A Vogue Guide To The 16 Best Pubs In London

As the oft-quoted Samuel Johnson line goes: “When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life.” Clearly, Dr Johnson had never tried to snag a seat in a decent pub in central on a sunny Saturday afternoon. But while it’s easy to become jaded by the proliferation of chain breweries, tepid wine and overpriced pre-mixed cocktails, in truth this city is home to some truly great pubs – arguably better than anywhere – if you know where to find them, that is.

As rosé season gets underway, explore some of British Vogue ’s best-loved London pubs, from spit and sawdust classics to shiny new gastropubs and celebrity favourites. North Camden might have died a cultural death sometime in the early 2010s, but the Good Mixer – a grimy “proper boozer” just off the high street – is remarkably the same as it’s ever been. Known at first for being a popular Britpop hangout in the 1990s, and then for being where Amy Winehouse would smash everyone at pool in the 2000s, the Mixer is essentially a North London landmark at this point.



Weirdly though, it’s not been mega tourist-ifed. You can still get a cheap pint, the Jukebox doesn’t have a huge queue and you’ll often see the same faces in there. If you’re looking for a “nice” pub, this isn’t it.

But if you’re looking for a fun one? It’s the Mixer all the way. Daisy Jones, features writer Make a day of it with a hack through the Heath that ends at the Spaniards Inn. Not only does it have a genuinely huge garden (with both covered and uncovered tables), the food is delicious and the beer is cold.

One for dog-lovers, you’ll spot plenty kipping under tables groaning under the weight of Aperol Sprizes. An open secret (even more open since its recent cameo in Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy ), I’d suggest booking ahead of time for a weekend visit. Abutting the wild, overgrown Heath, this London pub makes you feel (almost) like you’re in the countryside.

Morgan Fargo, beauty and wellness editor An unassuming but very smartly done-up pub in Maida Vale, the Hero – previously the Truscott Arms – has long been a destination for locals, but it came under new ownership it has put Maida Vale on the chic pub crawl map. Now, people come from far and wide for its simple-but-elevated classics, such as mackerel pate, chicken pie for two, and quite possibly the best cheese toastie in the city (ask for extra pickle). The best seat in the house is the nook to the left of the bar, by the fireplace.

Bag your spot and settle in for some excellent people watching. Jessica Diner, Vogue global beauty and wellness director If you’re looking for a summer escape without having to leave London, the Faltering Fullback in Finsbury Park has you covered: this Irish pub has one of the best beer gardens in the city. Winding steps lead to a treehouse-inspired, fairy-lit alcove with – wait for it – table service.

The best part? The kitchen is manned by a great chef who oversees a menu of authentic Thai food. Ranyechi Udemezue, associate beauty and wellness writer No lazy North London Sunday is complete without lunch at the Angel Inn. Walk off your traditional roast with a stroll through Hampstead Heath to visit Kenwood House.

Or, if shopping is your cardio, head to Muswell Hill to squeeze in some thrifting before the shops close. RU East This is both a classically quaint, family-friendly neighbourhood pub and a watering hole for @RealHousewivesOfClapton caricatures at once – which I guess is symptomatic of Stoke Newington at large. Set just off Church Street, it’s not as concertedly scene-y as, say, the Spurstowe or Army & Navy, but you are borderline guaranteed to bump into someone you know.

There’s a small garden, and some benches out front – and on balmy summer nights, crowds spill over the wide pavement and into the road, which to me feels inexplicably decadent. The roasts are divine, and it’s one of the few pub pubs I know where I can order a double mezcal on the rocks, two limes (carcass in!) and a *splash* of soda with no fear of a suspect glance in return. Which is, ultimately, my benchmark for whether I will return to a place or not.

Mahoro Seward, fashion features editor A stalwart of the @SocksHouseMeeting circuit, but a classic for a reason. Stepping through the doors of the Royal Oak is like falling through the looking glass and into a real-life version of east London Hinge. (The holy trinity of the Spurstowe, the Prince George and the Chesham also fall into this category.

) For that reason, it’s a perfect spot for a bank holiday, when inhibitions are loose and Monday morning dread does not loom. The garden technically fits about three people, but when the Tabi-wearers and mullet-touters spill out onto Columbia Road in a cloud of vape smoke, it’s enough to make even the most jaded Londoner get misty-eyed about summer in the city. After last orders, you’re within stumbling distance of the Queen Adelaide on Hackney Road, to listen to Charli xcx and bond with the bouncer (who once told me “less talking, more smoking” in the outside area).

Olivia Allen, fashion writer Come for the ginormous tables, stay for the live (and almost exclusively ’90s) music. Ideal for raucous birthday drinks, the spacious Alma has an array of mismatched-yet-comfortable chairs and an abundance of you’ll-end-up-dancing energy. The clientele spans all generations, and often you’ll be sharing dancefloor space with one of the blue-rinsed regulars.

Don’t think that makes it sleepy, though. Exceptionally unpretentious, the Alma is a guaranteed good night (or bound-to-get-out-of-hand afternoon) for you and 15 of your closest friends. MF If you, like me, are tired of the Spurstowe being too busy to even see the bar, never mind get served in a timely fashion, may I suggest its equally hip and bustling neighbour, the Prince Arthur? Go on any sunny weekday evening and you’ll find punters spilling out on to Forest Road, pint of underground IPA in one hand, ciggie in the other (scarcely a Lost Mary round here).

The signature cocktails are reason enough to go – don’t miss the pisco sour – while the pub snacks have been gentrified in true east London fashion. Hand cut triple cooked chips? Don’t mind if I do! Riann Phillip, features assistant South Less a straight-up pub and more a house party in disguise, the Windmill in Brixton has long enjoyed a cult following of punters seduced by its laidback, “sceney” vibe, and how you will nearly always end up watching a weird band from Goldsmiths. The pints are cheap, the music can actually be really good, and I’m pretty sure I saw Paul Mescal in there once, although it could have just been another guy with brown hair and a mullet.

Daisy Jones, features writer A lot of the old man pubs in my patch of south London don’t necessarily feel like they’re for me per se, but this one, just down the road in Peckham, decidedly is. Come after work on a Friday for a giant plate of jerk chicken and rice, followed by spicy, £6 happy hour margs. Soon after, chairs are moved to make way for a raucous dance floor that heaves late into the night – and, before you know it, there’s a long, one-in-one-out queue snaking outside the door.

You’ll feel incredibly smug when you leave. Radhika Seth, film and culture editor The Crooked Billet is a cute gastropub with a cosy, countryside feel, nestled right on the edge of Wimbledon Common. It’s a perfect spot to end up at after a wander through the village – especially on a Sunday, when you can enjoy one of the truly excellent roasts – or to seek refuge from an unseasonable spring downpour.

Laura Ingham, deputy director, Global Fashion Network West My incisors revealed themselves, like a raccoon guarding a bin, when an enthusiastic Australian on TikTok began to gush about a so-called “undiscovered gem” she had nicknamed “Costa del Chiswick”. That is, Strand-on-The-Green, a pedestrianised waterfront at the farthest bend of W4, mercifully just a little too far west to fall into full-blown social media ruin. The truth is, this blue plaque-scattered, wisteria-lined stretch of Grade II-listed real estate is well worth the adulation.

It is also home to three of the most picturesque pubs in London, among them The City Barge: a 14th-century watering hole designed for losing entire afternoons over fish finger sandwiches and bottles of Whispering Angel (this is west London, after all) as the sun sinks into the purest stretch of the Thames. Oliver’s Island – rumoured to have been one of Cromwell’s hideouts during the English Civil War – is just offshore. If that means nothing to you, the many local celebrities (too gauche to name them here) might.

Daniel Rodgers, fashion news editor You’ll know Portobello Road’s Sun in Splendour by its bold yellow exterior – and it’s as colourful on the inside as the out. Not only does it offer a banging Sunday roast, a pub quiz on Wednesdays and occasional live music – all things you’d expect from the oldest pub in the postcode – its carefully considered (and concise) wine list is enough to keep W11’s oenophiles coming back for more. NB: the staff will sing you happy birthday if you ask really nicely.

RP Central The Eagle is supposedly London’s first gastropub. When I hear “gastropub” I normally grimace, because it usually means a big space divided into two. Half of the space is set with sparkly glassware and upright chairs serving triple-cooked chips and “gourmet” burgers, and the other side is a half-arsed pub with shit bar stools and a limp vibe.

But this isn’t the case with the Eagle. The Eagle is a proper pub where you can eat good food, if you fancy. On a sunny day, you can sit outside (on good stable picnic benches, not wonky chairs), and enjoy a pint in the city, and perhaps order its famous steak sandwich, which is roughly the size of the average human face.

The menu changes and is seasonal – there is no specific rhyme or reason, one day they will serve borscht, the next, a pig roll with salsa verde. Their bar offers good lager and Guinness, and no horrible, hoppy graphic design beers. It is shabby chic in a non-millennial mum way.

The staff are good people (especially the Geordie woman behind the bar) who tend to stick around for a while, with alumni including the likes of Margot Henderson and Trish Hilferty. It boasts one of the only readable chalk board menus in London, and the clientele is varied and unpretentious: city bankers, tourists, “foodies” and pissheads alike. I have never been at the Eagle and not felt an overwhelming sense of calm, boozy bliss.

This charming pub, hidden away down a Diagon Alley-esque passage off the Strand, has become the preferred watering hole of many a British Vogue editor since our office move last year. With good reason too: it’s a humble establishment with reasonably (-ish) priced pints, a decent wine list and a playlist loaded with guilty pleasures. Unlike many of its West End counterparts – and despite the odd finance bro floating around – the Nell doesn’t feel like being in central London, it has that good old-fashioned boozer feel.

RP If you ever find yourself in central London on a weekend and in need of some respite in the form of a chilled glass of Albariño, allow me to introduce you to the Larrik. Nestled behind the thoroughfare of Marylebone high street but before you hit the Edgware road, the pub does good food, great wine and a sharing plate of nachos that'll restore your faith in crisps covered in things. Whether you snag one of the handful of benches out front or knotty wooden tables inside, The Larrik (to me) is the quintessential British pub Americans flock to us to find.

Fortunately, it's still largely under the radar and in a fairly residential spot, so you're just as likely to get a dinner reservation as you are a seat – just get there early. MF.