The Best Places to Drink and Stay in the United Kingdom

The worn linoleum and unchanged fittings place this old pub firmly in the era before anyone thought pubs needed a rebrand. Sitting at the heart of Columbia Road, it gets absolutely heaved on Sunday mornings when the flower market fills the street outside, but weekday evenings are quieter and the beer flows steadily. Apparently the interior is convincing enough to double as wartime London on screen, which tells you something about how little has changed.

A rum bar on All Saints Road with over a hundred bottles of the stuff downstairs, which is either a paradise or a problem depending on your Thursday. The beach-shack aesthetic runs to unpolished wood, mismatched colourful chairs, and walls clad in painted planks, so nobody's pretending this is a cocktail lounge in a suit. Caribbean food is upstairs if hunger strikes, but the basement is the reason to come.

The bar itself is carved from a solid slab of cork, its surface made from port-soaked chestnut reclaimed from old Sandeman vats, which sets the tone nicely. This cocktail bar sits in medieval vaults beneath the City, where the Sandeman family once rolled barrels up from the Thames through a tunnel that's now bricked over. Big punchy cocktails and a serious wine list, for when the square mile needs a drink, which is always.

A blood-red leather chesterfield and a pair of wingback chairs anchor the centre of this Victorian gastropub, tucked down a back street between Archway and Tufnell Park. Exposed brick, antique mirrors, an open fireplace, and a cosy yard out back make it feel more like a found object than a designed one. The kind of pub that rewards the ten-minute walk from the tube.

A Belgravia pub that swapped its exterior walls for floor-to-ceiling glass, so the neighborhood gets a good look at you nursing a pint among antlers and stuffed game birds. Inside, taupe-green panelling and distressed oak floors nail the modern gastropub brief so thoroughly it almost feels like the genre invented itself here. The kitchen leans British and serious, which means the crowd in the leather seats tends to as well.

Factory tiles, gunmetal grey walls, and mismatched furniture mark this Kennington gastropub as a thoroughly gastrofied old boozer, and it wears the look without apology. The open kitchen and chalkboard menus do their duty, the local young professionals fill it on the way home most evenings, and the whole thing hums along exactly as a neighborhood pub should without making a fuss about it.

Deep Lincoln green walls and booth seating set the mood at this dimly lit cocktail bar tucked into Edinburgh's New Town, a solid walk from the George Street crowd. The whole thing is built around a fictional Victorian rogue whose globe-trotting misadventures, including a hasty exit from London after the Cleveland Street Scandal, inspired the drinks menu. A good excuse to order something with a story attached, even if the story was made up last Tuesday.

Canoes hang from the ceiling and buoys sway above the bar, which should tell you everything about what kind of tiki cocktail bar this is. Been around forever in the basement of the London Hilton, Trader Vic's leans fully into the bamboo-and-carved-heads fantasy without a flicker of irony. The menu is vast, rum and pineapple run through most of it, and nothing strays off-brand. Order something with an umbrella in it and commit.

A Damien Hirst cow and cockerel, suspended in formaldehyde, preside over the cathedral-scale bar inside a converted Victorian power station in Shoreditch. The drinks program is the work of a serious collaborator, so cocktails get as much thought as the famously binary food menu next door. The room does the heavy lifting, and it lifts heavy: high ceilings, industrial bones, and faces pressed to the glass outside.

A champagne bar perched nearly 600 feet up in Tower 42, in the heart of the City, where the point is unmistakably the view. You reserve by phone, clear a security line that takes its cues from airport protocol, and take an ear-popping lift to the 42nd floor. London spreads out in every direction, which is fortunate, because the drinks list gives you time to look at it.

The name is short for the Dutch East India Company, which tells you most of what you need to know about this cocktail bar tucked into a courtyard behind King's Cross. The drinks list leans into punches, barrel-aged cocktails, and other recipes that feel lifted from a ship's manifest, all developed with the consultancy behind Purl. It rewards the walk through the yard to find it.

The bar's centrepiece is a slab of Italian granite so large it forms an entire corner, one of over a hundred tonnes quarried specifically for this room. It's a cocktail bar inside an izakaya-style Japanese restaurant, which means the people-watching is aggressively good: Knightsbridge's most decorative regulars tend to congregate here, looking like they've dressed for a different kind of premiere. The drinks menu holds its own against the kitchen's reputation.

Concrete floors, exposed pipes, and a crowd that collectively owns more frames without lenses than an optician's skip. Rita's is a bar and diner in Dalston where the vibe is studied-casual and the southern fried chicken arrives, charmingly, in a brown paper bag. The room is intentionally unfinished but lands warmer than it has any right to. Order a drink, find a table, and try not to feel self-conscious about your prescription glasses.

The cocktail menu runs long enough to need a table of contents, which sets the tone for what Adventure Bar is: a full-throttle party bar in Covent Garden where the vibe matters more than the drinks. Everything skews sweet, the bartenders bring the kind of energy usually reserved for chain restaurants, and nobody in the room seems to mind. If sugar isn't your thing, ask nicely and they'll improvise.

Antlers and tartan meet a corporate-hotel aesthetic upstairs, but the real draw at this Scottish-themed bar is the basement. Renamed Doon, as in doon the stairs, the lower level is moody and low-ceilinged, with five booths tunnelled into the back wall that seat around six and feel genuinely tucked away. The contrast between the polished double-height main room and the catacomb below is about as Scottish as the concept gets.

A twenty-foot copper-topped bar sits at the back of nine bowling lanes inside the Old Truman Brewery, which tells you more about this place than any sign out front does. It's a cocktail bar you can walk into without booking a lane, pouring classic American drinks, a long list of beers, and what the management modestly calls the largest bourbon collection in the UK. Large booths make it a natural group outing, bowlers and non-bowlers sharing the same cheerful noise.

Cocktails served from a raised bar platform overlooking the bowling lanes, with the restaurant on one side and a fluorescent-lit diner area on the other. All Star Lanes is a bowling-alley bar chain that usually picks more characterful spots, so the Westfield Stratford address is a slight detour from the brand's natural habitat. Come for a drink, bowl a few frames, and don't overthink the decor.

Tucked beneath Whiteley's shopping centre, this retro bowling bar leans hard into the American theme, right down to what is reportedly London's largest bourbon selection. Diner food runs all evening, burgers and steaks and serious desserts, but the real draw is the lanes themselves, where celebratory knee slides are not uncommon. Karaoke nights have since joined the rotation for anyone whose competitive spirit lives in their vocal cords.

Red leather booths, dark wood laminates, and round-cornered mirrors give this Islington cocktail bar the feel of a New York lounge that got off at the wrong Tube stop. Spread across two compact floors on a scrappy market street, it runs on cocktails and music in roughly equal measure. The name is Gaelic for "life and soul," which sets expectations clearly. A bouncer at the door means some nights you're in, and some nights you're politely not.

Cockney rhyming slang gives this Brick Lane-area bar its name, which means "stairs" for anyone not raised within earshot of Bow Bells. Inside, green pendant lights hang against exposed London brick, the armchairs are comfortably battered, and the terrace out back is about as no-frills as it gets. A second bar downstairs opens when the weekend crowd warrants it. The whole place wears its East End scruffiness without apology.

A tequila and mezcal bar tucked into the King's Road with over 70 varieties on the shelf, Azteca sits in deliberate contrast to the boutiques outside. Day of the Dead decor, a Mexican staff, and a lineup of DJs keep the mood far from Chelsea-polished. Live bands squeeze in occasionally. It's the kind of bar where you order another round because the conversation is good, not because you've run out of options.

Wood-panelled walls and a recording-studio vibe make this cocktail bar feel like the grown-up secret Hard Rock Cafe didn't tell anyone about. Tucked around the corner from the Mayfair flagship, it trades the memorabilia frenzy for something quieter: properly mixed drinks in a room that reads more gentleman's library than rock temple. Surprisingly few people know it exists, which is probably why the atmosphere stays so easy.

The cocktail menu is daubed in red paint on the wall, which sets a certain tone. Bar 55 is a small, unhurried cocktail bar on Stoke Newington Road that doubles as a cafe by day, with colourful chandeliers, bare wooden boards, and enough Victorian parlour atmosphere to feel deliberate rather than accidental. Look for the London road signs on the frontage; the name itself won't give you much. A basement handles private events when the mood calls for it.

Dark wood walls, dim lighting, and soft leather chairs sit below street level near Piccadilly Circus, giving this classic cocktail bar the feel of somewhere that has always existed, deep underground, waiting for you specifically. The room strikes a balance between sophisticated and slightly conspiratorial, the kind of place where you order a second drink before finishing your first and nobody thinks less of you for it.

A nondescript door beside El Mexicano leads up an unpromising staircase to this small first-floor bar in the North Lanes. The bare floors and magnolia walls are easy enough to forgive, but the vinyl banquettes and oddly shaped mirrors are working hard against the room. What saves it is a large bowed window with a view straight over Royal Pavilion Park, which is doing a lot of heavy lifting for the decor budget.

A uniformed attendant operates the lift down to the basement, which sets the tone before you've ordered a drink. This Shoreditch cocktail bar leans harder into the kitsch than its Notting Hill predecessor ever did, with international DJs, live cabaret, and a rooftop that opens London up beneath you. The Pornstar Martini, done with vanilla and passion fruit, is the crowd's clear favorite, and nobody here seems embarrassed about that.

Byzantine tilework, Baroque flourishes, and what appears to be a Gaudí fever dream somehow cohabiting in a Georgian townhouse on Ledbury Road. BBB, as the Notting Hill regulars call it, is a bar and restaurant with one of the more committed interiors in the neighborhood, where the back rooms veer into something almost monastic. The cocktail program has had its critics, so the Mediterranean food may be the safer bet.

Stacked slate, bare stone, and wood salvaged from the Highlands line the walls of this resolutely old-school beer and whisky bar on the Finnieston strip. No cocktails, no fuss: it's what Glasgow calls a half 'n' half pub, which means you order a pint and a dram and mind your own business. The Highland interior is genuinely surprising behind an exterior that looks like it has never once considered reinventing itself.

A lounge bar steps from the old meat market, spread across several floors of a Georgian townhouse, with a bijou roof terrace that earns its adjective. Ground level feels like someone's well-read living room, shelves of coffee table books and cushioned benches around small tables, a compact bar tucked at the back. The upper floors shift the register toward cocktails and candlelight, which gives you options depending on how the evening is going.

A baby grand piano sits mid-room in this long, narrow cocktail bar on West George Street, which tells you most of what you need to know about the mood. Leather banquettes line the walls, the lighting is kept low, and on weekends a live jazz band fills the place with an older crowd who seem in no hurry to leave. The cocktail list runs long, though it has drifted toward the sweeter end of things lately.

The bar sits on the first floor of a former Art Deco car garage on the King's Road, reached by lift and centered on a polished steel island bar in a room that feels cathedral-large. It's a cocktail bar inside Terence Conran's old "gastrodome" project, which means the bones are ambitious and the crowd dresses accordingly. The whole thing carries the confident, slightly frozen energy of something that was very much the future once.

Luchador posters and Mayan-drilled polystyrene ceiling tiles set the tone at this Mexican bar and taqueria tucked off Soho's Old Compton Street. The taqueria side enters from Moor Street and buzzes around an island bar, while the restaurant entrance is a block away. Eight tequila brands, no mixtos, across 22 pours, with Tapatio in the speed rail and a top-shelf option that'll run you past twenty-five quid.

Tucked down Swedeland Court, a passageway beside Dirty Dick's, this whisky and cocktail bar carries a Scottish theme that stops well short of tartan overkill. It's the City outpost of the Belgravia original, which means suits from Liverpool Street fill the room early and stay late. The kind of place where the whisky list does most of the talking and you find yourself ordering a second dram before you've finished deciding on a first.

Rough-hewn planks on the walls and upturned casks for seating set the tone at this pared-down wine bar in Jericho, sitting opposite the rather more famous Raoul's. The list is short and deliberate, with everything available by the glass and tasting notes that actually say something useful. Nothing here is trying to impress you, which, in Oxford, is quietly impressive. Local art fills the gaps on the walls that the wood doesn't.

A metal fire-escape staircase is your only clue that a bar exists below Rathbone Place at all. Once you're down, the basement reveals itself as a cocktail bar styled like a parlour your grandmother would have thrown a very good party in: floral wallpaper, parquet floors, white-clothed tables. The whole thing sits ten tables deep, which keeps it intimate enough that nobody is performing for strangers.

Three railway arches behind Borough Market, and each one earns its keep: the first holds a bar counter lined with gleaming pumps, the middle an open kitchen and glass-fronted beer cellar, the last a view of the actual brewing vessels. It's a beer hall and microbrewery with a walled yard out front, simple wooden tables throughout, and bare brick rising to arched ceilings. The kind of place where the pint comes from the building you're sitting in.

A zinc-topped bar on the ground floor and an absinthe lounge downstairs, which tells you roughly what kind of evening you're in for. This Brompton Road bar sits between Knightsbridge's shops and South Kensington's museums, drawing the kind of clientele who know both well. White tablecloths and hovering staff give it a bistro formality, and the French-led wine list is the main event, though cocktails are available for the uncommitted.

Polished dark wood, potted palms, and magnolia walls give this colonial-themed cocktail bar a warm, unhurried feel. Browns Bar sits a couple of doors down from the original Browns restaurant on Duke Street, part of a long-running UK chain with Brighton roots. It's the kind of place where nobody is trying to impress anyone, which is either a relief or a disappointment depending on your Thursday.

A giant gilded Buddha presides over two atmospheric floors in Knightsbridge, setting the tone for this international chain's London comeback. The bar leans hard into moody Asian-inflected décor, low light, and the brand's signature chill-out soundtrack, which you've possibly heard in an airport lounge. The crowd arrives dressed for the neighborhood, which is to say dressed.

The top two floors of this sprawling Notting Hill townhouse are given over to a pair of whiskey rooms, each fitted with poker tables, a sound system, and seating for around fifteen. It's the kind of setup that makes you feel like you've stumbled into someone's very well-stocked country house, which is more or less the point. The floors below do all-day British dining; up here, it's about the pour.

The dedicated bar tucked inside this Square Mile outpost of the lobster-and-burger chain seats about a dozen people, which means competition is real but not Soho-level brutal. Cocktails are taken seriously enough that the room earns its keep as a bar, not just a waiting area with drinks. Weeknights are your best shot at sliding in without a queue. The crowd runs to City workers who've decided Thursday counts as Friday.

The cocktail bar attached to the Mayfair lobster-and-burger institution, with a list put together by the Soulshakers consultancy, who know their way around a shaker. The room insists you're here to eat, so arriving with plausible hunger and a quiet intention to just drink is the practical approach. The drinks themselves are the draw, familiar classics done with care, and the bar stools fill up fast with people who've made the same calculation.

The oval wooden bar at the center of the room is what orients you first, then the checkerboard tiles, the palms, the terracotta pots, and the tea lights doing their gentle work. This Cowley Road bar runs coffee by day and cocktails by night, with around fifteen classics plus house originals on the menu. The crowd skews local and unhurried, the kind who know the difference between an aperitif and a digestif and order both.

The twelve-metre bar has apparently served over three million Margaritas, which is either a boast or a warning. This Mexican bar in Covent Garden has been around forever, the worn decor doing more for atmosphere than any recent renovation could. The tequila selection is vast, the Mexican beer list rivals anywhere in the city, and the Daiquiris get a quiet mention that probably deserves to be louder.

The 1970s kitsch is not ironic here; it's just how the place looks, and has for decades. Cafe Tabac on Bold Street starts the day as a cafe and quietly becomes a bar by night, serving beer, wine, and a short list of cocktails to a crowd that isn't there to be impressed. No long menus, no elaborate pours, no one performing behind the bar. DJ nights and film nights fill the calendar when the mood calls for it.

Tucked under London Bridge's railway arches behind a door dressed up as old shipping crates from the Orient, Cecil's is a candlelit basement speakeasy that takes its own mythology seriously. The unmarked entrance is genuinely tricky before six, when a doorman materialises to make life easier. Inside, a cavernous room fills with mismatched tables, a bar wedged into the corner, and a raised platform that suggests something is always about to happen.

Named for Charles Bukowski's alter ego, this gastro bar in Glasgow's West End wears its literary obsession quietly, framed book jackets on the walls doing the explaining. The room is unexpectedly grand, with soaring ceilings, olive-grey walls trimmed in plasterwork cornices, and an exposed stone rear wall behind a mirrored bar that has no business looking this good in a place named after a fictional drunk.

Lipstick-red banquettes and bar stools pack the tiny ground floor so tightly it feels like the inside of a sweet jar, and the basement bar, with its low ceiling, is the better room by most measures. This is a Mexican bar in Notting Hill with a history that includes Christine Keeler and the Profumo Affair, which is quite a footnote. Tacos and tostadas arrive on plastic trays, the way they should.

Two fat cherubs clutching the keys of heaven flank the entrance to this traditional pub on Endell Street, marble columns, decorated arches, and hanging baskets completing an exterior that takes itself pleasantly seriously. Inside, enough brass instruments hang from the ceiling to outfit a full orchestra section, which sets the tone: eccentric, old-school, and entirely unbothered by trends. A proper pub in the middle of Covent Garden tourist country.

The stamp you get at the door has been described as lewd, and that tells you almost everything you need to know about Dalston Superstore. This long, thin bar runs from brunch into the small hours, with a rotating DJ lineup that spans gay club nights, drag, and Bowie appreciation evenings, each with its own crowd to match. The bar dominates one wall; the decor leans deliberately unfinished.

Hand-drawn murals cover every surface, curtains and cats and plates of food rendered in ink across the walls of this candlelit Kingsland Road cocktail bar. What started as a pop-up settled in for good, and the room has the low-key Brooklyn energy to prove it. Stainless steel sharing tables up front, a few bar stools tucked in the back, floor-to-ceiling windows letting the street watch you drink.

A basement cocktail bar across from Liverpool Street, where the City crowd unwinds with varying degrees of dignity. The space goes big on colour against classic bones, with a long bar for standing room on packed evenings and a cavernous main floor running on table service. The cocktail menu is extensive enough that nobody has to make a decision under pressure, which the after-work crowd seems to appreciate.

The ground-floor bar is the whole point here, which sets this Shoreditch site apart from its Covent Garden sibling where drinking happens in a basement. Dishoom channels the old Irani cafes of Bombay through two floors of quirky furniture and house rules that prohibit spitting, mischief-making, and flirting with the cashier. Order something with a cardamom edge and settle in among a crowd that queued patiently outside and feels it deserved this.

A bowed Georgian window looks straight out over the Brighton seafront, which is a fine place to put a hotel bar. Drake's sits on the ground floor of the boutique hotel, a knocked-through room of olive-grey leather tub chairs and low tables arranged around a black marble bar. It's neat to the point of feeling slightly staged, but the premium spirits are well chosen and the quiet is genuine on a stretch of coast that rarely offers any.

Ibérico hams hang from the ceiling at the back, but this is a sherry bar first, a snack stop second. The front room is all wrought-iron lamps, thin wooden benches, and sherry butts doing double duty as furniture, which gives it the feel of a Jerez side-street dive, almost certainly because the budget demanded nothing grander. Standing is the default, which suits the pours. It's in Fitzrovia, though nothing about it remembers that.

The name sounds like a pub, but the Duke of Cambridge is a cocktail bar, and a proudly self-proclaimed long-standing one at that. A long wooden bar runs one wall, circular booths line the other, and the wide-open floor between them exists for a reason: this place fills up. Happy hour runs four nights a week for four hours, which tells you more about the vibe than any descriptor could.

Perrier-Jouët's Belle Epoque anemones climb every surface of this lower-ground-floor champagne bar inside the grand St James's hotel, giving it the look of a drawing room that took a wrong turn somewhere floral. The fizz is the focus, poured in a room that leans heavily into the brand's art nouveau palette. Dukes is famous for its Martinis next door, so the champagne lounge feels like a deliberate counterpoint, softer and more decorative, but no less serious about what's in the glass.

A Wurlitzer, formica surfaces, and rough wood paneling set the tone in this basement cocktail bar tucked into the rabbit warren of rooms beneath Earlham Street. The space has old-school Americana bones, and the bar itself has history: the room previously housed Detroit, where bartending legends once poured. The crowd tends toward people who know what they came for and probably don't need to see the menu.

Casks of sherry sit among wine-laden shelves behind a mahogany bar that looks unchanged since Fleet Street still ran on ink and gossip. This old-school wine bar opposite Fetter Lane draws barristers and whatever journalists are left in the neighbourhood, who seem to regard the place as a private club they happen to share with the public. Grab a bottle from the off-licence at the front or settle in the back for table service.

The name is Latin for horse, and the gentleman's club aesthetic takes that theme and runs with it. This cocktail bar sits deep inside the Royal Horseguards Hotel, past the lounge and the grand piano, which is already doing some filtering work before you even arrive. The room skews older and male, and it makes no apologies for either. Finding it at all counts as a minor achievement.

A 13-metre bar painted in shades of red, black, and white occupies the basement where Mezzo once ruled Wardour Street, modelled on Havana's famous original. This Cuban cocktail bar has a stage for live Latin American music and enough square footage to feel like you've descended into somewhere slightly louder and more rum-soaked than you planned. The Rolling Stones played upstairs in 1964, which the bar had nothing to do with but everyone mentions anyway.

The cocktail bar on the fourth floor of Harvey Nichols earns its keep through the window: Edinburgh Castle in one direction, the Firth of Forth in the other, and a G&T arriving just in time to soften the credit card damage from the floors below. The room itself leans burgundy leather and teak, somewhere between airport lounge and a 1970s sitting room that never quite updated. Comfortable, unpretentious, and better on a grey afternoon than it has any right to be.

Down a precarious iron staircase off Shaftesbury Avenue sits a basement cocktail bar that's been around forever, looking exactly as scuffed and comfortable as it did at the start. Bare wooden tables, dim light, and rotating art on the walls give it the feel of a gallery that never quite finished moving in. The crowd leans Londoner and unpretentious, which suits the whole thing perfectly.