The most-loved bars and pubs in London

The local family history outlined on the exterior of this beautifully renovated public house dates from 1127, and it’s fair to say that any one of the landed Audley gentry down the centuries would have been proud of the appearance of this ornate Victorian establishment.  

Do you like music? You’ll love the Beatles. Enjoy movies? Check out a little gem known as ‘The Godfather’. Fan of the dramatic arts? Do yourself a favour, mate: Shakespeare. Thank me later. Am I about to compare Noble Rot to Shakespeare? No! Kind of. It’s more that if you’re a fan of really nice food and wine you should definitely go to Noble Rot. It is a no-brainer. Anything I write after this point is garnish. When, one lunchtime, I walked into the Bloomsbury restaurant and wine bar, a blissful calm set over me, similar to how the barefoot pilgrim Louis IV must have felt on arriving at the Cathedral of Our Lady of Chartres. Some divine harmony, running through the mellow decor, extending into the staff and finally through the menu and wine list. Everything is on point. Everything is nice. The bread is a Rush-esque power trio of carbohydrates: soda, focaccia, and sourdough selflessly working together to achieve a common goal. The slipsole - a kind of buttery, beautiful ellipse - may well be the restaurant’s special move. This fish is a soft and smokey wonder that refuses to not be eaten. Similarly charismatic were the comte beignets. Dusted in parmesan and served with pickled walnut ketchup (a more well-read and worldly Daddies Sauce), these bad boys made me flout my own ‘no more oily crispy things filled with hot goo’ rule. Crucially everything tasted of something. This shouldn’t be a remarkable quality in a restaurant, but how often have you paid through the nose for some

This well-proportioned Victorian boozer has been revamped by the team that produced Waterloo’s Anchor & Hope and Stockwell’s Canton Arms – both of them excellent gastropubs. The de rigueur open kitchen has a huge charcoal grill, and there’s a dining area at the back of the ground floor. This was a quiet spot compared to the front bar, where lots of enthusiastic imbibing was helping fuel the noise levels. The menu is in a similarly rustic and seasonal style to the Anchor and the Canton. A blackboard listed ‘half a chopped rabbit + chopped black cabbage for two’, while the printed menu included ‘pork fat and scotch bonnet on toast’, and ‘ox tongue, beetroot and horseradish’ – this is food for adventurous palates.   Kid had been slow-cooked until tender, and was served layered with (soggy) crispbread and a yogurt sauce tasting of mint and chilli. Despite all the searing and spit-roasting, the best dish was a simple leek and jerusalem artichoke gratin. The spiced rhubarb cake with crème fraîche was the happiest marriage, the sweet moments outweighing the sour. Drinks include daily-changing guest ales – Skinners Betty Stogs and Sambrook’s Junction among them. There’s also a decent wine list and well-stocked shelves of spirits, though the rowdy mob in the bar appeared to be sticking to lager-lager-lager on our visit.

The greatest thing about the scene here is that there is no scene. This basement bar, part of the Brasserie Zédel complex, is equally wonderful whether you’re treating it as a way-station en route to dinner, a nightcap-dispensary before heading home, or an evening’s entertainment all in itself (with terrific bar snacks). It’s also one of the loveliest bars in London, with an art deco look that’s changed little in decades of its existence (under various names). And just as lovely (and unchanging) is its approach to building a cocktail list: short, classic, no need to blind with science. The Martinez (vermouth, gin, maraschino, curaçao and orange bitters) is as good as we’ve had in London; and everything except champagne cocktails comes in at under £12. When people ask for a bar recommendation around Piccadilly Circus, we always raise the Américain flag.

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.

The roof of One New Change provides a really special spot to eat and drink. The stunning St Paul’s cathedral is directly opposite in all its baroque glory. It was designed in the seventeenth century by Sir Christopher Wren, and you can get a first-rate view of it from Madison’s comfy sofas or heated roof terrace. The food menu offers Manhattan-style dining, with a focus on the grill and the best steaks from around the world alongside seafood dishes and more, while the beverages include cocktails, bubbly, beers and wine.

If you've ever taken a boat up the Thames, you'll have probably noticed a scaffold and hangman's noose outside an appealingly aged tavern by the Wapping riverside. It’s a grim reminder of Execution Dock, a nearby gallows where many a pirate met his end (yes, really). And the tavern in question is the Prospect of Whitby, London’s oldest riverside pub and the best of three by the river in Wapping. Wood panelling, dark corners and uneven stone floors help to make it one of the city’s most atmospheric old drinking dens. Indeed, it seems hardly to have changed since the days of dock workers and deckhands. The neighbouring old warehouses might have been converted into luxury flats, but the pub still feels like the shadowy haunt of weatherbeaten sailors, smugglers and pirates, all just a few gulps of rum and a fist fight away from their next voyage.

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 and 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.

Step into The Standard’s bright red bubble lift – complete with creepy robotic voice welcoming you into the building – and you’ll know you’re not in for a normal night. The King's Cross hotel, which is notoriously reliable for celeb-spotting, private parties and being extremely booked up, is now home to a bar called Sweeties. It’s tasteful, boujee, and most importantly: vibey.  Sweeties’s theme is ‘new wave glamour meets glorious misbehaviour’ – and while we’re not entirely sure what that means, there’s certainly something to be said about the sheer naughtiness this place radiates. Another drink, even though you said you’d only stay for one? Go on. A cheeky smile at the guy across the room? Don’t mind if I do. This bar is basically a grown-up, more chic version of Geordie Shore’s Holly Hagan: fun, fit, and flirty.  The snappy drinks menu was created by Zoe Burgess, founder of drinks consultancy AtelierPip, and is pretty much spot-on. The Let’s Go – made with Campari, vermouth, orange, yuzu, mandarin and pink grapefruit – is deliciously bright, with floral-like flavours, while the Kiss Me, made with gin, sour cherry cordial, and lime, is a zingy citrus-tinged mouth storm. All of the classics are available too, of course, with cocktails generally costing from £12 to £16, which feels dangerously good value for ten floors up. Queue your Saturday morning hangover.  The next day, your head will almost definitely be pounding, but the experience will just have been so nice that you’

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.