The Best Places to Drink and Do in France

This is the hotel bar in a building that once belonged to a count and was designed to receive actual ambassadors, which explains the frescoes, the low lighting, and the velvet couches. Dress like you were expecting to be photographed. Each season the team builds drinks around a few chosen ingredients, mushroom Old Fashioned included, and cocktails run past €30, which on Place de la Concorde counts as restraint.

A second room hides behind an antique grandfather clock, which is either whimsical or the most Bordeaux thing imaginable, probably both. Symbiose is a cocktail bar on the Chartrons quay with its own garden supplying both ingredients and themes, and a rotating list currently running through Myths and Legends. The drinks lean boozy and the bartenders take technique seriously, with at least one Negroni finished sous-vide.

The terrace hangs over the Mediterranean close enough that you feel slightly implicated in it. This is the bar at the Maybourne Riviera, a minimalist perch where the sea does most of the decorating and the drinks follow suit, leaning into the coastal setting rather than competing with it. Floor-to-ceiling windows mean the inside table isn't much of a consolation prize. The kind of bar where the view sets the pace and nobody seems to mind.

A cocktail bar sitting on the banks of the Charente river, in the middle of Cognac country, that has committed fully to the local spirit, which is either very obvious or very smart. Over 200 bottles line the shelves, and the staff treat recommendations as a calling. The cocktail list runs from classics to odder pairings, with cognac at the center of all of it, as you'd expect given the address.

A chalk body wrap paired with a glass of Champagne is either peak indulgence or a science experiment, and Manoir Henri Giraud leans into both. This boutique hotel and oenotourism destination sits inside a UNESCO-listed wine region, offering private cellar tours, fine dining built around the house's multi-vintage cuvées, and a spa that literally rubs the local geology on you. A Discovery from The 50.

The name itself tells the story: passing ships once lowered their sails in salute to the admiral who owned this estate, and "bêcha vêla," lower sail in Gascon, stuck. A visit to this Saint-Julien château means guided tours through formal French gardens, centuries-old cellars, and a nautically themed winery that leans into the river mythology rather than pretending it isn't there. Classic Médoc, dressed up and proud of it.

A historic Châteauneuf-du-Pape estate that went biodynamic before most winemakers knew the word, Beaucastel has been farming with obsessive restraint for decades. Their flagship rouge draws on all 13 permitted grape varieties, each harvested by hand and vinified separately before blending. Visits are by appointment, so this is a pilgrimage for the seriously wine-curious rather than a casual drop-in.

Samuel Pepys wrote about the wine here in the 1660s, which is either a great sales pitch or proof that some things never change. Château Haut-Brion is one of only five Bordeaux estates to hold Premier Cru Classé status, and its vineyards sit inside the city limits of Pessac, an odd suburban setting for something this storied. The visit is for the wine, the cellars, and the quiet thrill of walking ground that shaped what red Bordeaux became.

A tree-lined drive delivers you to a Neo-Palladian manor before you've even reached the vines, which feels about right for one of Bordeaux's original First Growth estates. Pre-booked tours move from the 19th-century main house through Norman Foster's glass-fronted winery and tasting rooms, walking the full sweep of the property. Come for the history as much as the wine; the architecture alone makes a strong case for the detour.

Horses still plough the steep slopes above the Loire at Coulée de Serrant because tractors simply can't manage the grade. Nicolas Joly's estate is a pilgrimage stop for anyone curious about biodynamic viticulture, and a visit makes his conviction hard to argue with: that wine should be "true" to its terroir, not just pleasant. The cellar has been around forever, and the vines are tended with corresponding seriousness.

Sancerre's goat cheese and its wines were made for each other, and the Bourgeois family seems to have organized their entire estate around proving it. The winery sits at the foot of the Monts Damnés vineyard in the medieval village of Chavignol, and between the cellar visits, the twelve-room hotel, and a Michelin-starred restaurant on site, a weekend here has a way of becoming two.

A family estate in Bergheim where the tastings come with a gentle philosophical challenge: stop cataloguing flavours and start paying attention to texture. The approach is grounded in field blends, different grape varieties grown together on the same plot, many tended by organic and biodynamic methods. The wines are poured from some of the domaine's most prized vineyard sites, and the surrounding old-town streets make the detour easy to justify.

A brook runs through the estate and gives it its name, which tells you something about how long this Alsatian winery has been thinking things through. The vines at the heart of the property, a walled plot called Clos de Capuchins, go back centuries. The 28 hectares are farmed organically and biodynamically, with Grand Cru sites on the storied Schlossberg hill among them. Come to taste, to walk, and to recalibrate your sense of what Riesling can do.

The vineyards clinging to the Côte Rôtie are so steep they look structurally implausible, and they've been there since the Romans, which puts your own productivity in perspective. Tours of the E. Guigal estate take you through the ancient cellars of one of the Rhône Valley's most celebrated producers, housed inside a Renaissance château that was a medieval fortress first and is now a French National Monument.

The cellars beneath this family-run Burgundy négociant once belonged to the Dukes of Burgundy, which sets an appropriately intimidating tone before you've opened a bottle. Maison Joseph Drouhin produces wines across nearly 90 appellations, leaning on old-school respect for terroir without the lecture. Visitors can tour the cellars in central Beaune, and the estate hosts workshops and themed tastings for anyone who wants to go deeper than a quick sip.

The bartenders here wear crisp shirts and bow ties, which is where the formality ends, as everything below the waist is boxer shorts. Le Calbar is a cocktail bar in the 12th that has carved out a niche by refusing to be precious about itself, a posture Paris does not always come naturally to. The drinks, though, are careful and creative, built around a menu of country-themed cocktails that take the concept more seriously than the dress code.

Twelve generations of the same family have been growing grapes on these Alsace hillsides since the 1600s, which makes most wine dynasties look impatient. Maison Trimbach is a winery visit in Ribeauvillé, set among the Vosges slopes that turn every shade from yellow to deep red come autumn. The hiking and biking trails that wind through the vineyards give you an excuse to earn your tasting. Named a Discovery by The 50.

On a street better known for beer and mojitos, Café Moderne looks like an old Parisian café that briefly eloped with an American diner. The cocktail bar is a family operation, and the siblings who came up through New York bring something different from the Bastille norm. Order carefully and let them do their thing.

The ceiling ripples overhead like a frozen wooden wave, the bar curves like a boulder, and the whole room reads as a design project by someone who spent years as an artistic director before pivoting to cocktails and extreme sports. Near Canal Saint-Martin, Gravity Bar is a cocktail bar where the concept lands before you've even ordered, which is either reassuring or a challenge, depending on your mood.

Panther-print sofas, a working fireplace, and chandeliers stacked like they're competing with each other set the tone in this hotel cocktail bar inside one of Paris's grand old palace hotels. The room runs unabashedly old-school, and the bartenders lean into it with serious mixing rather than nostalgia. It costs what it costs, and nobody at the deep leather sofas seems troubled by that.

A grilled cheese counter in the 2nd arrondissement hides one of Paris's more quietly confident cocktail bars behind it. At Mabel, you sit before you order, full stop, which sounds like a minor house rule until you realize it shapes the whole evening. The long bar anchors the room, the stools are comfortable, and the bartenders work like they have somewhere to be, which is here.

Le Mary Celeste is a Marais wine-and-cocktail bar where the oysters arrive faster than anyone can decide on a bottle of natural wine, and the English you hear at the next table is not an accident. It comes from the group behind Candelaria, so the small plates, deviled eggs and tartare among them, are built for passing around. It has held a spot on the Spirited Awards Top 10 Nominee list for best international restaurant bar.

Abricot is a neighborhood cocktail bar on Rue Saint-Maur that greets you with a bartender's choice shot before you've decided whether you're staying. It leans Californian, with earthy colors and lots of daylight, which is an unexpected look for Paris. The martini is tiny, the menu is entirely vegan, and the hot dogs come with fried onions. A velvet-and-pillow alcove is where friends tend to lose an evening.

Aux Deux Amis is a loud, crowded wine bar on Oberkampf where the yellow formica tables carry the stains of every glass poured before yours. Come at night and you'll refill so often that you'll announce on your socials you're moving to Paris. Lunch is calmer and brings a cheap prix fixe, though the ashtrays outside overflow either way. Nobody fusses over you here, and the wine does the talking.

Tucked into a back corner of the Ritz near the Rue Cambon entrance, Bar Hemingway is a famously tiny cocktail bar, one room and a half, with photographs of its most celebrated regular covering the walls. The crowd runs international and polished, which gives the place the feel of a very expensive waiting room. The cocktails are priced accordingly, though nobody here seems to be doing the math.

Bar Joséphine is a cocktail bar tucked inside the Hotel Lutetia, with high ceilings, frescos, and the sort of Left Bank atmosphere Paris spends a lot of money on film sets to fake. Drinks arrive in beautiful glassware with garnishes that have clearly been thought about, and a pianist plays most Thursdays through Saturdays. Dress for it, since jeans and a T-shirt will look like a wrong turn.

Bluebird is a cocktail bar in the 11th that looks like the deck of a '60s cruise ship, with wood paneling, multicolored lights, and an aquarium in the back, minus the shuffleboard. The menu changes monthly and sorts drinks by savory, salty, bitter, and so on, which helps if you've forgotten what you like. There's one table and a lot of stools, so it suits a quick one after work or a nightcap after dinner.

The name translates to "corner café," and Paris has about ten thousand of those, but the chalkboard menu here changes daily and the kitchen takes it seriously. This all-day café in the bobo 11th turns out dishes like pizzettes and caillette alongside the usual rounds of coffee, at prices that don't require a moment's hesitation. The crowd is neighborhood-loyal in the way that makes you slightly envious of anyone who lives nearby.

A rough-hewn wooden façade drops into the sixth arrondissement like a Canadian trapper's hut that took a wrong turn at the Seine. Inside, this cocktail bar goes cozy and narrow, all dark wood and deep green velvet, with vintage American music doing the heavy lifting on weekdays. Come the weekend, a DJ takes over downstairs, and the mood shifts accordingly. Cocktail bars on the Left Bank are scarce enough that this one doesn't need to try very hard to stand out, yet it does anyway.

Foliage hangs from the ceiling, a window opens to the street so bartenders can serve passersby, and the bathroom glows neon: Combat is a cocktail bar in Belleville that borrows its relaxed bones from the classic Parisian bistro. The team, who cut their teeth at Experimental Cocktail Club, keeps the room light and the approach unaffected. A Discovery pick from The 50 and a Difford's Guide name.

Big front windows and light wood panelling set CopperBay apart from the usual Paris cocktail bar, which tends to treat darkness as a personality. This cocktail bar in the 10th keeps pastis and classics on the menu alongside original creations that earn some genuine attention. The 50 gave it a Discovery nod, which tracks for a place that reads as both grown-up and quietly confident without making a production of either.

Cravan is a cocktail bar on the boulevard Saint-Germain that's laid out like the townhouse of a friend with an interior designer on retainer. The ground floor plays Parisian brasserie, a green marble bar sits one level up, and the top floor has low velvet chairs where batched cocktails arrive in bottles with the bar's own label. Wander upward through the rooms and you'll find a second round has already been decided for you.

Dirty Dick is a tiki bar in Pigalle, where the daiquiri arrives shaken and balanced instead of out of a slush machine. The menu runs on rum, punches, and the occasional flame, and the bartenders do a fair amount of shouting, so conversation is more of a suggestion. Bring a group and a Hawaiian shirt you've been meaning to retire, and order the Flamingos on Acid bowl. It sits on The Infatuation's list of the best bars in Paris.

Fitzgerald is a restaurant by day, serving entrecote and risotto to the Tour Maubourg lunch crowd, and a speakeasy by night, reached through padded doors at the back and down into an Art Deco room of velvet chairs and leather booths. Expect classic cocktails, a weekend DJ, and servers with sparklers, for people who've retired from clubbing in theory only. The Infatuation put it on its list of Paris bars.

Kissproof is a Belleville cocktail bar that leans dive more than lounge, with a shelf of absinthe taking the place of the usual pretense. The menu runs from a proper sazerac to sparkling sake and cider, plus a few glasses of wine so France doesn't feel snubbed. A double-patty cheeseburger sits ready to cushion the damage, and the house cocktail with a pickled mushroom is named for exactly that damage.

This is the roomier branch of the Avant-Comptoir small-plates-and-wine bars, the one with actual chairs, which feels almost decadent after its standing-room siblings near Odeon. The tapas and pours come at snack prices, and the bartender runs the place with the patience of a man holding a train schedule, so decide what you want before you open your mouth. A bowl of whipped tarama with a slab of seeded bread suits a post-stroll lull in Saint-Germain.

The cocktail bar that launched what is now an empire of hotels, bars, and beach clubs across eleven cities started here, in a narrow room on Rue Saint-Sauveur. That origin story gives the place a certain founding-energy that never quite left. ECC Paris is glamorous without being stiff, and the drinks lean creative, riffing on unexpected pairings. Regulars treat it like a neighbourhood bar; first-timers tend to photograph everything.

Le 7 is a small cocktail bar tucked inside a hotel near the Tuileries, with four high stools at a marble bar and a velvet banquette that makes you feel like you've wandered into a wealthy stranger's living room. The dirty martini comes out clear as water, since they use olive distillate instead of brine. A small plate of nuts and chips arrives with every drink, and there's a short list of meats and cheeses.

Hip-hop on the speakers and a strict French-spirits-only policy behind the bar: Le Syndicat runs on a kind of proud, earnest nationalism that somehow never feels corny. The cocktail bar calls itself an organisation for the defense of French spirits, and the rotating menus take that brief seriously, finding unexpected angles on cognac, calvados, and Marc de Bourgogne. The industrial room on the Faubourg Saint-Denis fills with a crowd that dresses like it lives there.

A jazz kissa is a Japanese listening bar where the whole premise is sitting down, shutting up, and actually hearing the record. Mesures transplants that tradition to the Haut Marais, with a minimalist, vintage room that quietly discourages multitasking. Cocktails run three ways: year-round signatures mixing Japanese and French ingredients, rotating seasonal drinks built around Asian flavors, and a solid set of classics for anyone who just wants a Negroni.

Moonshiner is a whisky-leaning cocktail bar tucked behind the walk-in fridge of a pizzeria, so getting in means pushing a door that every instinct says leads to the mozzarella. Inside, there's 1920s jazz, Belle Epoque wallpaper, leather booths, and a cigar room, which feels very Prohibition for a country that never had one. Weekend evenings get standing-room-only, so arrive early or befriend a bartender.

No Entry is a cocktail bar in Pigalle, reached by walking through a refrigerator in the basement of Pink Mamma, which is the sort of entrance that makes you feel briefly like a spy and then like a person holding a drink. The room looks like a chemistry lab with a good lighting budget, demijohns of infusions lining the walls. There are no reservations, so you wander in, order the coffee-scented Boulevardier, and keep your shoes unstuck.