the look is faintly Italian, mirrored in a menu of affordable aperitivos. This includes an unmissable sgroppino – a thick and frothy prosecco-based drink with lemony sorbet floating on top. For snacks, nearby drinkers ordered oysters, but I was happily ensconsed in a Guinness welsh rarebit, heavy with pungent cheese and onion. Pongy titbits notwithstanding, Swift makes a great date spot. If it’s going well, take it downstairs. The basement is lit for romantic trysts, the showy side of Oriole and Nightjar eschewed in favour of pared-back sophistication. Staff are attentive, guiding you through an original menu edging towards nightcaps. I tried a powerful Amber Cane, a reinvented manhattan using rum in place of whisky. So taking over the spot where London’s cocktail-making reputation was cemented doesn’t seem too bold. Doing it in such a stripped-back way was the ballsy move, but, boy has it paid off. Time for a Swift one.

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.