The Insider’s Guide to Great Drinks in London

I’ll admit I was daunted upon visiting London for the first time. I only had 72 hours, and the deluge of bar recommendations from friends and fellow travel writers spun me into maddening indecision. 

Fortunately, I met Tom Haines, my bartender at The Dandy Bar at The Mayfair Townhouse, a landmark hotel in London’s beautiful Mayfair neighborhood. Like Julius Caesar enlisting a Celtic guide to survey the terra incognita of Britannia, I deferred to Tom’s wisdom for navigating the bar culture of Londinium. My Instagram feed was full of trendy cocktail lounges in London, but I sought watering holes I wouldn’t find back home in New York City—raucous football pubs, historic public houses, and holes-in-the-wall in neighborhoods I had never heard of. 

As I polished off a gourmet smashburger and pint of cask ale at The Dandy Bar, Tom scribbled a list on the back of a napkin. For a moment, I considered an early night and hot bath to conserve energy for the British Museum the next morning. I had risen early to catch the Caledonian Sleeper from Edinburgh—a scenic but long train ride—and my room at The Mayfair Townhouse was gloriously comfortable. But, then again, would Sid Vicious or Mick Jagger turn in early on a Friday night in London? Would Winston Churchill go to bed when duty called? 

Tom’s suggestions were spot-on, a smattering of splurge-worthy speakeasies, industry-insider hotspots, and rollicking pubs. I had to save a few of his recs for my next visit to London, but here were the highlights from my three-day sprint through the English capital.

“Bond. James Bond,” I quipped to the hostess at The Vesper Bar when she asked for my reservation name. She congratulated me for being the 100th guy to make that joke, then escorted me to a seat in front of a glittering whiskey library. 

The Dorchester Hotel, home to the Vesper Bar, was the favored writing refuge of Ian Fleming, the author of the James Bond novels. And if Bond himself were more than fiction, the Vesper Bar—a softly illuminated lounge graced by the rich, the famous, and the beautiful—would have been his favored stomping ground in London.

I could have spent all evening admiring the Vesper Bar’s Scotch library, and Caol Ila, an acclaimed Islay distillery, barrels a special whiskey exclusively for The Vesper Bar. (Spoiler alert: it’s peated perfection). The Vesper Martini of the bar’s namesake was Ian Fleming’s go-to libation for tippling between hours on the typewriter. The name of the cocktail, half gin and half vodka, alludes to Vesper Lynd, a beautiful double-agent in the novel Casino Royale. Vesper martinis are mainstays in cocktail bars the world over, but you won’t find one better than the original—a martini as crisp and clean as rainwater.

As much as I appreciate high society, I needed a counterbalance to the delicate refinement of The Vesper Bar. Like Garth Brooks, I craved an oasis among friends in low places. To this end, Tom pointed me to O’Neill’s on Wardour Street, an Irish pub in Chinatown. Devoid of frills and patronized by a healthy mix of locals and tourists, O’Neill’s reminded me of Jimmy’s Corner, an beloved dive in Times Square where draughts of Yuengling still cost only $3.

Nobody goes to a divey pub for whiz-bang cuisine, but the food at O’Neills—burgers, nachos, real fish and chips—is an ideal booze mop after a big night. O’Neills has a commendable selection of English craft beer, and as you would expect from an Irish pub in the U.K., they pour Guinness with the precision of a neuroscientist. For rubbing shoulders with the locals, this recommendation was a standout.

After closing down O’Neill’s, I woke up Sunday morning as hungover as a midshipman in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy. My whole organism cried out for revivifying nourishment. Tom suggested a Sunday roast, a tradition in London where pubs serve Yorkshire pudding and roast beef as Sunday specials. His recommendation, The Cadogan Arms in Chelsea, was a 15-minute walk from the Mayfair Townhouse. 

The Cadogan Arms was poppin’ that Sunday morning, and my nose told me why: the whiffs of roast beef and fresh pastry wafting into the street were seductive enough to raise the dead. I ordered a mimosa to ease the grip of the metaphorical rusty turban constricted around my skull, and of course, the Sunday roast—a plate heaped with thick, succulent slices of beef and Yorkshire pudding as pillowy as a dream. (Note: Make a reservation a few days in advance for a seat on Sunday—it gets busy and wait times are long.)

British legends like the Rolling Stones, Eric Clapton, the Clash, and the Sex Pistols composed the soundtrack of my adolescence, and even with so little time in town, I couldn’t leave London without my rock ’n’ roll fix. For wailing guitars paired with cheap beers and laid-back vibes, Ain’t Nothin’ But, a blues bar in Soho, delivers the goods with aplomb. Eric Clapton is England’s single greatest contribution to the Blues, but Ain’t Nothing But might be the runner-up. 

The stage is small and the venue intimate—a similar ambiance to Ornithology, a storied NYC jazz club. Virtuosic Blues and rock musicians ignite the stage every night of the week. Ain’t Nothin’ But does not take reservations, so be sure to show up early on weekends and when popular acts are headlining. 

This recommendation came from both Tom and my buddy Rich Manning, an LA-based writer who has forgotten more about cocktail culture than I will ever hope to know. Overlooking the Thames River from the South Bank, Lyaness offers views of the city that alone warrant a glowing review—especially at night. And the craft cocktails, made by highly trained bartenders who rank among the best mixologists in the world, are nothing short of exquisite. Like John Frusiante’s guitar style, the menu cleaves to the classic—seven core ingredients form the basis of the menu—but also embraces the experimental. For cocktail connoisseurs, Lyaness is right up there with Death & Co and Dutch Kills Bar in New York City. 

New York City has its storied, hoary taverns—Sunny’s in Brooklyn and The Ear Inn in Manhattan come to mind—but nothing that approaches the antiquity of The Ship Tavern, a pub in the Holborn neighborhood that’s almost 500 years old. During the English Reformation, when Catholicism was banned in the realm, The Ship Tavern became a clandestine Catholic church, with the bar doubling as a pulpit.

In keeping with its timeworn charm, The Ship Tavern serves certified cask ale, an unpasteurized style of beer tippled in English pubs for centuries. Forgoing pasteurization means cask ale has a short shelf life, but it sparkles with rich, funky flavors. The Ship Tavern is a quintessential English pub, the type of joint where you’ll wish the walls could speak. 

The Mayfair Townhouse is a hotel so opulent as to make the mansion in Saltburn look like my dilapidated apartment in Brooklyn. Mayfair is one of London’s most expensive zip codes, and the handsome streets and alleyways thrum with cafes and markets during the day and al fresco restaurants in the evening. The surrounding nabe epitomizes London’s signature charm: tweed-jacketed gentlemen smoking pipes on park benches, families strolling with their dogs, and a village-like ambiance where neighbors congregate in cozy pubs to watch Chelsea football matches. 

And, of course, the Mayfair Townhouse is home to The Dandy Bar, the starting point of my hazy, whirlwind tour of London’s bars. The Dandy Bar’s libations—U.K. craft beers, rare whiskeys, and superb cocktails—are only exceeded by the hospitality of the team. Try the signature cocktail, the Dandy, made with a generous pour of smokey Laphroaig 15 and sweetened with a touch of chocolate bitters. For a dessert as English as Paddington Bear, order the blackberry and apple crumble.

A Relais & Chateaux hotel, Chelsea’s 11 Cadogan Gardens Hotel exudes aristocratic charm. Along the polished wooden corridors, you’ll find black-and-white photos of the famous actors and statesmen who graced the hotel over its long history, a list including actor Peter Welles and model Elizabeth Hurley. Rooms are luxuriously appointed with framed paintings, large windows, and sumptuous marble bathtubs large enough for two. Within a five-minute walk of the hotel’s entrance are a slew of buzzy cafes, hip restaurants, and boutique shops. 

Hans’ Bar & Grill, the hotel’s flagship restaurant, serves British fare with Italian flair; you’ll find both classic fish ‘n’ chips and soulful pasta dishes on the menu. The cherry custard dessert is a showstopper, especially paired with a dram from the restaurant’s well-curated Scotch selection.