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.

Up on the sixteenth floor and affording 360-degree views of the capital from its centre, The Nest Rooftop Bar is a foliage-filled hangout. It’s perched on top of the Treehouse, a hotel new to the capital and with a focus on sustainability. There’s an outdoor terrace that wraps around the building and is filled with loungers. The bar back inside produces what they‘re calling ‘forest-to-glass’ cocktails. While the bar is open to all throughout the day (from noon), it closes to the public at 8pm, then operating for just hotel dwellers and their guests.

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.

A relic of a pub, the Palm Tree has no time at all for the modern trappings most east London hostelries. Don’t expect the crispest of pints or the most chivalrous service either. But people still traipse to this middle-of-nowhere Mile End venue for something money can’t buy – the Palm Tree provides a Cockney experience more intense than Danny Dyer pulling pints at the Queen Vic. Signed pictures of obsolete celebrities and forgotten jockeys line the walls above the oval-shaped bar, and spaces that aren’t plastered with memorabilia are covered in gold chintz accented by cabaret-esque red lighting. Regulars can be real characters, but it’s refreshing to visit somewhere with a distinct lack of hipsters. Its canalside position is appealing to summer strollers, but it’s the evening vibe that’s the real draw. There’s often a live band, and since there are no neighbours within shouting distance, late-night knees-ups often get lairy.

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’

Since 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 a fair bit though, you’re paying for the altitude.

Not that most tourists would know, but there seems to be a contradiction here. The Churchill, a celebration of the wartime leader (they even estimate the number of champagne bottles the man consumed), is in fact an Irish pub – didn’t Ireland remain neutral during World War II? Regardless, this is a fine establishment, part homely tavern (it’s a Fuller’s, and the beer is excellent) and part Thai restaurant. Character is provided by the lived-in feel and mass of junk – portraits of prime ministers and American presidents, the documented triumphs of the Clare GAA hurling team, shiny copper things. The verdant frontage, embellished by an image of Churchill giving the V, is a regular winner in its category of the London in Bloom competition. Tourists love it, yes, but the regulars here include locals, and not just the posh ones.