The Best Places to Eat and Drink in the United Kingdom

A sleek, almost spaceship-adjacent cocktail bar on the ground floor of the Nobu restaurant in Mayfair. Part of the operation draws its crowd from diners waiting on a table upstairs, but plenty come straight here with no dining ambitions at all. The room is sharp and minimal, the drinks leaning Japanese, and the general atmosphere suggests everyone is dressed a little better than they needed to be. Which, in Mayfair, is saying something.

The bar at this Primrose Hill restaurant sits one floor below street level, down a staircase just inside the front door. It's a neighbourhood drinking spot in the kind of postcode where the shops sell things you'd never actually buy, and the locals include enough familiar faces to make staring impolite. A calm, low-key place to have a drink away from the room above.

A candlelit basement cocktail bar tucked under The Mitre Townhouse, reached by a staircase from the street despite the "speakeasy" billing. Fuller's runs this one, and the layout wanders through what used to be servants' quarters, so you get a rabbit warren of low-lit rooms and dark corners that make it easy to disappear for the evening. The kind of place where people lean in close and stay longer than planned.

A lift from outside the Waitrose deposits you on the fourth floor of Canada Place, where an all-glass bar looks out over Canary Wharf while the suits inside do what suits do: champagne, volume, competitive guffawing. The lounge area with low-slung seats offers some shelter from the open kitchen and the office-party energy. Jazz competes with everything. The cocktail list leads with classics, and they're done properly.

A hangman's noose still hangs over the Thames foreshore out back, which tells you most of what you need to know about this pub's social history. Been around forever under various names, the most diplomatic of which replaced one that nodded to the smugglers and thieves who drank here. Samuel Pepys was a regular; so was the judge who sent men to Execution Dock just up the river. One of the oldest riverside pubs in London.

Named after the grass squares at the centre of Oxford's college quads, this hotel bar sits on the High Street with arched windows, exposed brick, and a central island bar that draws a steady crowd from opening time onward. It has the loose, lively feel of a brasserie rather than a quiet hotel lounge. A courtyard out back turns it into a genuinely pleasant spot when the weather cooperates, which in Oxford is, statistically, an optimistic bet.

A rooftop cocktail bar perched high enough above Aldwych to catch St. Paul's, the Shard, the London Eye, and Big Ben in a single sweep. The heated terrace has the plush seating of a place that knows people are really here for the panorama, and the angular island bar inside the sliding glass walls gives you somewhere to stand with your drink while pretending you weren't just gawking at Tower Bridge.

A cocktail bar inside the Grosvenor hotel near Victoria, Réunion has a mirrored ceiling, a glossy flagstone floor, and a long island bar that reads more nightclub than railway-adjacent hotel lounge. The entrance from the lobby leans into that contrast, dark enough to make you pause. The concourse windows remind you where you are, though the room itself seems determined to make you forget.

A bar that leans hard into the industrial-chic aesthetic, with a long white-tiled counter fronted by distressed leather stools and a top made from salvaged planks. Old theatre seats pull up to a scaffold-framed bench table, and wood-panelled nooks offer something softer. The whole thing reads as very New York, which in Fitzrovia lands somewhere between a compliment and a lifestyle statement. Book ahead if you want a proper table for food.

Half-height net curtains are doing a lot of heavy lifting here, softening what is otherwise an unvarnished backstreet pub with bare boards, worn rugs, and old wooden furniture. The lounge and saloon are still split by an island bar, and regulars skip the vestibule by cutting behind it, which nobody bothers to object to. A proper ale-and-grievances sort of place, and all the better for it.

A velvet-rope cocktail den in Kensington built around Russian vodka and caviar, where the golden rope at the door stays clipped unless your name is on the list. Arrive before eleven and it behaves more like a serious cocktail bar with canapés than a bottle-service showcase. The drinks are the point here, carefully made and worth the effort of booking, which you will need to do.

Wood-panelled walls, green leather seats, and a marble counter set the tone for this late-night hotel cocktail bar on High Pavement. The Nottingham Arena is close enough that whoever's headlining that night might be on the next barstool. Ring the bell if it's late and the door's locked. The menu runs from classics to house concoctions that are genuinely divisive, which is at least more interesting than inoffensive.

The cocktail bar tucked beneath Sake No Hana is easy to miss: you push through two Japanese curtains that only reach your waist, which does make an entrance. It sits in the basement of the old Economist building in St James's, a listed piece of sixties architecture that drinks people still mourn as the former home of Che. Small, composed, and Japanese in spirit, it draws a pre-dinner crowd that the menu occasionally persuades to stay put.

The roof garden is the reason to climb to the third floor of what is generously described as a food court, plastic palm trees, fairy lights, and all-weather heaters doing their best to make Forman Street feel like somewhere. This cocktail bar splits its menu into Old Skool and Nu-Skool drinks, which is the kind of branding that dates itself immediately, though the drinks themselves hold up well enough to earn three stars from Difford's Guide.

Spanish movie posters and dark wood booths line this subterranean tapas bar and late-night spot a stumble from Leicester Square tube. The steep descent into a dimly lit, Gothic-ish basement sets the tone before you've ordered anything, and a 3am licence keeps the night going long after the tourists have called it. There's a cover charge some nights, which is the clearest possible sign of what the room becomes after midnight.

Tables made from metal prison doors set the tone at this Shoreditch cocktail bar and nightclub, which took over the old XOYO space with corrugated iron walls, urban sculpture, and a voodoo flourish or two. The same crew runs Paradise and Blues Kitchen, so they know their way around a room built for dancing. A subwoofer the size of a small car sits in the middle of the floor, and the DJs, live acts, and dance parties are the real point of the evening.

The pub sign pictures a man who turns out to be a Coptic Orthodox saint credited with moving a mountain in Cairo, not a local drunk with leather-stained hands, which sets the tone nicely. This is a small, unpretentious neighborhood boozer in Bermondsey, mismatched dark wood furniture and all, the kind of place that quietly resisted any pressure to become somewhere clever.

The spy-themed cocktail list, with drinks named The Spy Who Loved Me and Enigma Code, sets the tone at this hotel lobby bar in the City. Floor-to-ceiling windows keep things light, and you can settle at the long bar, scattered lounge chairs, or a central sharing table. The cocktails run grown-up and simply constructed, though they lean sweet, with caramel popcorn arriving alongside to lean into it further.

The Victorian tilework outside promises a sedate local; the oak-panelled 1930s interior delivers exactly that, and then the beer list quietly contradicts both. This is a proper pub on the corner where Stoney Street meets Borough Market, which means on Fridays and Saturdays it fills up fast with market-goers and young professionals who end up drinking on the pavement whether they planned to or not.

The DJ booth is the tell: this is a cocktail bar pitched somewhere between a steakhouse and a nightclub, with indoor cherry blossom trees and a pink-purple palette that makes the whole thing feel like a mood board escaped into real life. It lives inside the ME London hotel on the Strand. The crowd dresses accordingly, and the drinks lean bold and photogenic, which here is less a criticism than a description.

A Broadway Market bar that moonlights as a community arts project, Stories runs talks, installations, and events alongside the drinks, all sourced from the local Hackney creative pool. It's the kind of all-day spot where someone at the next table is either pitching a zine or launching one. The sister bar to The Book Club in Shoreditch, it shares that same formula of cold beer and intellectual ambition, which sounds exhausting but usually isn't.

Forty floors above Liverpool Street, the lift opens onto a lounge bar where plastic chandeliers and fairy lights share wall space with Asian-style graffiti, and the view does most of the work. The cocktail list is short and built around house infusions, though the City crowd at the island bar skews heavily toward bottled beer, which tells you something about the room's priorities. Come for the altitude; the drinks are secondary.

A 6.8-metre Chesterfield sofa is a bold statement for any bar, but Tanner and Co. earns it, given the building's past life outfitting Victorian tanneries in Bermondsey. The cavernous space splits the difference between school gym and leather showroom, with climbing frames, pine floors, and ropes from the ceiling alongside staff in bespoke leather aprons. It's a lot, in the best pub-as-performance-art tradition.

A "teuchter" is mildly rude Scottish slang for a country bumpkin, which tells you something about the place's sense of humor. This traditional Edinburgh pub runs on whisky, rugby, and football, with chunky wooden beams, leather sofas, and the kind of lived-in warmth that makes you stay for one more. When a match is on, getting through the door requires genuine optimism.

Two former shops knocked together give The Abbeville its warren of small, interconnecting rooms, which somehow feels very right for a neighbourhood pub this resolutely local. It sits on a residential stretch that feels nothing like nearby Clapham High Street, and the regulars would probably prefer to keep it that way. Two bars, an open kitchen at the back, and a skylight doing its best against the gloom.

A monumental island bar runs through the center of the ground-floor saloon, and everything else follows from that fact. This is a Young's pub, so the draught list leans on the brewery's own lineup plus guest ales from Sambrook's and Twickenham, ten or so taps in total, nothing wildly adventurous but nothing to complain about either. It's a proper Victorian pub on Old York Road, the kind of place Wandsworth locals have been using as an excuse not to go home for generations.

The Anchor sits right on the Thames at Bankside, and the building itself is genuinely old, with five bars, a minstrels' gallery, and a riverside terrace that tourists photograph from every angle. This is a pub running almost entirely on heritage and a view, which is a perfectly honest business model. Order something simple, settle onto the terrace, and let the setting do what it does.

A pub on the Thames Path where Bermondsey slides into Rotherhithe, sitting opposite the ruins of a manor house built for Edward III. Monks originally ran a guesthouse on this spot, and the place has been pulling people off the river ever since, Samuel Pepys and Captain Cook among them if the stories hold. A good old-school pub with the history to back up the worn-in feel.

The Antelope has two front doors, a relic of the days when Belgravia's butlers and their employers each needed their own entrance. The partitions are long gone, but the old-school pub atmosphere survives in this quietly gentlemanly corner local just off Sloane Square. Regulars treat it like a sitting room they don't have to dust. Stone's throw from the King's Road, it reads as a place where nobody is trying very hard, which in this postcode takes considerable effort.

The original chandeliers and carved dark wood at this grand Victorian pub on Mount Street have outlasted every trend that's swept through Mayfair around them. Red leather banquettes, a floral carpet, and a long bar counter split between two distinct rooms make it feel less like a gastropub makeover and more like somewhere the Duke of Westminster himself might have nursed a pint. The red-brick and terracotta frontage alone stops people on the pavement.

The Basement is exactly what it says, an underground dive bar on Broughton Street that trades on the fact that Edinburgh sunshine is, statistically, more of a rumor than a given. Their own website takes a cheerful shot at the wicker-furniture crowd, and the regulars seem to agree, keeping the place full even on the rare days when it isn't needed. Dark, atmospheric, and aggressively unpretentious.

A brass plaque on the bar marks the waterline from the 1928 flood, which tells you something about how long this Fuller's pub has been absorbing local history. It's an old-school neighborhood boozer on the Rotherhithe waterfront, the kind where regulars nurse pints of Fuller's ale without checking the ferry schedule. Nelson is said to have stopped in while his ship was fitted out nearby, though the pub isn't the sort to make a fuss about it.

Botanical diagrams cover the walls in tribute to Sir Hans Sloane, the square's namesake, giving this busy bar and brasserie on Sloane Square a reason for its name beyond clever branding. The Tube exit is practically next door, so it never really empties out, and during Chelsea Flower Show week the plant-curious arrive in force. Expect a polished, buzzy crowd and prices to match the postcode.

Hine and Hennessey XO on the back bar of a Victoria Park pub is not something you see every day. This enormous East End boozer, sitting on the north edge of the park, leans hard into the Britannia theme, which is to say red, white, and blue on every available surface. No cocktail list in sight, but the spirit selection hints that someone behind the bar knows what they're doing with a shaker if you ask nicely.

Betty Boop perches at the end of the bar like she owns the place, which more or less sets the tone. This unpretentious Bermondsey local hides over a hundred single malts behind an otherwise ordinary pub facade, drawing hospital staff and office workers who clearly need a drink more than a scene. Old church pews and beaten-up leather sofas ring the central bar, and the food is priced for people on an actual budget.

The oval island bar counter sits at the center of a room that looks exactly as a Victorian baroque bar should, polished walnut screen, bevelled mirrors, and all. The Circle Bar has been around forever, and a preservation order means no one can touch it, which is the right call. Order something classic and take your time with the carved details. This is a proper pub-heritage drinking experience, not a theme park version of one.

A riverside pub on Wapping High Street where the walls tell the story of Captain Kidd, the privateer hanged nearby at execution dock, which gives the place a historical hook that most theme bars don't quite manage. You walk down a cobbled path through a stone archway into a big, flagstone-floored bar kitted out in convincingly aged seventeenth-century style. The Thames view does a lot of work, and the room is cheerful enough that nobody minds the pastiche.

A rooftop cocktail bar at the May Fair Hotel where the menu opens with four pages of cigars before getting around to drinks. Glittering drapes and awnings do the work of making you forget the surrounding buildings entirely, and the high-end furnishings split the difference between indoors and out. The kind of place where ordering a Cohiba alongside your Negroni feels less like an affectation and more like the obvious move.

The vaulted main bar here looks less like a pub and more like somewhere a medieval guild would settle a dispute, which is part of the appeal. This Sam Smith's house on High Holborn has been around forever in one form or another, and the Grade II listed mock Tudor exterior draws the eye before you're even inside. Order cheap, settle into one of the old wooden booths, and ignore how much work you brought with you.

A 60-foot bar stretches across the ground floor of a converted warehouse on Brompton Road, which has been a Porsche garage, a Conran furniture shop, and a Katherine Hamnett fashion space before settling into its current life. The Tom Dixon makeover gave it a sleek, mezzanine-and-steel look that the South Kensington crowd takes to with some enthusiasm. Come for a drink before or after dinner upstairs, or just to stand at what might be the longest bar in London.

The original baize-green Courage tiles wrapping the corner site are the first thing you notice, and they set the tone: this is a proper Victorian pub that hasn't been sanded into a lifestyle concept. A gastro pub on the edge of Chapel Market in Islington, it spans two floors, with the ground level knocked through into one bright, unfussy room. Solid modern British food, a relaxed pour, and a crowd that runs from market regulars to office escapees.

Antique chamber pots hang from the ceiling, which tells you most of what you need to know about this pub's decorating philosophy. An old-school institution tucked into the Lanes, the Cricketers dressed itself in Chesterfield banquettes, burgundy flock wallpaper, and scarlet velvet drapes long before "Victorian" became an aesthetic choice. Graham Greene set a scene here in Brighton Rock, so the literary pilgrims share the room with everyone else who just wanted a pint.

Red leather booths and floor-to-ceiling windows onto the old market square set the scene at this American diner-style bar tucked into Spitalfields. Boozy milkshakes and alcoholic slushies handle the drinks, which pair with the kind of food, burgers and ribs, that exists primarily to justify the shakes. The neon and the street theatre outside do most of the decorating, and neither asks anything of you.

Tucked up Jerusalem Passage, a narrow Clerkenwell alley that sounds like something from a Dan Brown paperback, the Dovetail is a bar with the kind of address that rewards people who actually look up from their phones. The surrounding squares carry centuries of Knights Hospitaller history, which lends the whole stretch an atmosphere that no amount of exposed brick could manufacture. A solid stop for a drink in one of London's older corners.

A cocktail bar spread across the ground and mezzanine of Heron Tower, The Drift seats over 400 people while somehow carving out corners that feel almost intimate, which is no small trick in a glass-and-steel skyscraper. Retro soft furnishings and tactile finishes do the heavy lifting against the corporate bones of the building. A few decorative shells are the only nod to the nautical name, which is probably for the best.

A traditional pub named for Edgar Wallace, the thriller writer whose books were adapted into more films than anyone else in the twentieth century, which is a fine thing to put on a sign. It sits on a quiet corner off the Strand in legal London, where the barristers from nearby Temple come in for a pint looking either triumphant or philosophical. Old wood, framed memorabilia, and the general atmosphere of a place that has been here forever.

A serious beer pub on an unglamorous stretch of the one-way system heading toward Brighton Station, neighbors including several sex shops. The Evening Star has been around forever and the cellar once housed a microbrewery that grew into Dark Star Brewing Company, whose beers still pour here. Come for the cask ales, not the surroundings.

Floor-to-ceiling windows flood this split-level City cocktail bar with enough light to remind you it's actually a weekday. Part of the Drake & Morgan stable, The Folly is big enough to swallow a whole office outing, but rough wooden tables, church candelabras, and patterned wallpaper keep it from feeling like a chain. A reliable after-work refuge near Monument when you'd rather not explain yourself to anyone who knows you.

The last galleried coaching inn left in London sits in a cobbled courtyard off Borough High Street, which is already doing a lot of the work. The George is a pub owned by the National Trust and leased to Greene King, so the olde-world atmosphere comes with a corporate pour. The timber galleries and latticed windows pull in tourists by the coachload, but on a quiet afternoon the courtyard still feels like Dickens could wander through.

The floors here haven't been straight since Charles Dickens used the place as inspiration for the Six Jolly Fellowship-Porters in Our Mutual Friend, and not much else has changed either. This tiny old pub backs onto the Thames on Narrow Street, and the building has been a drinking spot for centuries. Come for a pint in a room that lists and creaks, and possibly for the view of the river out back.

A gastro pub spread across three floors of a Marylebone hotel, with light wood, white ceilings, and pastel shades that keep things bright if a little corporate. Part of the Cubitt House group, so the menu will look familiar if you've been to its siblings. The wine list runs to around sixty bottles, with a good twenty poured by the glass and a range that climbs well past the hundred-pound mark for those feeling ambitious.

A stripped-back Kingsland Road pub with live jazz and zero posturing, which is a rarer combination than it should be. One big open room on the ground floor, a terrace for smokers, and a crowd young enough to keep the energy up even on a slow Tuesday. Weekends get properly heaving. It wasn't always a traditional boozer, but it plays the part well enough that nobody seems to mind.

Dealers in sharp uniforms working the blackjack tables are visible from the bar, which sets the tone for an evening here. The Hippodrome is a casino complex near Leicester Square with a handful of bars scattered across its floors, two of which serve proper cocktails. No membership required, just the doormen's approval, which keeps things feeling a little cinematic. The gaming floor isn't the point if cards bore you, but it does make for a good backdrop.

The shutters go up on Saturday mornings and that's the only schedule that matters here. Kernel is a craft brewery tap under a Bermondsey railway arch, open one day a week, where you can taste before you buy and then stay to drink in a makeshift beer hall next door. Mismatched furniture, no frills, and a crowd that arrived knowing exactly what they wanted before they walked in.

Candles stuck in wax-crusted bottles flicker under mismatched lampshades at this Tooley Street local, which has the look of a pub that never quite decided whether to go gastropub or stay a straightforward boozer. It landed somewhere in the middle, and mostly that's fine. The cask ales are the reason to come, with a rotating handful on tap and Green King IPA holding down a permanent stool at the bar.

A proper old pub tucked up the alley off Garrick Street, the kind of passage you'd walk past a hundred times without noticing. On warm evenings the narrow lane fills with after-work drinkers spilling out from the bar. The back room was once called the Bucket of Blood, a nickname it earned honestly from the bare-knuckle bouts held there. John Dryden got badly beaten in the alley in 1679; the upstairs room carries his name now, which is a fairly distinguished memorial for a mugging.

Blackboards cover the walls at this stripped-back Primrose Hill pub, spelling out what's on draft and what's coming out of the kitchen. The large main room runs to wooden tables and a loose scatter of modern art, with a dining room upstairs doubling as a jazz venue on the right nights. The menu leans Modern European with a strong Italian pull, and the pizzas have a following among the locals who fill the place most evenings.

The menu opens with a Lincoln quote about beer and God, which sets the tone pretty well for this Islington bar on the corner of Pentonville Road. American craft bottles line up alongside a solid draught selection, but the real draw is the bourbon list, which runs to over fifty bottles and generates the kind of quiet, decisive ordering you see when regulars already know exactly what they want.

The entrance is underneath a kebab shop, and yes, a wrong turn puts you in the kitchen. Make the right one and you're in a dimly lit basement cocktail bar where stacked crates form the booths and rough wooden planks pass for seating. It reads less shabby-chic and more genuinely cobbled-together, which suits the bottled cocktails and serious spirits on offer. Hackney locals who know where the door is fill the place without much fuss.

A top-hatted doorman on Clipstone Street marks the stairs down to this Fitzrovia basement bar, where the name blends Lucky Luciano with Prohibition-era "blind pig" speakeasies. The distressed interior mixes shabby chic with Chinoiserie, curtained banquettes tucked into a mini-cellar below. Menus arrive dressed as a 1957 jazz magazine, which sets a mood the drinks list is better at sustaining than the inside pages are.

Parked halfway between Liverpool's two cathedrals, The Magnet is a late-night bar that's been around long enough to mean something to the city's music scene. The stag-and-hen circuit doesn't reach this far up Hardman Street, which is either a mild inconvenience or the whole point, depending on who you ask. Tokyo Industries owns it now, post-refit, but the bones of the place carry fifty years of noise.

The license starts at 6am so Borough Market workers can get a pint in before most of London has had breakfast. This old-school pub on Stoney Street has been around forever and keeps a serious cask ale selection, pump clips covering the walls and rafters like wallpaper someone forgot to stop hanging. The burgundy paint and bare wooden floor make it feel lived-in without trying too hard, and it draws a crowd that actually uses the market, not just photographs it.

The pub that claims to be the oldest on the Thames sits on Rotherhithe Street with its feet practically in the river, all low beams and the distinct feeling that the floorboards have heard some things. The Mayflower is named for the ship that carried the Pilgrim Fathers to the New World, and their captain is buried just up the road. Come for a pint, stay because leaving requires more willpower than the room tends to inspire.

Old school lockers with graffiti line the walls, a chopper bike leans against something, and a ghetto blaster sits where a till might otherwise be. This Bermondsey cocktail bar runs its menu by school subject, so the Cosmopolitan lives under History and the Hemingway Daiquiri files under English, which is the kind of logic that rewards a second drink. Tonka trucks and 80s nostalgia do the decorating; flair bartending does the rest.