The Best Places in the United Kingdom

The bar sits upstairs in Jamie Oliver's barbecue restaurant next to St Paul's, and the smell of smoking ribs hits you before you've even found a seat. Getting that seat is the sport: staff with headsets will try to park you in the basement holding area, so hold firm and wait for the bar proper. Once you're there, it's warm and easy, and the room does the rest.

Two railway arches near Hoxton Station, with the London Overground still rumbling overhead, house this bar and restaurant combo named after one of the old North London line locomotives. The bar takes one arch, the restaurant the other, and old railway sleepers frame the terrace outside. Inside, the look is contemporary Danish furniture against sand-blasted brick, which sounds like a contradiction until you're sitting in it.

A two-floor bar tucked into the heart of Covent Garden, with a ground floor that wraps around a central staircase and a basement fitted with booths and a shelf of cocktail books for anyone who wants homework with their drink. The bar itself is the focal point, bottles lined up in lit rows against the dim room. Stools go fast, but there's standing room, and the crowd tends toward the pre-theatre and late-staying alike.

The building looks enough like a factory that you'll second-guess yourself on the walk up. Once inside, this cocktail bar in East London's Bethnal Green-Hackney corridor keeps the industrial mood going: white walls, exposed bulbs, and a big island bar where you can watch the dining room below get on with its evening. The crowd skews local and knowing, which is really the only way you'd find it.

The antique brass water tap at the end of the bar exists solely so you can add a splash to your dram, which tells you everything about this place. A proper old Edinburgh pub on a corner you can spot by its blue exterior from halfway down Bread Street, it has the dark wood, mosaic tiles, parquet floor, and ornate fittings that only come with serious age. Eight Scottish real ales on traditional hand pumps, no pretension, and nowhere better to be on a wet afternoon.

The "Press for Champagne" button at every booth is not a gimmick so much as a philosophy. This reservation-only downstairs cocktail bar is all David Collins deco, monogrammed everything, and opulent blue-and-pink booths that somehow avoid being garish. Cocktails are the point here, served in surroundings that suggest a very glamorous train that never has to arrive anywhere.

A painted sign discovered on the back wall during renovations gave this Leith bar its name, and it still hangs in the conservatory as a kind of accidental founding document. The old whisky bonded warehouse keeps its bones on show: exposed brick, thick wooden beams, low ceilings, and leather seating that makes a cavernous space feel genuinely snug. The kind of place you end up staying longer than planned.

The sixty-foot vaulted ceilings of St Pancras's old booking hall are now a cocktail bar, which means you're drinking under gothic ironwork built to sell train tickets to the Victorians. The drinks lean into that: the menu is built around Victorian-era recipes and English ingredients, the kind of concept that could easily be too clever, but the room is so genuinely cathedral-scale that the theme disappears into the architecture.

Bartenders here refrigerate their vermouths and will tell you about it unprompted, which tells you most of what you need to know about this High Pavement cocktail bar. The crowd runs from serious stirred-drink obsessives to first-timers who still want the glow-stick, and the bar somehow serves both without flinching. Old-school standards, no dress code about it.

The bar worth finding at Gordon Ramsay's Bread Street Kitchen is upstairs, not the low-key lounge you walk into on the ground floor. That front room handles daytime coffees and quiet drinks just fine, but the real reason to come is the upper bar, where you're above the dining floor action and the cocktails have clearly had some attention paid to them since the early days.

Grower champagne and hot dogs, together at last. Bubbledogs is a small, lively bar on Charlotte Street in Fitzrovia where the pairing sounds like a dare but draws a queue outside most nights, since reservations are reserved for larger groups. Bare brick, high tables, and lab stools set the tone: this is not a place for ceremony. The menu is narrow by design, which is the whole joke, and somehow the joke holds up.

There's no sign outside, and the door is behind the counter of a juice bar, which is either annoying or part of the fun depending on your mood. BYOC is a candlelit basement speakeasy in Covent Garden with a twist: the house doesn't sell alcohol. You bring a bottle, pay a flat fee per person, and the bartender spends two hours turning it into bespoke cocktails using a vintage trolley of juices, herbs, bitters, and spice.

The 1937 Cafe Royal Cocktail Book was written here, which tells you something about the building's relationship with a good drink. The bar itself, tucked off Air Street behind a discreet Art Deco sign, is darker and more industrial than the grand hotel around it would suggest. Dark green glass bricks line the walls, and an island bar anchors the room. A cocktail bar, in other words, that takes its history seriously without making you sit through a lecture about it.

A Spanish bar tucked below Westferry Circus where the bank-to-bank ferry actually docks, with a patio that puts you close enough to wave at the party boats passing on the Thames. Inside, the decor leans loud and the music louder, with visiting DJs turning a tapas bar into something closer to a night out. Sangria and Spanish beer flow freely, and no one seems to be here for a quiet drink.

Five pages of sherry is not a typo. Capote y Toros is a Spanish bar on Old Brompton Road that has quietly made the case for fino, manzanilla, oloroso, and everything in between, long before sherry became the thing sommeliers talked about. The range runs from bone-dry to treacly sweet, with a serious selection of Spanish wines for anyone whose great aunt never got them started.

Floor-to-ceiling glass on the 24th floor of Tower 42 catches the sunset over southwest London, which is a reliable trick. This cocktail bar is done up like a gentleman's club, all dark wood paneling, leather chairs, and golden library lamps, and the suited City crowd fills it as if central casting sent them over. It's part of Jason Atherton's group, so the drinks are competent and taken seriously.

Two portholes cut into the floor let you look straight down 23 stories, which is either a brilliant design choice or a cry for help. This hotel bar sits at the top of Manchester's most conspicuous skyscraper, and the double-height room earns its name with panoramic views that take in red-brick warehouses, canals, and, yes, the Coronation Street set. Come for a drink and a look around; the city does most of the work.

Diamond-studded Chesterfields and a members-only door policy set the tone at this tucked-away cocktail bar off Seven Dials. The room runs on silver, gold, velvet, and leather, and the cocktail menu is as lavish as the decor suggests. No flames, no rope out front, no scene to perform for, just a small, opulent lounge where the bar is well-stocked and the tables seat two.

Five salvaged Royal Automobile Club fireplaces line the wall behind the bar, now stocked with premium spirits instead of logs. This basement cocktail bar in Fitzrovia earns its descent: leather floors, ostrich-skin chairs, art deco lamps, and padded booth tunnels that feel like a Bond villain's living room. The sunken bar puts bartenders at eye level, which is either democratic or theatrical, probably both.

Candlelight and wooden paneling do a lot of heavy lifting against the glass-and-steel hotel lobby just outside the door. This bar leans into rustic Italian warmth, with big flower arrangements that tip the room back toward opulence whenever it gets too cozy. It sits inside the ME Hotel on the Strand, so the crowd skews toward the well-heeled and the well-traveled, but the cocktail menu is doing its own thing.

Twenty-five seats and no reservations, which means the beer is doing all the heavy lifting on busy nights. This cozy craft beer bar on Goodge Street mixes old-pub bones with pops of color from newer furniture. The tap list leans international and pleasantly obscure, served in vessels so elaborate that one requires a credit card deposit, presumably because someone, somewhere, walked off with it.

The original outpost of the Draft House chain, a specialist beer bar on Northcote Road where the tap list runs to around 18 rotating draught options and north of 40 bottles. The staff know their brewing methods, their glassware, and what pairs with what, so being lost is fine. The crowd leans toward the kind of people who read long articles about things and feel strongly about them, but they're having a good time regardless.

Three championship pool tables buried several flights below a City office block set the tone for this members' bar near Mansion House. The descent feels bunker-like, but the room that greets you is all brown sofas and warm lighting, somewhere between a private lounge and a well-funded man cave that's smart enough for everyone. A cinema and private rooms with self-service bars round it out for after-work groups.

The bronzed jamón-shaped tap behind the downstairs bar, complete with hoof, tells you everything about the room's sense of humor. Ember Yard is a Soho bar with an Italian and Spanish lean, warm wood tables, brown leather benches, and a Mediterranean feel that stops well short of kitsch. It sits across two floors on Berwick Street, and the crowd tends to arrive hungry as well as thirsty.

You ring a buzzer on Earls Court Road, announce you have "an appointment with the detective," and a bookcase swings open into a cocktail bar. The speakeasy conceit is committed to the point of mild embarrassment if you slip up, which, honestly, is part of the charm. It's a properly atmospheric place to drink, the kind of room that makes gin taste more interesting than it did five minutes ago on the street outside.

The name isn't a joke: the space was a dance school once, and you can still feel the bones of it, a big open floor with an island bar dropped in the middle like someone had to make a decision. Theatre flip-seats, barstools, and worn couches fill the edges in a pleasingly haphazard way. The stripped, slightly faded surfaces fit Dalston perfectly. A neighbourhood bar that doesn't try too hard, which in this part of east London counts for something.

Perrier-Jouët's anemone motif from the Belle Époque bottle is woven into the carpet here, which tells you exactly what kind of cocktail bar this is. It sits on the fifth floor of Harvey Nichols, reached by its own express lifts so you can skip the handbags entirely. White leather booths ring the room around a central island bar, and the crowd skews less weary shopper than people who came here first and skipped the shopping altogether.

A long communal table runs the full length of this basement bar in Covent Garden, with the kitchen at one end and the bar at the other, which tells you something about the priorities. You can drink without eating, though the steamed hirata buns are presumably why anyone learns the name. Sake anchors a drinks list that covers warm, cold, seasonal, and speciality pours, and the room fills quickly with people who dress like they have opinions about fermentation.

The bar sits inside County Hall, the grand old Southbank municipal pile that now shares its corridors with a Marriott and, somewhere below, a slightly forlorn amusement arcade. Up the stairs, that awkward context falls away into an almost circular room that's eclectic and colourful, with Big Ben framed across the Thames. It's a cocktail bar with a steakhouse alongside, which means the crowd skews tourist but the view does the heavy lifting for everyone.

A fire door at the top of a forlorn back staircase opens into a candlelit gin bar so small that twelve people is a squeeze. Hidden above the Portobello Star, the Ginstitute is part specialist bar, part gin museum, with a three-stool mahogany counter and a still room where you can blend your own bottle. No natural light, no fuss, no room for anyone to pretend they're just passing through.

The bar curves along with the hotel that wraps around King's Cross Station, which itself has had quite the glow-up from its less reputable decades. GNH is a hotel bar in the old railway hotel sense, all considered proportions and the kind of hush that makes a gin and tonic feel like a considered choice rather than a reflex. Good for a drink before a train, better for pretending you don't have one to catch.

Granary Square used to be best known, diplomatically speaking, as somewhere to stand after midnight. The bar that now anchors the regenerated piazza at King's Cross leans into the industrial bones of the old granary buildings, keeping exposed brick and high ceilings while the crowd skews young professional and design-school adjacent. Come for cocktails on a warm evening when the fountain square fills up and the whole thing feels implausibly civilized for N1.

The name comes from the axe used to split an agave piña, which tells you everything about how seriously this Kingsland Road bar takes its subject. Around two dozen tequilas, mezcals, and lesser-known agave spirits rotate through the back bar, and the Mirror Margarita, served in tequila or mezcal form, has become the thing regulars order without looking up. A proper agave bar in a neighborhood that didn't need another generic cocktail spot.

Named for the man who built the whole circus around it, this cocktail bar sits in the lower ground floor of Selfridges, open from morning coffee through evening drinks. The room mixes raw wood and metal against marble and leather, which either reads as intentional contrast or a very confident decorator. Cocktails are new to the store, so there's a mild sense of occasion, even on a Tuesday afternoon surrounded by people who just bought a handbag.

The bar has its own street entrance and lift, so you can bypass the handbags and frocks entirely, even when the store itself is closed. It sits alongside Harvey Nichols' food and wine floor, all white slatted ceiling, neon light, and a sharp hit of claret red against stainless steel. It's a cocktail bar that rewards a clear head more than it forgives a fuzzy one, which is either a warning or a recommendation depending on where you're starting from.

A mahogany central bar anchors this corner pub tucked into a quiet residential street just off Notting Hill Gate, where Georgian windows and high ceilings keep everything feeling light even on a grey day. The walls are gunmetal grey and hung with eclectic art, including a portrait of a young Queen Elizabeth alongside nudes with Pink Floyd album covers painted on their backs. Gastro pub food is on offer, but the room itself does the heavy lifting.

The name is borrowed from the Greek for "the common people," which makes the irony of its Ace Hotel address fairly rich. This ground-floor bar in Shoreditch pulls the expected east London crowd, laptops and carefully considered facial hair very much in evidence, but the room reads warmer than that demographic tends to promise. Order a drink and settle in; the self-consciousness is mostly on the outside.

A hidden door at the bottom of a staircase on Hanover Street opens into a subterranean cocktail bar themed around a 1950s New Orleans funfair, which is a sentence you don't type every day. There's a claw crane machine, a tarot reader, and an ice-cream parlour where the ice cream is alcoholic. The cocktails lean playful without turning sloppy, and the whole thing commits to the bit just seriously enough to pull it off.

Turn left past the hotel lobby and you find yourself in a cocktail lounge where murals of women styled as absinthe bottles share wall space with soft Tuscan colours and a dark oak bar that stretches across two rooms. The champagne-house names painted above them set the tone: this is a place that takes its drinking seriously, even if the Pub du Vin downstairs is right there if you need an exit route.

House of Coco Tang starts the evening as a proper cocktail bar, with house-infused spirits and sipping tequilas, and ends it as something considerably louder. The transformation is gradual enough that you can pick your moment: arrive early for the considered drinks, stay later if the party is what you came for. Either way, the bartenders are keeping standards through both versions of the night.

The entrance corridor is fitted out like a train carriage, luggage racks and hanging straps included, which sets the tone for what follows. Hoxley and Porter is a cocktail bar on Upper Street where Art Deco styling meets colonial exotica in a way that somehow evokes Agatha Christie more than theme park. Islington's bar scene has historically punched below its restaurant weight, and this place arrived to do something about that.

The oval island bar looks as though someone carved it from a single slab of beaten metal, then topped it with thick glass and called it a day. Il Bar is a cocktail bar inside the Bulgari Hotel in Knightsbridge, which means the crowd skews toward people who iron their travel clothes. The room leans into understated rather than showy, which takes restraint when your parent brand puts gems on everything.

Hand-painted walls and an enormous rum selection do their best to conjure a Thai beach shack, which is an ambitious brief for a spot off a main road in central Birmingham. Island is a cocktail bar where the menu is organized by base spirit, running from a Piña Colada through to a Boston Sour. The vibe is deliberately groovy and unhurried, which helps you settle in while you decide whether to commit to the rum.

The centerpiece here is a polished metal island bar with a pyramid-shaped back bar rising behind it, all housed in the glass-fronted Angel Building on St John Street. It's a sizeable bar attached to the Jamie's Italian chain, but it holds its own as a drinking spot, with an Italian-leaning cocktail menu and floor-to-ceiling windows that give the room a slightly rustic warehouse feel, which is a trick given how much glass there is.

A marble-topped, oak-clad bar inside a former Victorian textiles factory in Dalston, Jones and Sons is a coffee-forward bar that skews grown-up in a neighborhood that usually skews otherwise. White walls, concrete, and salvaged light fittings land somewhere between Scandinavian spare and genuinely warm. The crowd arrives for good coffee and a proper drink, not to perform coolness at a venue with pretensions to grit.

Fizz arrives first at Kettner's, a champagne bar in Soho that has been around forever and wears it well. The grade II-listed room has the kind of gilded, slightly threadbare grandeur that makes a glass of bubbles feel like a moral necessity. Pre-theatre drinkers pack in early, but the atmosphere stays looser than you'd expect. Oscar Wilde reportedly used the upstairs rooms for purposes the programme notes left out.

A photo of a very young Sly Stallone holding a fish greets you somewhere near the bar, and that sets the tone nicely. La Perla is a Mexican cocktail bar in Covent Garden, nautical touches and a mermaid mural overhead, with most of the serious drinking happening up front rather than in the skylit dining room behind it. Margaritas are the obvious move, and the crowd tends to arrive knowing that already.

A wrap-around bar divided by pillars sits at the center of this cocktail bar inside a Park Lane hotel, framed by aged brass, leather, marble, and a mirrored fireplace. The room is doing a very confident impression of a grand Edwardian gentleman's club, and mostly pulling it off. The cocktail menu takes its cues from the restaurant kitchen, which is a more interesting starting point than most bars bother with.

Pink flamingos and tropical foliage set the tone at this Bristol outpost of the London Cocktail Club, a high-energy cocktail bar that leans hard into a Peter Pan's Neverland theme and doesn't apologize for any of it. The vibe is unapologetically loud and playful, the kind of place where the décor alone commits harder than most people do on a Saturday night. Walk-ins welcome, which tells you all you need to know about the crowd.

A neon parrot oversees the bar at this basement cocktail bar on Shaftesbury Avenue, where the décor splits the difference between a tiki lounge and a tattoo parlour. Rum anchors the cocktail list, which opens with a little editorial philosophy about the relationship between price and quality. The wallpaper looks expensive, because it probably was.

A long white island bar runs down the centre of the room like a runway, which is fitting, because the Sanderson's cocktail bar is very much a place to be looked at while pretending you're doing the looking. Philippe Starck's fingerprints are all over it, including the chairs, which have literal eyes. The room is spare, pale, and almost aggressively unfussy, with candles and flowers doing the heavy lifting on warmth.

Loose Cannon is a cocktail bar on Bristol's harbourside where local artists rotate work on the walls and the menu reads like a fever dream, pop-culture riffs on everything from Donkey Kong to Brexit. The drinks are inventive and aggressively garnished, the kind of place where your cocktail arrives wearing something. Students fill it most nights, and the energy leans young and loud in the best harbourside-dive-bar way.

A cocktail bar on City Road where an artist draws directly onto the walls, so the place you walk into isn't quite the place you walked into last time. It sits across from Nightjar, which tells you everything about the neighbourhood's ambitions and nothing about the vibe here, which runs lively and loose rather than theatrical. Two floors, a ruby-leaning colour scheme that shifts over time, and drinks that lean casual rather than ceremonial.

The tables here are mounted on tracks so staff can rearrange the room, which tells you something about how seriously this Covent Garden beer hall takes its setup. Modelled on the grand cafes of Brussels, it runs to 16 draught taps and over 100 bottles, all organised by style on a proper menu. Long dark wood tables, leather banquettes, and a zinc counter lined with polished chrome fonts complete the picture.

Fleet Street's old Reuters building still has stories to tell, and the bar at Lutyens is a good place to hear them. The floor tiles are laid to mimic a stock ticker, a nod to the building's past that most people miss. It's a sleek, grown-up bar with charcuterie on hand, designed in that signature Conran way where minimalism somehow still feels warm. The crowd skews City, which tells you something about both the prices and the suits.

Two floors of Polynesian-themed basement beneath Mayfair, where the "Lanai Lounge" comes lined with black bamboo and lauhala mats, and the "Aloha Party Room" below that pairs orange banquettes with 1970s lampshades. This is a tiki bar, not a quiet drinks spot, and the crowd arriving in evening wear to dance to funky tunes seems entirely unbothered by the contradiction. Come dressed for a party, because the room certainly has.

A red-carpeted staircase lifts you out of the four-lane chaos outside and into a hotel bar that has somehow engineered genuine calm, with high ceilings, dim lighting, and soft music doing the heavy lifting. The focal point is a pillar plastered in readable postcards, which is either charming or a lifeline if the conversation has gone quiet. The mood runs warm and a little theatrical, all flickering red tea lights and hushed tones.

A long wooden bar, inherited from a pan-Asian predecessor that didn't stick around, anchors this subterranean cocktail bar beneath Hixter in the City. The look is New York basement, done in leather seating, low lighting, and exposed brick, and it pulls off the warmth that look usually just promises. A solid place to disappear after the Square Mile empties out.

Graffiti covers every surface of this basement bar, which used to be a swanky Italian restaurant and now looks like someone handed the decorating contract to a very motivated teenager. The punk-meets-dive-bar vibe is deliberate, the cocktails are less of a joke than the décor implies, and the no-reservations policy means the queue outside is part of the experience whether you planned for it or not. Get there early.

Factory-style skylights flood the room by day; after dark the same space goes low-lit and conspiratorially dim. This bar and brasserie in Shoreditch is Angela Hartnett's place, and her presence here is itself a small sign of how far the neighborhood has drifted from its rough-edged origins. The room has the look of somewhere that's been around forever, which it hasn't, but the trick works. Come for a drink and stay longer than you planned.

Two giant underlit crystals flank the entrance, which tells you everything about the ambition level before you've ordered a drink. This hotel bar inside MyHotel Brighton leans hard into the theatrical: a ten-metre copper bar counter, eye-shaped aquariums set into the walls, plasma screens cycling local art, and a terrazzo floor in a shade of blue that has no business being that confident. A lot of rooms try this hard and lose; this one has the bones to carry it.

A cocktail bar inside a converted stables that once served the Lord Mayor, Mojo has the bones of a grand civic past and the playlist of someone who peaked during the Metallica years. The drinks list runs from Woo Woos to Corpse Revivers without apology, and a beer is equally welcome. The crowd spans suits and students, which is either reassuring or a warning, depending on how you feel about Metallica.

A cocktail bar inside Oxford's grand Macdonald Randolph Hotel, where the wood-panelled walls are lined with photographs of the late actor who played Inspector Morse, the TV detective whose cases were partly filmed here. The show has been off air for decades, which gives the shrine-like décor a pleasantly eccentric quality. Fortunately, the arched ceiling, ornate cornices, and stone fireplace make it a handsome room to drink in regardless.

A split-level neighbourhood bar on Hackney Road, named for the man who burned the previous building down in 1883 after being refused entry. Arson as branding is an interesting choice, but it works. What was most recently a curry house is now a late-night drinking spot filling a gap in an area that wasn't exactly drowning in options, a short walk from Columbia Road.

The bar inside this modern Asian restaurant near Liverpool Street looks a little sparse in daylight, which is the kindest framing available. Come evening, the low lighting does the heavy lifting, and the cocktail list earns its keep regardless. The drinks lean into bold, unexpected pairings, the kind that make you wonder why nobody combined those two things before. Service keeps pace without fuss.

The basement lounge bar beneath Novikov's two restaurants has a supperclub atmosphere that feels engineered to make you order another round. It's a cocktail bar built for Mayfair money, the kind of room where the lighting flatters everyone equally and the spending tends to follow suit. A Moscow restaurateur's first London outpost, the whole building runs on theatre, and some of that energy makes it downstairs.

Floor 32 of The Shard is a lot of real estate to dedicate to a view, but Oblix earns the altitude. This sleek cocktail bar from the group behind Roka and Zuma arrives via a dedicated lift and a dark, scented entrance with water features, which is either very impressive or slightly airport lounge depending on your mood. On a clear London day the panorama stretches forever, and even on a grey one you'll find plenty to look at in your glass.

The bar sits at the base of the Canary Wharf tower, tucked behind head-height dividers that carve out something warm and human from an otherwise very serious corporate lobby. A mezzanine bar upstairs has a quieter, more private feel and tends to get booked for events. Cocktails are the reason to pull up a stool, and the after-work crowd in good suits fills the place fast on weekdays.

The OXO lettering in the windows was a 1920s planning-permission workaround, and the building has been branded ever since. The bar itself sits on the 8th floor of that South Bank landmark, reached by an express lift, and the terrace views take in the Thames, St. Paul's, and a good stretch of London skyline. It's the kind of cocktail bar where the room does most of the work, and the room is very good at its job.

Named for a G.K. Chesterton poem that makes the case against prohibition, this rambling Victorian pub earns its literary pretensions by actually being useful. Early in the week it's a quiet local boozer; by Friday the same room has pivoted to hip hop and live music. The building is enormous, all lounge bar, dining room, and outdoor space, with event rooms upstairs that suggest the regulars have very full social calendars.