Londoners enjoy the view on Hampstead Heath

The Flask pub in Hampstead

A bather leaps into the water at the mixed-pond on Hampstead Heath

Fenton House & Garden- a 17th Century historic landmark on Hampstead Grove including a large collection of early keyboards, a stunning walled garden & ancient apple orchard

English Heritage's Kenwood House on the northern edge of Hampstead Heath

A man sits with his dog in the early morning mist on Hampstead Heath

A bather leaps into the water at the mixed-pond on Hampstead Heath

A woman relaxes on a bench on Hampstead Heath in London

ong the stomping ground of film stars and best-selling novelists, Hampstead has a lofty reputation.

This leafy enclave of north London is defined by its gorgeous mansions and huge green space, Hampstead Heath, which dominates the area.

Besides the millionaires' abodes and the park life, there are a whole host of other reasons to visit, with the area home to some historic pubs, great restaurants and cultural institutions.

This is the complete guide to going out in Hampstead.

L’Antica is a great place to get an authentic slice of pizza. The Neapolitan-style pizzas are wood-fired, resulting in a soft, irresistible base. A particular highlight is the massimo troisi, which comes with burrata cheese, aubergines, sausages, truffle oil, basil and parmesan. There are other pasta and salad options on the menu, but this place is all the about the ‘za.

Mimmo La Bufala, found a literal stone’s throw from the heath, is another popular Italian spot, similarly inspired by the country’s southern region. The big sharing pizzas, which are made to be split between three, are always a wise choice, but there’s more much more besides. The seafood is superb — try the spaghetti vongole with fresh clams, courgettes, white wine, garlic, parsley and a kick of chilli — or go all out with the gnocci with black truffle, provided it's in season.

A neighbourhood favourite for more than two decades now, Ravel’s Bistro hasn’t moved entirely with the times, but has survived on a sterling reputation for wholesome food and a friendly atmosphere. The menu switches between French and British classics, keeping things pleasingly traditional with dishes such as coq au vin and pan-seared duck breast.

Excellent Kosher food can be found at Delicatessen Hampstead, which serves up dishes inspired by the cuisines of the Middle East, updated with a modern twist. The sharing plates are the ones to go for — the slices of the lahmajun get snapped up in minutes, while the confit lamb and crackling with a big dollop of hummus always goes down a treat. It’s always a busy place, and buzzy.

Once through the battered door of the early C18th terrace house you can breathe a sigh of relief: Soho’s soul remains untrammelled. Opened in 1986 by the eponymous print dealer whose shop trades next door, the venue was quickly embraced as London’s riposte to a Parisian bistro. As happens in such places, a clientele of regulars clubbily coalesced. But make a booking & “membership” is granted by your name scribbled on the white paper tablecloth — next to a candle in a bottle. Nothing much has changed in the past 30-odd years. Cooking keeps pace with the evolving way we like to eat but is never egregiously clever-clogs. The drinks list, plus extra bottles on the blackboard, continues to delight and demand exploration. There isn’t a better description than that by Bruce Yardley in my Standard restaurant guide of 1996: “a bizarre assortment which looks as if picked up at auction following the death of a rich crank, with surprisingly grand bottles available at bargain prices”. Still true.

I go to the opening of any Chinese restaurant I hear about, always searching for the Holy Grail (a speciality, I think, of Fujian). In the dreary January days of 2013 I noticed the launch of A Wong in the badlands of Victoria, went one evening and have been going ever since. Andrew Wong, whose late father ran Kym’s at the same address, did a Chinese reverse ferret and went from university into the restaurant kitchen, having fervently and effectively studied the cooking traditions of his homeland. Time of day influences the experience, with lunch being the moment for imaginative, exquisite and often astonishing dim sum, sensibly served by the piece. Underpin them with “knife-shaved noodles” with garlic, soy, chilli, sesame and dried fish, and Xian city lamb burger with Xinjiang pomegranate salad. In the evenings, the 10-course Taste of China Menu and the Peking Duck Feast are truly memorable. Undisputedly, Andrew is the most audacious, forward-thinking Chinese chef in London.

Apparently inspired by Barcelona’s Cal Pep, these tapas bars are the creation of Hart Brothers Sam & Eddie, in whose domain are also Quo Vadis & El Pastor. Bilbao-born chef Nieves Barragán Mohacho established the rigorously authentic style and introduced regional culinary tropes not seen before in London. Her departure to do her own thing — fair enough after 14 years with the Harts — will, I believe, not leave customers short-changed. I don’t observe queues shortening outside the three outlets, my favourite being Drury Lane because the wait is often more merciful and it is perfect for before and after theatre, ballet and movies. The venues are slickly kitted out and the dance of service skilfully choreographed. Sparkling, pristine fish can be combined with gnarly offal and grills of the day and bedded down in the basics such as tortilla and pan con tomate, which are notably carefully constructed. The Harts import their own manzanilla, which is a good way to start as you mean to go on.

My dutiful admiration for the Queen soared to a state approaching fandom when, in March 2016, I read that she had dined at Bellamy’s — and not for the first time. In her terms you might almost say she’s a regular. Some restaurants are the person who owns them, and Bellamy’s is Gavin Rankin. Gavin worked for Mark Birley, original creator of Annabel’s and Mark’s Club, outstripping him, to my mind, in charm and subtlety. He is also a cracking mimic. French-Belgian brasseries inspire the look and the menu, which features the sort of simple things done well that posh people like, the dishes Arabella Boxer celebrated in her perspicacious Book of English Food. You might choose to start with iced lobster soufflé but find milk chocolate Minstrels served with coffee. How well Gavin understands. A table d’hôte menu at lunch and dinner offers excellent value and French wines kick off very reasonably. Young customers are encouraged — as well as venerable royalty.

My gaggle of companions for restaurant reviewing includes people working in the biz. They are curious, invariably generous in judgment — and they understand. Oisin Rogers, of The Guinea Grill, grasps the nettle fearlessly but sometimes he will say, let’s just go somewhere good. Bentley’s Oyster Bar is mooted because it is a serious enterprise devoted to prime ingredients treated with wit and brio, and because ebullient Richard Corrigan is a consummate chef and restaurateur — and of course an Irishman. The oyster bar is the place to sit, the end table on the left opposite the long marble bar my preference. Oyster-eaters (not me) say the best specimens are are here. Oystermen open them with a skill that could re-invent The Generation Game. Fish soup, fish and chips and a glorious fish pie are all present and correct, but don’t ignore the inventive and sometimes globetrotting dishes of the day. The terrace outside is another asset.

One BAM review remarked prissily that you can’t adjust the volume on your palate. It then occurred to me that the relentless heavy-metal that prohibits conversation actually works to balance the smack of roaring flavours and deafening colours. Forget talking, start drinking cocktails. Chef/patron Lee Tiernan, who fronts the black, wood-fired, iron-clad metal oven decorated with tributes to Kiss, worked for 10 years at St John, finishing as head chef at St John Bread & Wine in Spitalfields. He is well travelled, soaking up influences, stratagems and spices like a wily sponge. For what I describe generically as pimped-up lahmacun, one of the breads incorporating potato and spelt flour, is inspired by San Francisco’s Tartine Bakery. If you get nervous around offal, cunning accoutrements with the meats and the clout of chilli will dispel that. More decorous assemblies are also offered. Consider squid ink flatbread topped with an egg yolk literally — and silently — glittering.

Chef Jacob Kenedy and manager Victor Hugo both worked at Moro. Inspired and instructed, in 2008 they opened their own venture in an unkempt Soho street in premises that once housed Charlie Chester’s Casino. They were early into small plates — at the start of a meal a stack like gambling chips is placed on the table. The menu takes inspiration from the 20 regions of Italy and from the kitchen’s own ideas when the region is listed as BDL. Perfect radish, celeriac, pomegranate, pecorino salad with truffle dressing comes from there, ie, inside Jacob’s head. Rome is the go-to for fried fancies such as anchovy-stuffed sage leaves and Mammole artichokes. Pastas from anywhere are sublime, and when choosing roasts and grills it is well worth remembering that sausages are one of the staples made in-house. No luck with a booking or a place at the counter? Try the offshoot Vico in Cambridge Circus, specialising in southern Italian cooking. And definitely an ice cream from Gelupo.

I luxuriate at The Wolseley. The Delaunay confers glamour. At Fischer’s the mittel-European café concept has found its ideal address. The peace, space and tartes flambées at Bellanger are a boon, and I wouldn’t stay anywhere in London other than The Beaumont. But it is Brasserie Zédel, just off Piccadilly Circus and conceived by Corbin and King, that touches my heart. Here is the meat and drink of democracy inspired by Bouillon Chartier in Paris. Marble columns, brass rails, mirrors and gilt decorate a vast hall where tables have salmon-pink cloths and napkins. After five years of business, ridiculously reasonable prices hold. I choose the prix-fixe menu at £12.75 for three courses, not because I am a cheapskate but because I like carottes rapées, steak haché and gâteau Opera. Dishes of the day make me hope it’s Monday for that quintessential French assembly, poulet au curry. An evening of cabaret at Crazy Coqs across the hall followed by dinner is one of London’s unbeatable treats.

I got to know Keith McNally in 2013 when he came to recreate his New York landmark restaurant Balthazar in Covent Garden. He asked me where I most liked to eat and I took him here. He loved it, said it was absolutely his idea of an ideal restaurant and claimed that his mother was born in Columbia Road. Maybe she was. Ed Wilson, once head chef for the Terroirs coalition, now concentrates his energies here. Seasonal, local, foraged, organic, yadda, yadda, yadda... but here, in what was once a wood-turning workshop, those attributes obtain magnificently. The daily printed menu bristles with relevance, relish and temptation. The off-piste wine list comes with staff willing and able to explain, recommend and let you try. When I first reviewed Brawn, I gave it five stars. Enough said.

If anywhere could redeem the urban blight of the developments in Vauxhall Cross, it is the Georgian house now fittingly occupied by architectural salvage company Lassco. It is where young blade Jackson Boxer runs his candelabra-lit, ground-floor restaurant and bar with access to some of the atmospheric rooms for private parties. Jackson, grandson of Arabella (see Bellamy’s) and the late Mark Boxer, has been fortunate in his culinary evolution here in having Andrew Clarke — soon to open duck-devoted Bastien — as chef-director and gifted Drew Snaith at his elbow. Their menus are fertile, nourishing, plugged into the markets and fashionable without being faddy. The old ways of a major ingredient bolstered by minor accompaniments has been abandoned to a new musicality where every element carries more or less equal weight. Vegetarians won’t feel neglected; their options are never obvious. The romance of craftsmanship, apparent everywhere in the building, carries over into the cooking.

In compiling this list some choices needed a revisit to check that everything was as I thought. When I slipped in here on a weekday lunchtime I locked eyes — you will grasp the significance when you meet him — with Abel Lusa, owner since the restaurant opened in 1995. Over 20 years on, you might expect the boss to miss a quiet service, but Lusa was also meeting Spanish wine makers, the cellar being his pride and joy. Albero & Grana (now closed) where Lusa worked and Cambio de Tercio (both names inspired by bullfighting) brought to west London stirrings of how we now perceive Spanish cooking — as something revelatory. Jamon Iberica — here five-star Sanchez Romero Carvajal — is the way to begin any meal. Head chef Alberto Criado embraces the technique of low and slow whether that be for roasted tomatoes, heritage carrots, rabbit, oxtail or baked custard. Vivid and energising decor and enthusiastic service animates the diners — including Rafael Nadal when he’s in town.

When there was a flurry of media surprise in the mid-Eighties at university graduates becoming restaurant chefs, Bruce Poole (Exeter — history) was among that number. After a couple of years working front-of-house, he began cooking with Simon Hopkinson at Bibendum. Poole’s premises overlooking Wandsworth Common previously housed Marco Pierre White at Harvey’s. For many — me included — Chez Bruce is a restaurant ideal and often wins awards pointing to that fact. Classic technique from head chef Matt Christmas is let loose on a roll call of enticing ingredients exhibiting deep-seated understanding of the role and impact of each. Generosity of spirit conveyed by the dishes themselves plus canapés and friandises is reinforced by the warmth and capability of the staff with a strong female component including sommelier Sara Bachiorri in charge of a magnificent list. There is agreeably defiant plainness in the décor, all the better to frame tip-top eating and drinking.

Was it named when a world-weary Italian waiter approached a pretty girl with an oversized pepper mill in his hands? This familiar scenario that for many underpins the London restaurant experience is to my mind enshrined most satisfactorily at Ciao Bella. Always buzzing — electric heaters outside provide an all-weather “terrace” — with the basement often given over to parties, diners on the ground floor are squashed tight under stills from the heyday of Italian movies, with special attention paid to Fellini and La Dolce Vita. Those traditional Italian specialities salume affumicato and avocado e gamberetti share the menu with insalata tricolore, myriad pizzas, over two dozen pastas, vitello, fegato, pollo, scampi, cassata, torta della nonna, all reassuringly served in comforting quantity. A pianist plays, customers imbibe and often sing. Catching a movie at Curzon Bloomsbury followed by supper here is one approach of mine to “the sweet life”.

In a magazine article asking chefs what they would be cooking on Christmas Day, I remember Sally Clarke saying something like she “might boil a few carrots”. She is ascetic, our Sal and it has stood her in good stead. Young dude chefs nowadays get praised for their no-choice tasting menus, but more than 30 years ago Sally — inspired in part by Alice Waters at Chez Panisse — launched Clarke’s with a fixed dinner menu (that rule has recently been relaxed). She was ahead of her time in other ways such as strict seasonality, devotion to the best produce, local if possible, an open kitchen, bread made in-house, simplicity, clarity, clean fingernail inspection and Californian wines. There is a serenity in the dining rooms that attracts a band of devoted followers. Lucian Freud was one, as art on the walls attests. For the best of British ingredients handled with an artistic yet practical sensibility, Clarke’s is there to carry you to a safe harbour.

From a supper club in a modest flat to Shoreditch Town Hall and a placing this year at No 26 in the World’s 50 Best Restaurants, chef Isaac McHale and his partners front-of-house, Johnny Smith and Daniel Willis, have made an extraordinary culinary trajectory. Tasting menus pre-paid as if for a front-row seat at the opera are one way to go, but I prefer lunch Tuesday to Friday when dishes are offered à la carte. (As a mealtime I tend to like lunch best anyway, especially long lunch). The open kitchen and pared back scholastic dining room look most appealing when light floods through long windows. Dishes that are almost fixtures like buttermilk fried chicken & pine salt; meats cured in-house; raw Orkney scallop with hazelnut, clementine and truffle; game in season; Amalfi lemonade & Kampot pepper ice cream are on offer — as, please note, they might be on the à la carte bar menu. Genial interaction between staff, including chefs, and customers can be another lovable quality here.

Some chefs stay preternaturally young looking. My theory is that it’s the steam in the kitchen. Pascal Aussignac, son of Gascony, also possesses elfin charm. He nips between his main restaurant close to St-Bartholomew-the-Great church, Le Bar (formerly Cellar Gascon) next door, Comptoir Gascon on the other side of the old Smithfield meat market and Cigalon in Chancery Lane. I dare say his Fitbit is constantly vibrating. Restaurant-going in south-west France will not have readied you for his daring wit and ingenuity with ingredients. The menu salutes vegetable gardens, rivers and oceans, forests and pastures. Although taken to its heights in the main restaurant, I prefer eating in the more casual surroundings of Le Bar. French tapas delivers items such as duck doughnuts with spicy sauce, cod roe plancha with white asparagus and truffle, lentil velouté & eel madeleine, frosted After Eight, along with cocktails and wines chosen with real discernment, graciously served.

When it opened in 2013, The Dairy burst onto the restaurant scene like overnight spring blossom. And in Clapham! This laid-back light-hearted outfit offering an amazingly good value tasting menu was not the result of a whim on the part of Dublin-born Robin Gill. Hard graft had been put in under Marco Pierre White at The Oak Room and Raymond Blanc at Le Manoir aux Quat’Saisons, sandwiching a time in Italy at Don Alfonso 1890 on the Amalfi coast where the importance of seasonality and local producers was brought home. With his wife Sarah, wanting to create “a little farmhouse in the middle of London”, he drew on inspiration from Scandinavia and stages at Noma and Frantzen. Sound husbandry, fermentation, bee keeping, bread and butter making, good drinking, staff nurturing all play a part. In the following four years, The Manor, also in Clapham, Paradise Garage in Bethnal Green and Counter Culture next to The Dairy have followed. Something else is in the pipeline. I can’t wait.

I discovered L’Escargot (estd. 1927) when, in the late Sixties, I worked as a copywriter at J. Walter Thompson and was taken for lunches by one of the account directors, Robert Fearnley-Whittingstall (Hugh’s father as he became). What I remember best from those days are lampshades made from scorched white silk hankies weighed down by snail shells and the list of Alsace wines. As Soho changes for what likeable people think is the worse, L’Escargot, now nurtured by genial owner Brian Clivaz, stands solid as proof of — and a link to — more sybaritic, velvety times. The menu devised by chef James Tyrell embraces French brasserie classics including snails (bien sur), onion soup, steak tartare, cassoulet, beef Bourguignon, steak-frites and Béarnaise, Grand Marnier soufflé. There is the occasional trendy incursion that can be easily sidestepped. I like to sit in the ground floor front bar. I had my 70th birthday at L’Escargot: It was one of the best parties I have ever been to.

After working for 25 years at The Square — holding two Michelin stars for 17 of them — at the age of 50 when most chefs slip out of their whites into something more managerial, Phil Howard — in a striped pinny — goes on cooking. Last year, with his business partner Rebecca Mascarenhas, he opened Elystan Street in Chelsea revealing in studiedly casual no-tablecloth décor and sprightly, nourishing, salubrious menus that he has not been unaware of changes in customer preferences and their awareness of vigour and healthiness in restaurant meals. Howard’s culinary taste is almost pitch-perfect and the balance of earthiness and elegance in the dishes is ever delicate. Getting to work past Andrea’s greengrocer could provide inspiration. These ingredients and skills come at a cost (to us) but set-price lunch is a relative bargain and Phil Howard sprung free is a treat worth saving for. Consider warm salad of guinea fowl with cauliflower, shaved mushrooms, liver crumble and hazelnuts.

The name was given to Gregory Marchand by Jamie Oliver when he worked as head chef at Fifteen in Shoreditch. He parlayed it into a notably successful restaurant followed by wine bar and traiteur in Paris’s 2nd arrondissement. Earlier experience in New York, Spain and Hong Kong meant that Frenchie opening in London wasn’t the ill-starred relocation made by some of his compatriots. Unless particularly gifted hands in the patisserie section signify French to you, the menu, its execution and the surroundings are simply modern global chic — that last word a reference to dainty portions, which grate on some. Provenance of ingredients, the majority British, is name-checked. Their treatment is sharp-witted, often erudite in a revealing way about what flatters what. Fixed-price lunch is good value and a candid approach to what you want to spend on wine works well with the vivacious sommelier in charge of a list mined with natural wines. Don’t miss maple-licked bacon scones with clotted cream.

London’s last family-owned luxury hotel is the claim, and there is a stylish cosiness to The Goring that other grand establishments lack. When legendary New York food writer Mimi Sheraton last came to London she arranged that we have lunch at The Goring and, exigent critic that she is, pronounced herself very content. Proximity to Buckingham Palace isn’t the only reason that the royals are customers. Eggs Drumkilbo (jellied lobster cocktail) on the dining room menu was a first course much favoured by the late Queen Mother. Another restaurant lure is Fillet of Beef Wellington for two to share — and of course roast sirloin on the trolley on Sundays — but chef Shay Cooper has a fertile mind resulting in assemblies like cured sea bream, pickled lemon, hazelnut oil, iced celery; and roast squab, Tokyo turnip, crispy squab leg parcel, fresh apple, cider vinegar sauce. For a drink or tea in the comfortable bar overlooking the pretty garden it is always wise to book.

Although part of a group that includes three of London’s outstanding gastropubs — Anchor & Hope, Canton Arms and Camberwell Arms are all well worth seeking out — Great Queen Street is a restaurant with the facility to book tables and a 5.30pm dinner kick-off in a location that makes it ideal for pre-theatre eating. Ten years ago when it opened with delightful Tom Norrington-Davies at the stoves, the stripped-back décor — to which nothing much seems to have been done since — was arguably more startling than the modern European cooking. Now dishes and sharing assemblies such as warm black pudding, Alsace bacon salad and a poached egg; pot roast beef shin and risotto Milanese for two; suckling pig shoulder, choucroute, Montbéliard sausage, apple and horseradish for three are harder to find in multidisciplinary Soho and Covent Garden. Opposite Freemasons’ Hall where the Observer Food Monthly Awards are usually held.,I find myself gravitating to GQS for reassuring dinner after.

When I go for lunch at Hereford Road sandwiched between Bayswater and Notting Hill, as I do quite a lot, I often run into Tom Parker Bowles. We are both fans of Tom Pemberton’s approach to cooking — basically following the gospel according to St John — his sweet demeanour, ceaseless industry and the £13.50/15.50 two/three course set lunch with choice, a bargain that has been held at that price for years. Of course we might sometimes branch out and maybe choose crab, fennel and tomato salad in place of duck livers, green beans and tarragon or Blythburgh pork chop with chard and mustard rather than guinea fowl with pearl barley and chestnuts and finish with treacle tart not chilled rice pudding with marmalade (all taken from the menu on day of writing) but as you see there is no real need. In summer, tables outside and the skylight at the back come into their own. In winter sitting opposite the open kitchen is snug and rather romantic.

The self-styled “Honeys”, Sarit Packer and Itamar Srulovich, met cooking in an Italian restaurant near Tel Aviv. Yotam Ottolenghi — for whom they have both worked in London — you could say laid the trail here, in terms of restaurants and magazine features, for their magic carpet ride Middle Eastern food. First came Honey & Co, roughly the size of a beehive, then books, then the deli Honey & Spice and now this recreation of a spartan, but spacious grill house (always their dream), made distinctive by a cobalt blue wall. A set price menu for all the innovative mezze followed by a grill, side and dessert works for four or more. On your own or with a pal, roam among the first dishes not omitting burnt celeriac, Urfa chilli butter, soured cream and chives and then share a main, something based on lamb or pigeon with sweet onions as done in the Philadelphia restaurant, East Jerusalem. The brisk, sometimes brusque service just reinforces my determination to visit Israel.

The JSK group is named after Jyotin, Karam and Sunaina Sethi, Indian siblings who seem preternaturally sure-footed when it comes to devising their own culinary businesses or backing others. I am letting Hoppers epitomise the usefully varied skills they bring to bear on other in-house ventures like Gymkhana and the talents they back, as at Bao; this list can’t accommodate them all. Hoppers celebrates Tamil Nadu and Sri Lanka not just in the eponymous crumpety rice and coconut bowl-shaped pancakes but the vivid singular spicing, relishes such as seeni sambol, crisp dosa pancakes, inclusion of pork, enthusiasm for butter, snacks rolled in breads, love for the soothing quality of coconut and of course the particular hit of arrack fermented and matured in vats made from teak or Hamilla trees. Hoppers is hot in every sense of the word and queues (no bookings taken) are well handled — they take a number & text. It keeps the prices staying as sweet as they are.

There is a clue in the name about what makes this restaurant the favourite of so many. Dear old Michael Winner, whose judgment was by no means always batty, was a fan. Chef/patron Manoj Vasaikar has worked in London since the early 1990s — at the original Chutney Mary and also Veeraswamy. His knowledge of India’s regional cooking plus his understanding of what people want results in a delicate balance between tradition and derring-do. Zing go the strings of my heart for dishes like king prawn lonche, referring to the pickle that points up the aubergine and onion sauce, and chicken shatkora flavoured with the tang — subtly different from zing — of a knobbly green citrus fruit from north-east India. Vegetables assume almost the same importance that they do in the homeland, so vegetarians can make merry here. In a street stiff with curry houses, distinction lies in superior cooking of prime foodstuffs, handsome décor and unerringly charming staff.

In 1893 Josef Sheekey was granted permission by Lord Salisbury to sell fish and shellfish in St Martin’s Court so long as he also undertook to provide dinners for the Lord and his friends after they had been to the theatre. It was only relatively recently that a prohibition on frying was lifted. Now J Sheekey is part of Richard Caring’s Caprice Holdings. “So it goes” as Kurt Vonnegut might have said. The Atlantic Bar with its own terrace is ideal for post-theatre eating in terms of location, hours kept and the composition of the menu, which can deliver delicacy and lightness if that is what is required, or fish pie. Oysters and/or a plateau de fruits de mer are another way of dealing with late eating, and there are on-trend items such as tuna poke and stone bass ceviche for those who don’t want shellfish. It is a clever, useful and somehow quite louche concept. It would be equally handy pre-theatre but I have never been that organised.

It’s OK to say “white boys cooking Thai food” when they say it about themselves. Andy Oliver at Som Saa, Seb Holmes at Farang, Ali Borer at Smoking Goat are all candidates here, but as there is room for one it will be Ben Chapman (ex-Smoking Goat) at Kiln. With experience as a designer, self-taught cook Chapman, well-travelled in Northern Thailand on the borders of Burma and Laos, brings endearing serene obsession to the charcoal-fired cooking — clay-pot, barbecue and wok — behind a long steel counter. He has said that “none of it is verbatim Thai cooking” but part of that claim is the high quality of raw ingredient and his relationships with indigenous farmers and fishermen. Fish arrives daily. Whole animals are butchered in-house. Asian herbs and vegetables are grown specially. The result is some of the most exciting cooking in London — at wholly amenable prices. Start with aged lamb and cumin skewer, then set off into the jungle.

Naming a Shepherd Market restaurant after a famous 18th-century courtesan shows wit. Wood-fired cooking in premises that were once a 19th-century bakery with the ovens still on show brings a touch of gastronomic dignity to the peculiarly self-conscious area. Launch chef Tomos Parry has been replaced by George Barson who includes Heston Blumenthal’s Dinner and Nuno Mendes’ Viajante on his CV. Kitty, who allegedly once ate a £1,000 banknote on a slice of bread and butter, would feel at home in the cosy downstairs room with its button-back seating upholstered in old rose velvet — and might not swoon at the prices. Whipped cod’s roe on toast; silver darlings (baby herrings) with piccalilli; leeks with smoked Hollandaise, crispy chicken skin and hazelnuts are a fine start. In the main course Iberico pork and Galician beef respond delectably to the cooking medium. Good manners of the owners inform the thoughtful service. There is news of a rollout — inevitable but slightly sad-making.

The name is taken from a Charles Bukowski poem. He would have liked this place — “We are here to laugh at the odds and live so well that death will tremble to take us”. Open evenings only from Wednesday then all day Sunday, lights staying on late (until 2am) attract flapping moths released from catering and other adrenaline-fuelled activities or anyone looking to keep the fun going. Burly, bearded, bucolic Charlie Mellor has taken on a restaurant, wine bar and off-licence devoted in part to natural and biodynamic wines. Let him be your guide. Chef Tom Anglesea — Rockpool in Oz, Per Se in New York — sends out beguiling dishes like creamed cod’s roe sprinkled with onomatopoeic Japanese furikake made from dried fish, sesame seeds and seaweed and unctuous chicken liver mousse contained in a stockade of slices of pear and batons of fried chicken skin. Late at night, soak up your troubles with special fried rice or char sui buns.

My two favourite Mom & Pop Japanese restaurants — Sushi-Say and The Shiori that offered a kaiseki menu — have seen the chefs and their wives return to Japan. Junya Yamasaki whose BackBench at Koya (the original) was a gastronomic revelation has also gone back. There’s Umu and The Iraki that I can’t afford, wondrous Sushi Tetsu where getting a booking is torment, and Dinings where I’m waiting to see the effect of the new branch — so lovely Koya Bar. Fat udon noodles, the wheat dough kneaded by foot, wriggle at the centre of the operation. Whatever the weather they can be hot with hot broth, cold with hot broth or cold with dipping and pouring sauces plus garnishes. When alone or your date is on the phone, watching the chefs noodling behind the long counter can be agreeably meditative. Small plates of pickles, salads, and tempura and seasonal daily specials provide constant variety and diversion. Breakfast is great. Try kedgeree or rice porridge.

Since it opened in 2005, many accolades — not least two Michelin stars — have been bestowed on Brett Graham’s Notting Hill restaurant. The web guide All in London, which awarded “Ultimate London Restaurant” four years in a row, says it well. Experience in his homeland of Australia followed by several years working for Philip Howard at The Square brings a lightness of touch, a fleetness of foot, a visceral understanding of textures and flavours made for each other that is unsurpassed. Important to the achievement is the paradox in Graham’s reference to the effort put in to make customers feel relaxed. In this he is fortunate in amiable general manager, Dublin-born Darren McHugh. Here are a first and main course that give a taste of the wizardry: clay-baked candy beetroot, English caviar, smoked and dried eel; jowl of pork, carrot & gooseberry juice, crackling and girolles. And most probably no one will interrupt to ask if you are enjoying them. Spendy, yes, but money well spent.

The Prince Regent is moored at Paddington Basin. Skipper and ship’s cook are Harry and Leah Lobek, assisted in the galley by Stuart Kilpatrick. Heavy-heartedness attendant on the phrase dinner cruise is immediately dispelled as you step aboard and settle down in the twinkling interior for resting actor Harry’s health and safety instructions that include the tip that if you fall overboard you can walk to the bank. Unbidden comes a sparkling aperitif based on Julian Temperley’s Somerset Cider Brandy and then, as you start to head for Camden Lock via Little Venice and Primrose Hill, the first of the five courses in the well-executed fish-propelled menu arrives. Harry, who has also worked as a sommelier (at Pollen Street Social), is a nifty guide to the wine list, which he seems to know inside out. Seeing London from a whole new vantage point as well as peering into moored houseboats is kind of magical — with much better dining than you might have anticipated. A perfect date night.

Along with star ratings restaurant reviews might usefully indicate whether the place in question is better for lunch or dinner. In my judgment, Lyle’s comes with a big L for lunch. Dinner is four courses at a set price with no choice. What’s mine is thine; where’s the fun there? But at lunch, there are 15 choices to dice with and divvy up and because James Lowe is a gifted, responsive, companionable chef tightly plugged into seasonality and a believer in the St. John diktat that nature should write your menu — he was head chef at St John Bread & Wine — dishes will feature ingredients like dulse and nettles, herbs like sweet cicely and lovage, breeds like Speckled Face mutton and tingling treats like cédrat lemon sherbet & preserved lemon meringue. Daytime also suits the high-ceilinged strictly functional dining room better. Take note of The Guest Series whereby compelling chefs from other countries are invited to cook, admittedly in the evenings. Everyone benefits.

Owned by the Panjabi-Mathrani family, whose standalone Indian restaurants are the estimable Chutney Mary, Veeraswamy and Amaya, their six-strong group (plus an outlet in Selfridge’s) to my mind achieves something more difficult. It is a definitely a group, not a chain, palpably apparent in different décor in each outlet celebrating India at play & at prayer and what must be very focused training to produce such informed and committed staff. As a frequent visitor to India — and having been born there — I can vouch for authenticity in the food, which naturally includes grills, tandoor and curries but also uplifting, diverting street food like pao bhaji, golgappa and dahi puri and thalis big or small, meat or vegetarian, the well-balanced healthy, almost ayurvedic way to approach a meal. At the Covent Garden branch beside the Opera House Rajasthani puppets bobbing across the ceiling are suitably theatrical — and merry company. The group’s home delivery service is also unusually rewarding.

Noble rot is the name given to the beneficial form of grey fungus on grapes known as botrytis cinerea. It is also a magazine and, since late 2015, a restaurant & wine bar in one of London’s most engaging streets. Mark Andrew and Dan Keeling, editors and owners, share a deep affection for wine and their publication and its catering arm demonstrate that joy can triumph over nerdiness in both. Consultant chef Stephen Harris from The Sportsman in Whitstable has installed his protégé Paul Weaver behind the stoves sending out dishes like Lincolnshire smoked eel, Yorkshire rhubarb & soda bread (superb); gnocchi, chestnut mushroom, kale pesto & mascarpone; roast Anjou squab, peas and Puy lentils; peanut parfait & champagne jelly. There is a bar menu for the front half of the deep, dark green premises and an incredibly good value set lunch. I go to Noble Rot more often than I should. For me it offers all the human frame requires including graceful service and invaluable wine knowledge.

How could you not love a chap who opens a restaurant called Wodka? Jan Woroniecki, whose father Krzysztof was a soldier in the Polish forces who stayed in Britain after the Second World War, went on to open Baltic in Blackfriars Road. With Wodka now closed (sob) I suspect his heart is in Ognisko in the Polish Hearth Club, where he has stripped back what was a fusty room with musty food to reveal elegance in the lineaments of the space and a canopied terrace overlooking the lawn at the back. The menu exhibits the history, intricacy and dumpling comfort of a cuisine often written off as sausages. It is close to the South Ken’s “Museum Quarter” and also The Albert Hall, so I find many opportunities to visit Ognisko to order what I nearly always do — smoked eel with Salat Olivier, blinis or pierogi or pelmeni or placki (potato pancakes) with the great combo of chicken livers and dried cherries. Vodka obvs, but also careful study of the wine bin ends.

My friend Simon Hopkinson, the best cook I know, spots Otto’s in 2013. It is not just prestigious empty wine bottles in the window that catch his eye but a notice announcing, “canard à la presse prepared to order”. We make a plan to go — the duck from the same company in Challans that supplies La Tour d’Argent in Paris must be ordered in advance. A silver-plated duck press made by Christofle in the early 1900s is in place and Otto embarks on the elaborate rich and redolent procedure that results in boozy brown velvet sauce for the breast meat followed by crisped legs served with salad. “I don’t suppose there will be pommes soufflés,” sighs Simon. There are. Otto is a maître d’ who might be cast in a Wes Anderson movie. Now he has a lobster press and also offers the option of Mère Brazier’s Poularde de Bresse demi-deuil en vessie. It is old school; it is heaven — where kitsch meets a deeply serious kitchen.

That chef John Gionleka came to London from his native Albania to enter a Greek Orthodox seminary — but obviously got distracted — is a detail that seems significant when you observe his burning devotion to the charcoal grill. The restaurant presents the cooking style as eastern Mediterranean or, more stirringly, the area that once comprised the Ottoman Empire, but I think of it as the direction Greek food could go if only it tried a lot harder. A menu based on the markets changes every day. Here are some dishes to give the flavour, vigour and depth of understanding: caramelised onion pide, heritage tomatoes, Sicilian aubergine, anthotyro (Greek cheese); John Dory, freekah, monk’s beard, fennel, blood orange; marinated leg of Yorkshire lamb, coco beans, Charleston pepper, ktipiti (Greek red pepper/feta dip); venison, pork and prune adanas, cracked wheat, marinated peppers, adjika (spicy Georgian dip). There are interesting wines to match. Peckham beckons doesn’t it?

Co-owner is Will Lander, son of Jancis Robinson and Nick Lander, who has fulfilled what is maybe every parents’ dream and blended their talents (and added some of his own) to run not just this gem in Farringdon but also the admirable Portland and Clipstone in Marylebone. Obliged to pick my favourite, it is the revamp (insofar as English Heritage allows) of the “Progressive Working Class Caterer” established in 1869. I sit in the room next-door to the listed bum-numbing pews or, with enough chums, in the small private room upstairs to enjoy gifted chef Shaun Searley’s singular take on what is happily now a fairly common cry of local, sustainable, independent, authentic etc. If they are on the daily-changing list, hard to resist are smoked cod’s roe with cured egg yolk and Hereford mince on dripping toast. And steaks on Tuesday nights and game in season. Always trust a restaurant with a butcher’s shop and deli attached. Great wine list. Ça va sans dire.

When I am asked for suggestions for a very special meal, I suggest The Ritz. The most beautiful dining room in London lends itself wholeheartedly and with gilded garlands to a sense of occasion, but more importantly executive chef John Williams commands an impeccable kitchen. There are many reasons to disparage the Michelin Guide but its withholding of stars from Williams at The Ritz is a strong one. Only this year did it bestow a measly one. Emphasising the classicism of the cooking is the menu section Arts de la Table that might offer Beef Wellington or Poulet Demi-Deuil served from a trolley. Everything from canapés to petits fours — here is one of the strongest pastry kitchens in town — is considered and commandeered. When I remarked to Williams that breakfast could be a bit more Downton Abbey he agreed and got rid of the Paltrow bowls of berries. It is expensive, but on Friday and Saturday nights you can dance…

Riva is my favourite restaurant if you discount those owned by my sister or my son. I hesitate to say it because unless or until you get to know Andrea Riva and his exacting right-hand woman Dorothy it probably won’t be yours. The restaurant is Andrea’s fiefdom. If he can’t be there, he closes it. Of course all customers are made welcome but new ones will notice that towards the back of the strikingly plain room food and wine are being brought without orders being taken. For me this is high-definition luxury, especially since I know I am going to love the burrata, culatello, astringent salad, grilled langoustines, pasta, veal Milanese and so forth all predicated on the best ingredients handled with restraint. Riva is where I used to see the late Adrian Gill. It’s where we went recently to celebrate Reg’s book deal with Jamie Byng of Canongate and saw Adrian’s widow Nicola Formby. It’s a club where you get membership by turning up.

I am writing this entry the morning after having been there for dinner. I needed to make sure that it is as impressive as ever and fortuitously a perspicacious art dealer friend celebrating his birthday asked Reg and me to join him. Founder (with the late Rose Gray), Ruthie Rogers was ruling the roost, only she wasn’t because that’s not how it is done in what is more a cooperative or a community from which Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, Jamie Oliver, Samantha and Samuel Clark, Stevie Parle and April Bloomfield, to name just some, have flown the nest. She was standing beside the nail polish pink-painted wood fired oven from which so much of the menu cooked fast or slow emanates. The room was packed with customers. The blindingly obvious “secret” is the very best ingredients used for Italian recipes that have stood the test of time but never miss a trick about what currently delights and delivers. I mean to go back when we can eat outside among the herbs and near the Thames.

A restaurant in the converted bike shed of a former school in the Boundary Estate in Shoreditch sounds so achingly here and now, but Margot Henderson and Melanie Arnold’s spinoff from their outside catering company has been bowling along for more than 12 years. Permission has recently been granted for evening opening Thursday to Saturday. Heavens, the next thing you know they’ll be getting a liquor licence but if so, it shouldn’t stop you visiting the lovely, fastidious Leila’s (shop) nearby. The way in — through a small blue door in the high brick wall — invokes The Secret Garden and when the weather is so inclined it is a lovely, peaceful green space in which to loll. Margot is married to Fergus Henderson of St. John (see right) and shares his direct, wholesome approach to cooking but augmented by the spirit apparent in her terrific cookbook, You’re All Invited. Here is one of London’s hidden treasures.

Chef Stevie Parle put on a spurt of acceleration recently. After Dock Kitchen in North Kensington then Rotorino in Dalston, he did something ambitious and brilliant at Craft London in Greenwich Peninsula, opened Sardine on the fringe of Shoreditch not long after and Rome-inspired Palatino in Finsbury at the beginning of this year. Chef Alex Jackson is in charge of Sardine’s southern French cooking and I suspect that gentle marination in the works of Richard Olney, Elizabeth David and Paula Wolfert has informed his inviting, unusually cohesive menu at the heart of which is a wood-fired stove over which a leg of lamb can dangle à la ficelle or a duck be given the same treatment. Snacks — that canny new ammunition in restaurateurs’ hands — starters and desserts reveal the presence of someone with cool hands for pastry. It can be enjoyed equally in a slice of pissaladière or a brown butter and apricot tart. Service, like the room, is sweet and pretty. The communal table can be skirted.

Wise heads wondered whether manager Oli Barker and chef Pascal Weidemann, both having worked in the Terroirs group with its headquarters in theatreland, could pull off a little bistro in Holland Park where, it is said, locals are away all the time. These days you must plan ahead for a reservation in the evening. It is the perfect little restaurant with the daily date on the menu and a wine list backed by Caves de Pyrene homing in on “growers working with a gentle hand”, which is another way of referencing natural wines. Oli is a natural, you could even say biodynamic host, which is harder to find, Pascal a chef who understands how unobtrusively to seduce. Since eating there I now only cook pink fir apple — or any new — potatoes by steaming, squashing and then roasting. Perfect. In my review in April last year, I mentioned the “unaffected pleasure that some restaurants can bring”. This one does, again and again.

From working front of house for Gordon Ramsay at Claridge’s to travelling to Houston Texas to buy a 4.5 ton meat smoker to becoming a main man in London street food is what these days might be termed a journey. It is a trip that has stood amiable David Carter in good stead. His permanent restaurant in Shoreditch is to BBQ what opera is to nursery rhymes. Were you wearying of singed meat? Was pulled pork starting to pall? Here Carter’s Barbadian heritage comes to the fore showing that smoking and grilling over coals is the natural approach to fixing food. His silky loose-knit brisket cooked long and slow, patiently basted, dutifully rested is not to be missed. Thick-cut pork rib with a side order of baked potato is another must. As is hot-smoked salmon with horseradish. Even desserts and cocktails play with the effect of charring but testosterone doesn’t overwhelm and staff are softened by charm.

If I had to nominate just one person responsible for the astonishing improvement in London restaurants over the past couple of decades I would give you Fergus Henderson. His influence is all over this list. “Nose to tail eating” is more than acknowledgement that every part of a pig except the squeal can be utilised for nourishment, it encapsulates an approach visible in this graphically converted smokehouse; food (and wine) is what really matters. Artists eat here but there is no art on the walls. Music is the hum of conversation. Staff eat what customers eat. Waste is deplored, an attitude only recently highlighted in the wider trade. Roasted bone marrow with parsley sauce is shorthand for the menu that promotes pleasure where it finds it, but for every “wilder” dish like kid faggots on the daily-changing, evolving list there is something familiar like roast veal. Desserts, eg ginger loaf with butterscotch sauce, are always a reward for a meal well eaten.

I would go to The Wells in Hampstead even if it wasn’t owned by my sister Beth Coventry. She has solved The Hampstead Conundrum, which is why in an area full of people equipped and anxious to eat out isn’t there an excellent restaurant? Ham & High restaurant critic Joseph Connolly thinks she has too. New Zealander Greg Smith in charge of the kitchen ensures that the menu in the ground-floor pub and upstairs dining rooms of the Georgian building cajoles, flatters and diverts. I could, I suppose, get blasé about eating here but decorousness and also my job means that I never do and when Beth suggests going, I am always thrilled. “Pub” food such as sausages and Scottish Angus burgers are carefully prepared and specials such as whole roast squab or Dutch calves’ liver with lentils invariably appeal. Chateaubriand with chips served for two is a best seller. And sometimes there are Beth’s famous fishcakes. Staff tend to stay for ages.

As AA Gill said after his first visit in 2003: “It’s a restaurant that has been made from the front door in, not from the kitchen out.” Whether you are seated in the central horseshoe of the resplendent space — he was, I sometimes am — actually matters not a jot as the emphasis on seamless service never alters. Running a restaurant open from 7am to midnight is as arduous as operating a hotel but without room revenue to cushion the effort. Chris Corbin and Jeremy King struggled at first but cracked it and brought to life the Hilaire Belloc observation that “breakfast, dinner, lunch and tea is all the human frame requires”. You go to The Wolseley for time out. You might be in the mood for mittel-European schnitzel or Anglo-Indian kedgeree, oysters or Alsace choucroute. It is all available and will be brought on stylish china and set on fine linen. Here too the restaurant breakfast habit was born.

For a Sunday roast, you can’t do better than going to the Spaniard’s Inn. In fact, we named it as one of the very best in all of London. All of the roasts are served with a good portion of succulent meat and sides, boasting some stupendously good Yorkshires, too. We know it’s not strictly traditional, but if you were to order some of the triple-cooked chips as well, we doubt you’d regret it. The pub itself, one of the oldest boozers in the city, is a great place to while away a Sunday in.

Jin Kichi is the place to go for Japanese food. You can either sit on the stalls around the restaurant’s central grill and watch the chefs work their magic, or take one of the more relaxed tables away from the action. There are plenty of dishes to choose from — covering all the usual bases across sushi, meat skewers, noodles and rice — with plenty of sake to wash it all down.

Spielburger has a fairly minimalist menu, at least relative to the average modern burger restaurant in London. Rather than stacking ingredient upon needless ingredient, this place keeps things simple for the most part. The Classic, with just juicy beef, brioche buns, salad and house sauce, is a sure-fire bet for a decent meal, while the chicken burger adds some spice to proceedings, which works well. The restaurant itself is quirkily decorated, feeling like something between a New York hipster hangout and and record shop.

Steak-lovers should head to Gaucho, the Argentinian joint that specialises in serving up big, tasty hunks of beef. One of the best steak restaurants in London, it’s got a sophisticated feel to it, with glamorous decor and sleek design touches, and attracts the well-heeled residents of the area. The meat is of course the star of the show, with various cuts to whet the appetite. To save a few pennies, head down for lunch, where a three-course meal will cost £26.

The aforementioned Spaniard’s Inn, one of the best known pubs in the area, is a charming place that has been serving locals since the 16th century. In that time it has welcomed some pretty famous punters — a certain Charles Dickens is said it to have “found inspiration” there — and to this day people are drawn to its dark wood interiors and cosy open fire. We named it as one of the 50 best pubs in London. Oh, and rumours say it may well be haunted. We’ll leave you to investigate that one yourselves.

The Horseshoe is another welcoming prospect, set right around the corner from Hampstead station. Inside, it's light and airy with a relaxed, unfussy atmosphere. A huge selection of lagers and ales are on offer, with a few local craft options. The staff are accommodating and friendly, and it’s a great option for a Sunday roast, too — if you don't fancy the Spaniard’s, this is a worthy alternative.

Warm, cosy refuge can be found next to the open fire in the small front rooms of the Holly Bush. This old-school 18th century pub is a great spot for drinkers, with plenty of decent ales on tap, a number of cask options and plenty of spirits behind the bar. There are dining rooms at the back of the place, as well as upstairs, meaning hearty pub grub with a variety of solid seafood dishes is never too far away. In the summer, try to grab one of the few seats outside and soak up the rays.

Another classic boozer nearby is the Flask. It’s a Grade II-listed building that dates back to the early 18th century, when it was first used as a operating space for the Hampstead mineral water business. These days, there’s far more than H2O flowing through the place, with well-kept cask ales served from an endearingly diminutive bar. Overall, though, this is just a lovely pub to spend an afternoon in, with traditional interiors that have been lovingly looked after — and there’s an open fire, which is always a plus.

The Hawley Arms may be more famous thanks to an association with noughties Indie kids, but Camden’s best pub is the Dublin Castle. It seems to both have inspired and absorbed the epitome of Camden culture, right down to the lashings of military red on the walls — take a shot if you remember the Libertines’ Imperial jackets. From the outside, it looks almost grand; inside it’s a place to drink cheap lager and have your head blown off by boys and girls with guitars. That’s what everyone’s been doing for decades already anyway; its reputation started to grow when Madness first made it here, but then Blur got a leg up in the place too, and Amy Winehouse supposedly pulled pints behind the bar from time to time. If you’re headed up Camden Road toward Holloway, the Lord Stanley is a must stop-in too. Decidedly more upmarket than the Castle, it’s perfect for a Sunday Roast and a decent glass of wine. DE

London has a proud tradition of theatre pubs, offering the chance for young playwrights, comics and performers the perfect space to cut their teeth. Honourable mentions go to the likes of the Old Red Lion and the recently refurbished King’s Head in Islington, but Walthamstow’s Ye Olde Rose & Crown is our pick of the lot. The upstairs theatre at this east end boozer is an intimate space, playing host to a diverse mix of productions. The characterful downstairs space more than holds its own too, and features a lovely old bar, covered from floor to ceiling in beer pump badges. It’s no surprises that its multi-award winning, having been names best theatre bar in east London at the Off West End Awards and the best pub in east London by CAMRA. HF

One of the less conventional pubs in north London, The Little Green Dragon is housed in a former hairdressers in Enfield and has developed a strong reputation for itself since opening a few years back. The charming micropub is a quirky prospect, but the excellent selection of beers and ciders saw it recognised as the best pub in Greater London by CAMRA earlier this year. After ordering at the small, but perfectly formed bar, punters here can relax in a sofa, a church pew or bus seats — it just proves that interesting pubs are still springing up all over London, and they don’t have to be traditional to offer great experiences. HF

Little Langham Street boozer the Yorkshire Grey might be small, but it packs a punch. Sam Smith's looks after some of the most charming pubs in the city, and the Fitzrovia spot is one of their most likeable. The pub is an inviting, cosy drinking space, with a pillared bar stretching down one wall. It’s frequently busy, so do your best to grab a table if you can. The pub is famous for being a haunt of BBC staff, who work just around the corner in Portland Place. It was allegedly even referred to as “Studio YG” in some quarters, and it’s easy to understand people’s affinity towards it. HF

This surprise package is a perfect meeting place for a quick drink off the train at Liverpool Street while the affordable drinks make it idea for a longer session too. The interiors are surprisingly grand for a Spoons, with the boozer housed in a former ballroom of the Great Eastern Hotel. There is ornate detailing throughout, as well as huge ceilings — along with Spoons’ famously lairy carpets, of course. It gets incredibly busy both after work and after weekends, but it’s more than worth tackling the crowds to get served at bar here. It’s the standout London station pub and if this place was run by an independent, or a more premium chain, perhaps, people would rave about it. HF

Looking about one evening for a decent, no frills boozer, we first popped into the Hare after a tip off from Chris Moore, the ex-Savoy bartender behind Bethnal Green’s Coupette. The Hare is the epitome of a ‘good, honest pub’, which is to say it’s defiantly old fashioned. This in itself doesn’t account for any greatness – plenty of old boozers shut because they were bloody awful, not because developers forced their hand – but it does lend the place a certain personality. It pours plenty of real ale, is proud of its whisky, has a pool table and attracts the kind of locals who aren’t afraid to say something to newcomers, but are welcoming with it. There’s something winning about it – not something that is quite tangible, but perhaps its being on this list says enough. DE

Comedy fans will know all about the Bill Murray — a brilliant stand-up venue, theatre space and pub. Some of the biggest names on the UK comedy circuit do regular work in progress shows here, with the likes of Eddie Izzard and Sara Pascoe having performed recently. It’s more than just a comedy venue though, with a well-stocked corner bar and comfortable seating out front room marking one of the most relaxing spaces to spend time in the area. Interestingly, Bill himself didn’t give the venue his blessing, so the pub is officially named after William Murray, the First Earl of Dysart who lived in the 17th century. A shame, then, as we imagine the actor would love this place. HF

A pub has stood on The Prospect of Whitby’s spot since the 16th century. Back then it was known as the Devil’s Tavern, named after the nefarious activities of the sailors that used to frequent it. The pub is far more than just a historic novelty though, blessed with a spacious downstairs drinking area, a great beer garden and unparalleled views of the Thames. Parts of this loveable boozer might be over 400 years old, but the pub still has so much to offer visitors in 2018. It’s still timeless rather than trendy though, which is fine by us. HF

Punters should leave preconceptions about Wetherspoons at the door when they head to the Crosse Keys by Leadenhall Market. The pub is a great mix of affordability and quality, matching tasteful decor — including marble columns, vaulted ceilings and a curved island bar — with the reasonable prices punters expect from a Spoons. The fact that rounds don’t cost the earth here makes it perfect for an outing after work, while Spoons’ usual solid selection of beers and spirits is on offer. We named it the best Wetherspoons pub in zone one a few months back and we stand by that claim — it's certainly the best option for an affordable drink in the City. HF

This charming Victorian corner pub on Leytonstone High Road is the best place for craft beer in the area, with five keg options on rotation and ten hand pumps serving up a wide selection for ale connoisseurs. The food is far better than your average boozer too, serving seasonal contemporary British cooking. There’s plenty going on here, including regular quiz nights on Mondays and DJ sets on Fridays and Saturdays, and there’s a massive outdoor space too — great for bigger groups looking to spend time in on warm summer evenings. It's also Damon Albarn’s local, and the singer once gave an impromptu performance here a few years back. Like most nights here, it was all a bit of a blur. HF

This old-school boozer is the politicians’ pub of choice, given it's a short stroll from the Houses of Parliament, and also a historic haunt of political journalists on the lookout for their next scoop. The pub, run by Britain’s oldest brewer Shepherd Neame, is famous for its division bell, which alerted politicians to when they needed to dash back to the Commons in time to vote. Today you can find plenty of lovely old period features, like the beautiful illustrated signwork above and around the bar, which adds to the appeal of the place. The pub gets pretty busy after work, but propping up the bar here and watching the pub’s local character’s mill around is a joy in itself — comfy and secluded booths dotted along the far wall, which must have hosted their fair share of deal-making and political plotting in their time. HF

The Alexis a Wimbledon favourite, with good reason. A Young’s, it’s not cheap, but it’s run the right way by landlords Mick and Sarah Dore. It’s a big old place: by the front windows are booths to devour Sunday lunch in, there’s four different bars, and upstairs is a roof terrace without much of a view but pints of atmosphere. When there’s sport to watch, the TVs will have it on, and the place gets busy with fans that like to shout along. Cracking. The refurbishment a couple of years ago did the place a world of good, and the upstairs burger shack is a nice touch. Food in general is reliable, they run a damned good quiz and know how to throw a party. They’ve a kind streak, too: this is the place that lays on Christmas lunch for free to anyone on their own. To be frank, when a pub’s this size, the soul of them tends to get lost. Here, it’s the opposite - they’re all heart. DE

The Culpeper gets rammed enough that drinkers spill out onto the pavement until the road seems to simply be getting in the way of an ever-growing crowd. A few years ago this old Truman’s pub was a certified boozer that seemed to snarl at newcomers. Then it was taken over, carefully and thoughtfully redone as a place for a pricey(ish) pint, but just as a likely a glass of natural wine, a small batch bourbon or a newly distilled gin. It’s fashionable, in other words, but it’s also properly decent; the roof terrace is charming, the first floor restaurant serves finely done, delicate plates that regularly change. It’s built for after-work drinks, a date, a quiet glass at lunchtime, a rowdy catch up with old friends. It stays open till 2am on Fridays and Saturdays, when you’ll find the local bartenders slowly drinking themselves undone after their shifts. Is there any better endorsement? DE

The Grenadier’s striking white, red and blue exteriors are unmissable on quiet side street Wilton Row in Belgravia — standing in contrast to the lovely, understated wood panelling, etched mirrors and studded leather interiors. The downstairs rooms are some of the most handsome spaces to enjoy a drink by Hyde Park, and the 17th century building is seeped in character. It’s also famously said to be haunted. Throughout the three hundred years the pub has stood on the spot, drinkers and landlords have reported spooky apparitions here. Objects have allegedly moved without explanation, yells have been heard from the cellar and people have claimed to have had their pints spilled by mysterious spirits — we’d probably try that excuse too if we dropped our drink in this great pub. HF

Greenwich is blessed with a selection of great pubs — especially on Royal Hill, which features both craft ale specialists Greenwich Union and traditional boozer Richard I next door to each other. However, The Trafalgar is arguably the most impressive in the area. It’s huge in stature, imperiously overlooking the Thames, and pleasing on the eye too — so much so that it’s commonly used as a wedding venue. It’s steeped in history, having welcomed drinkers since 1837, and the outside areas and spacious interiors split over three floors makes it an idyllic meeting point for residents in south east London. HF

The Punchbowl may be the better known Mayfair place, thanks to Guy Ritchie’s go at playing barman, but the Running Horse is our pick. There since 1738, it’s been packed since reopening in 2013. It’s beautifully done, kitted out like the kind of country house sitting room that Tatler use for photo shoots. It has that very British feel, which is backed up by all the food and drink on offer, sourced from across the UK. This includes plenty of Chase spirits – distillery founder James Chase helped restore this place with Dominic Jacobs, who made his name at sketch. Though the food is particularly good here, and the upstairs dining room a genuinely lovely place to spend some time in, the pub is usually rammed downstairs too with a spendy after work crowd. Good atmosphere. DE

One of the most incredible pub interiors in the whole city can be found at the Old Bank of England — a stunning place with high, ornate ceilings and grand chandeliers makes drinking here an experience in itself. The usual solid selection of Fuller’s beers can be found behind the lovely island bar, while the kitchen serves up good, honest pub grub. As the name suggests, the pub is houses in the old Law Courts’ branch of the Bank of England, which operated from 1888 to 1975. Interestingly, the building sits in between the barber shop owned by Sweeney Todd and the pie shop owned by his mistress Mrs Lovett — a grizzly detail in an otherwise resplendent London pub. HF

The Glory couldn’t be more aptly named. The Haggerston pub has it all going on: have a quiet(ish) pint in the early evening, followed by a drag show, then a dance party in the basement. It’s small and cosy and a regular haunt for east London’s creative types. Under the watchful eyes of drag superstars Jonny Woo and John Sizzle, the Glory has grown into one of London’s best queer spaces. At a time when LGBTQ+ pubs have been closing left, right and centre – the Black Cap in Camden and the Joiners Arms in Hackney have been two such losses – the Glory is where to go if you’re looking for inclusivity and a warm welcome. Zoe Paskett

Fitzrovia haunt the Newman Arms went from traditional boozer to plush foody pub after a recent refurbishment, breathing new life into a handsome space on Rathbone Street. There’s a smart, but still friendly feel to the space — all dark panelled dining rooms and corners decked out with comfy sofas. It’s a nice setting to enjoy the excellent British menu served out of a small kitchen, not forgetting the great range of homemade pies on offer. It’s certainly not a boozer — go for the food rather than the beer — but it’s one of the smartest pubs in the area, and a great spot to enjoy a hearty meal, a craft ale and a few hours of serenity. DE

Bethnal Green Road spot the Well & Bucket is a relative newcomer, having been reopened after a few dormant years by Barworks — the people who run the Black Heart in Camden and the Slaughtered Lamb in Clerkenwell. The food menu includes fabulous oysters and seafood platters. The stylish main bar has 12 beers on draught, with dozens of bottle options besides, while the basement bar is the place to head to for cocktails and spirits. It's always rammed, which adds to the character of the place, but the venue’s small beer garden is a nice spot to unwind in the summer if you can bag a place. All in all, this is a pretty perfect east London pub, and the best ‘new’ boozer in the area. HF

The outdoor veranda and sitting areas at this Twickenham gem are simply stunning, helping make this one of the prettiest spots in west London. Inside, punters may struggle a little for space, but the exteriors more than make up for it. The waterside spot feels a world away from rush of the city, resembling a lovely old country pub more than a bustling city boozer. A summer afternoon spent idly looking out across the river, sampling the exhaustive craft ale and wine selection and catching up with old friends here is a real joy. HF

The Spread Eagle in Homerton has single-handedly been dispelling myths about veganism since opening in 2017, proving that it’s a whole lot of fun to go meat and dairy-free. It’s London’s first ever totally vegan pub, and absolutely everything in here, from the bar snacks to the sofas, is 100 per cent vegan. Expect fantastic cocktails from the beautiful central bar (the boozy Bloody Mary is a perfect option with brunch) and excellent food from Club Mexicana served from the kitchen. Importantly, while the pub is best known for its vegan cause, it never feels worthy or pretentious — ultimately, it’s just a great pub, which anyone would enjoy spending time in. HF

Hammersmith is spoiled for choice when it comes to picturesque riverside pubs, but The Old Ship might be the most beautiful of the lot. In fact, it actually resembles a luxurious villa more than a pub — with the striking white building something of a waterside landmark in W6. Punters have been coming here for drinks in a relaxed atmosphere since 1722, and it's no surprise to see it as popular as ever. The fantastic riverside terrace out the front offers unparalleled views of the Thames and its always one of the most popular stops during the annual Oxford and Cambridge Boat Race. HF

From the off, we should point out that the Draper’s is owned by Ben Maschler, son of the Standard’s restaurant critic Fay. Take that as you will. Despite losing its Bib Gourmand from Michelin, the place still turns out an excellent plate of food, the Sunday beef being especially good, and it feels somewhere comfortable to settle into. It’s not quite flashy, but still decidedly upscale; very Islington, in other words. The place is proudly independent, which is perhaps its biggest strength: things change often, keeping an otherwise standard-but-smart place interesting. The green bar is still a lovely touch, all these years on. DE

Ye Olde Mitre is a magnificent, memorable place that has, over the years, earned itself something of a fabled reputation. To be fair, it’s had plenty of years to do so. Hidden away down Ely Court, a toothpick of an alley off Hatton Garden, the Grade II listed building was built in 1773, though a pub’s been there since the mid 1500s. Queen Elizabeth used to dance on the land here, which, owing to a Bishop and some quirky bylaws, technically belonged to Cambridgeshire until the 1970s. The interior dates to the 1930s and is gorgeously homely, all heavy oak and nick nacks, and the pub is really quite tiny, especially in the front room, which is just right for a pint of Pride. It’s made it into films – the Deep Blue Sea and Snatch among them – but nevertheless, because it’s so tucked away, and so cute, getting in here feels like discovering a beautiful little secret. DE

This narrow little boozer on Fleet St twinkles with Irish charm. On the outside is a billboard that purports to tell the history of the place, which is mostly a yarn. It’s not the first Irish pub outside of Ireland, as it boasts, though it has been around since at least 1443, when it was still the Boar’s Head. Known as the Irish House until the late 60s, the place is a narrow treasure trove, a wood-panelled snug of Irish whisky and tiled shamrocks in the floor. Though there’s plenty of Irish decoration, it feels authentic rather than affected. It serves a Guinness worth travelling for and accordingly has its fair share of regulars, most of whom are chatty types. Crowds seem to come and go altogether, so if you’re staying long enough, the place will go from bursting full to empty to bursting full again in its own strange cycle. The loos are a steep old stagger upstairs, but you can’t have everything. DE

The exterior of this Islington pub is a thing of beauty, with a floral display perfectly kept all year round. The Hemingford is similar in some ways to the Churchill Arms in Notting Hill, both are beautiful corner pubs significant in stature, with Thai food on the menu and knick knacks hanging from ceiling — the decor is decidedly quirky, with a model plane suspended in perpetual flight above the bar. The overly-plush upstairs area is a little full on, perhaps, but the stunning downstairs bar is perfect for a relaxed drink amongst a local crowd. A highly recommended north London pub. HF

The Faltering Fullback, nicely tucked away down a leafy road around the corner from Finsbury Park station, is one of the very best sports pubs in the city. Inside the flower-covered front, you’ll find a small central bar serving up a good selection of craft beers. It’s an Irish pub but the kitchen serves up Thai food, which is ideal for soaking up the drink on boozy Saturday afternoons. The front room, decked out with rustic benches and a pool table, is a top place to watch all kinds of live sport shown across two big screens and fills up to capacity for the Six Nations. The outside terrace spread over two floors is a brilliant space too, although you’ll be lucky to get a seat in the summer — it’s really no surprise that this place gets very busy. HF

This beautiful 18th century pub stands proud at the top of Holly Mount, a short walk from Hampstead Heath. Ale fans are well catered for, with ten tap options and five cask ales on rotation, but its the kitchen where the pub really excels. The pub serves a great roast dinner on Sundays in smart but comfortable surroundings in the dining rooms around the back and upstairs. The cosy interiors are synonymous with cosy winter evenings, but the outside seating area out the front of the pub is a nice spot for summer drinks too. HF

Impressing outsiders is one thing, but the best pubs rally a defensive loyalty in their locals.Kentish Town boozer The Pineapple helped set the template in 2002 when it was saved by ‘Old Pineapplers, whom it still welcomes today. In 2015, in Hackney, the Chesham Arms went through something similar, and poured its first pint after two hard years of local campaigns. Sat in a row of houses on a quiet street, the Chesham is good-looking-in-a-quiet-sort-of-way and proved it was worth the effort early on, being named CAMRA’s pub of the year in 2016. Today, it serves a first rate choice of beers, with regular guest ales, but still don’t do food. This has a hidden boon – they’re happy for punters to order in from the nearby Yard Pizza. It’s by no means flashy, looking very much the way a pub might do for a smart sitcom, but something about it just works. In winter, it’s nice to curl up by the fire; in summer, it’s perfect to unwind in the beer garden. DE

Beer fans are very well catered for at this Clerkenwell haunt, which is the London base of Suffolk’s St Peter’s Brewery. The draft selection is excellent, and the rustic decor makes for pleasant surrounding to spend time in. The pub is no hidden gem — it’s nearly always bustling with drinkers sampling the ale selection, and guest will be lucky to bag themselves a seat. The pub is full of inviting corners though to set up camp in though, and the fire adds a cosy feel to the whole place. Also, while it might have the feel of an authentic 17th century pub, it’s relatively new, after a revamp in 1990 gave it the appearance of a Dickensian den. Embrace the folly of it all and it’s a lovely place to escape in the heart of the City. HF

This historic pub in Limehouse might be owned by Ian McKellen and the Standard's owner Evgeny Lebedev — but that’s not the only reason it’s included here, promise. It’s one of the very oldest pubs in the city, dating back to the 16th century, and it’s also one of the most characterful. It’s nestled in idyllically by the river, with a charming bar and one of the most inviting interiors in east London. McKellen’s influence is obvious too — the staff used on the set of Lord of the Rings hanging up behind the bar is a dead giveaway, and he's known to run the quiz from time to time. If you’re after a cosy setting not far from Canary Wharf, this is the place to go. HF

We have to be careful with this one – the last time we recommended the Toucan, the landlord complained. It’s a tough looking little pub, which is part of its brusque appeal. Independently owned, it’s too often overlooked by those stumbling into Soho, and barely any online presence helps keep the secret. Inside, it’s warm and eccentric; as the name suggests, they have long been in the throes of a wonderfully kitsch love affair with Guinness, and have decorated accordingly, with posters and memorabilia used the way most places use wallpaper and paintings. This makes the Toucan: it’s quite unlike anywhere else and a little bit mad to boot. Upstairs, sat at the bar in the dim glow of the pumps, it feels like being out of London, like finding a bolthole bar by an abandoned stretch of seaside. DE

Perhaps the clue to Bradley’s brilliance is its frontage, done in thick red paint. It isn’t far off ugly. If a place doesn’t look much and has been there forever, the logical end is that it must be good enough not to need to draw a crowd, as there must be one already. And at Bradley’s, there usually is, and a devoted crowd at that, who all have some mad memory of the place. There since the 60s, the place is split over two floors. Down well worn concrete steps, past a whiffy men’s loo, the basement tends to be a loud, fun place with the TV on, where the bar pours a few Spanish lagers and the usual stuff, while upstairs is the size of dishcloth and has a proper, old fashioned jukebox that sounds magnificent, and tends to play Bowie or the like. A seat at the bar is the one – stay long enough and you should end up dancing. Earlier this year it extended its license for another 10 years. We’ll drink to that. DE

This award winning pub was named Michelin Pub of the Year 2017 and the setting is one of the most impressive in Hackney — no small feat. The interiors are stylish and comfortable in equal measure, and the craft ale selection is pretty top notch. It’s the food which really excels though. Chefs Tom Harris and Jon Rotheram, both formerly of the Michelin starred St John restaurant in Clerkenwell, are responsible for an excellent, contemporary British menu, while the upmarket venue also puts on a fantastic Sunday roast. It’s a multi-faceted space too, hosting regular DJ nights and live music events and also boasting an inviting roof terrace. Hackney is spoiled for choice when it comes to pubs, but this is the most accomplished of the lot. HF

Sometimes forgotten and underloved, the Sugarloaf is slotted away on Bride Street, just off Fleet Street. It comes with all the usual advantages of a Sam Smith’s – little prices, Taddy lager, Old Brewery bitter – but has swayed further up the list than most of its peers for simply being quite beautiful. It is tiny, a single room about the size of a Victorian sitting room, with an often lit fireplace one end and leather seats below the window, facing the marble-topped bar. Under an ornate ceiling, the room is all wood panelling and etched glass, lamps like flower heads, a tiled floor. It is entirely old fashioned; I’ve never seen evidence they stretch to even a ham roll, though they do have crisps. Never especially busy, it has that feeling of being a secret, and it’s fun to watch the suits who work nearby slowly get sloshed. For a quiet, uninterrupted pint, it is entirely perfect. Just don’t have the stout – Smith’s black stuff from the barrel is reliably dreadful. DE

For a long time, I avoided this one like the plague, partly from loyalty to the Romilly Street place, and partly because this sits opposite one of the mouth to Covent Garden. Somehow, and despite a stray American accent cluttering things up, this one room place remains firmly a proper locals’ pub and not a tourist trap. It is a cosy room, and proud of its Guinness – it claims to serve the best in London, which is debatable, but there is certainly a sense of ceremony on ordering one. They also pour a cracking pint of Southwold Bitter and Tribute, while the whisky list is fearsome, with even an old bottle of Port Ellen behind the bar. The walls are a ragtag of old newspaper clippings and pictures, and old fashioned mirrors. Staff are friendly, chatting to their regulars, and service is quick. On a rainy day, it is an utter refuge. Beyond a surprise, this was a very happy shock. DE

Time seems to have passed this Highgate gem by a little, and it’s all the better for it. The cash-only bar is stocked with a huge variety of craft beers, around 20 in fact, but only two varieties of wine — a lavish gastropub, this ain’t. Despite the extensive ale selection, which specialises in beers from London’s smaller breweries, the place still has the feel of a proper boozer, with a relaxed, unfussy atmosphere. The pub’s dog-friendly policy and a lovely open fire make it a really cosy option in NW5 with a refreshingly down to earth feel — a key requirement in many a great London boozer down the years. HF

Loving a pub is rarely entirely rational. The Commercial Tavern seems occasionally to have forgotten its opening hours, has a pool table in awful nick and serves quite piercingly dreadful cocktails upstairs – but to its regulars, is nothing short of magnificent. The building is outwardly conservative enough – a Grade II listing sees to that – but inside, it’s a compendium of eccentricity. Fluorescent magazine covers are plastered against twee, flowery wallpaper. Monster chandeliers drape over wonky tables, antlers jut threateningly from drunken headboards, old clocks tick entirely on their own time. It is almost comically east London, then, but it has enough kitsch, strung-out Warhol charm to draw people back over and again. The beer is good, the spirits selection surprisingly broad, and upstairs, with the orange of the street light warming the bar, it’s somewhere to fall in love with. DE

The Angel has had a life. A pub, or at least somewhere to drink, has been on or by the site since the 1500s – Samuel Pepys thought enough of it to jot it down in his diary as ‘the famous Angel’ – and the present building has been pouring out pints since 1830, when it would draw in smugglers and pirates, and artists too – JMW Turner is said to have painted The Fighting Temeraire here. By the 1950s, the handsome place was surrounded by buildings and courted a celebrity crowd. Over time, both went. Walking past 15 years ago, it was a tattered, forgotten place, stood out on its own, staring into the Thames as if contemplating jumping in. But the Courage brewery let it go to Sam Smiths, who did wonders polishing it up and making it gleam, without tearing everything out for a soulless refit. DE

This Stoke Newington pub is a jewel. When it first opened, in 1991, it was as basic as could be, a proper old boozer with darts board and all. Though it’s winningly old fashioned, covered in newspaper clippings and the odd sports trophy, it isn’t twee, and it hasn’t been forgotten. The view from outside is an illusion – it’s nowhere near as tiny as it seems – and inside, it is an authentic Irish place. The Guinness is exceptional; if you don’t believe the black stuff can be different depending on where it’s served, come here. It’s not all about the Stout. The Irish staff behind the bar are a friendly lot, there’s live music most weeks (foot-stomping traditional stuff, usually), and when the rugby’s on, there are few places with better atmosphere. Stoke Newington may be a right pain to get to, but it’s worth the trip.

A decade ago, Brett Graham – the bloody good chef behind the bloody good Ledbury – was one of the gang behind this place, which picked up a Michelin star in 2010. Pubs so into their food can lose what makes them pubs in the first place, but this one has stuck around, and remains as good as ever. Sally Abé looks after the food, which is all British plates, game heavy, plenty of clever little twists and turns folded into what’s on. Scotch eggs are the thing here, as are the lemon curd doughnuts. Granted, both sound simple, but try them – they’re anything but. DE

The Dove is a great waterside drinking spot, with the terrace out the back capturing expansive views of the river. It’s been a little too close to the Thames for comfort down the years though, and there’s a plaque that marks the worryingly high levels reached over the years. The outdoor area is a beautiful space in the summer, but this loveable pub really comes into its own over the colder months — inside you’ll find a really cosy setting, with an open fire and snug split-level seating room. Beamed ceilings add to the charm, while the usual selection of Fuller’s beers can be found behind the teeny wood-panelled bar. If you can bag a seat here on a chilly winter’s evening, don't give it up in a hurry.

Back when the Standard regularly named a pub of the year, this place was a winner. Outside, festooned in flowers (or Christmas trees), it remains London’s prettiest pub. Through the doors and staring up at the ceiling is like looking down into a treasure chest: it is a trove of oddities, from sailor’s lamps to gas masks, copper pots to old tin clocks. When the fire is stoked, it’s not only the prettiest pub in town but the cosiest too. Among all this stout Britishness? A cracking Thai restaurant at the back, there since the mid 80s. Apparently it’s named not for Winston but his grandparents, the seventh Duke of Marlborough and Lady Frances Anne Emily Vane, who swung by often in the 1800s. Perhaps, but the name only came about after the Second World War, and the pub opened in 1750. The truth is only a matter of perspective. Whatever it is, Fuller’s have long done themselves proud with this magnificent place.

We didn’t quite stumble across the refurbished Sekforde – the invitation was, quaintly, a handwritten note – but first went out of a sense of curiosity (who’s the barman with the inky fingers? Do they have email?). It was among the happiest surprises of the year. Way back when, then still the Sekforde Arms, it was an unloved, tough old boozer, where the creaking doors seemed like cracked knuckles. Now, though it’s thankfully avoided going gastro, it’s been smartened up beautifully, has gorgeous handmade Scandi furniture, serves a terrific Sunday roast, and has particularly good staff – the kind who know their stuff but manage to fill customers in without being overbearing. The area is lucky to have such a decent local, especially the kind that’s built for long, slightly rambling afternoons. We go back for too many glasses of wine with old friends. 34 Sekforde Street, Clerkenwell, EC1R 0HA

Although it's one of the city’s most famous pubs, Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese still somehow has the feel of a hidden gem, thanks in part to its location — you could walk Fleet Street for years and never notice it. As you’d expect from a Sam Smith’s, the beer is affordable, and the inexpensive drinks facilitate a great deal of conversation in the small, firelit upstairs bar. There's a rarely-used first-floor space but duck downstairs — mind your head as you go — and the pub seems to expand like a boozy Tardis, opening out into split-level drinking dens. The cellars are blessed with plenty of seating, ideal for bigger groups. The setting is just about as stripped-back as you can get, and the whole pub feels like a Dickensian time-warp, untouched and untroubled by the outside world. It’s a perfect place to lose a few hours, catch up with old friends and revel in a warm, fuzzy glow. HF

Like the Coach, the French is a towering, stumbling, lovably shabby legend of Soho. It’s the Withnail to the Coach & Horses I – it has airs, a certain faded gentility. It’s a tailored Tweed jacket fraying at the cuffs. There are rules here, eccentricities: beer comes in half pints (an infuriating foible, truth be told, only lifted on April Fools when Suggs comes in), there’s no TV, no music, and food is only served in the evenings on Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. But it has stories: Charles de Gaulle commandeered it as his office during the Second World War, Dylan Thomas and Francis Bacon adored it and it’s where Fergus Henderson first made his name. Of which, it recently welcomed Neil Borthwick as head chef, who’d previously manned the kitchen at Merchant’s Tavern. He’s done wonders. My favourite time to go is mid afternoon, when all the old actors will open for a chat, and tell you about when they were somebody. DE

Has any pub been so eulogised as the Coach? It probably helps that so many of its regulars are journalists, and often have been. The Private Eye mob used to hold their wine-soaked lunches here, and the Spectator used to ring the bar to get copy from their alcoholic Low Life columnist, Jeffrey Bernard. From the mid-80s onwards, Bernard spent his days perched by the gents drinking countless vodka and sodas, which was beautifully remembered in Keith Waterhouse’s Jeffrey Bernard Is Unwell. The Coach still thrives because it hums with a crowd who love it, who sing loudly at the piano on Tuesday and Saturday nights, who put away pints and come in with their idiosyncratic drinks orders. Few live in Soho these days; but for those who love the Coach, it’s something like a home. 29 Greek Street, Soho, W1D 5DH

To understand the Guinea, you must go. Show and tell works sometimes – see: primary school afternoons – but the Guinea and its grill need to be experienced first hand. When it’s at its busiest – lunchtimes, after work – it does not hum but rumble with laughter and chatter, pint glasses tapping on table tops. It’s the grill that’s places this pub is so far up this list. It’s somewhere that’s drawn a glittering crowd: Eric Clapton is a regular; AC/DC stopped by before Christmas. Kylie’s swung by. All will have met the same quaint restaurant – it’s not changed in decades. It is the kind of comfort that quietly encourages another bottle, or another round (on a recent afternoon once couple went through 12 martinis before deciding on the wine). It can be boozy, it is always brilliant. The steak is easily among the best in London. The wine list is fearsome. It is really f****** expensive. It is really f****** worth it. DE

The Harp draws in all sorts — the city’s account managers, street sweepers, artists and piss artists all gather here. It’s not the people, the CAMRA awards, or the staff’s expertise that elevates this old boozer above everywhere else, though, but the ineffable wonder of the place — there’s a little magic to every slurp of ale, every snippet of joyful, inconsequential conversation and every small, but meaningful moment spent in this magnificent pub. The lovely old stained glass windows are swung open in summer months, with punters taking the lazy afternoons at their leisure and leaving in the evenings with sunburnt faces and fuzzy heads. Come winter, the cosy upstairs seating area is a beacon for the shivering drinkers, who gleefully push open the front door with numb fingers. More than that though, it’s a chance to escape the realities of the city for a little while, be welcomed and warmed, and feel like a little part of something wonderful. HF

The Roebuck is another pub that dates back more than a century or so, but it’s got a style that makes it feel like a pleasantly modern place to grab a drink. The bar overflows with beer, spirts, cocktails and wine, with more than enough to choose from. This place works well all year round — the log fire and piano make for a jolly winter’s eve, while the garden space is often used for BBQs during the warmer months.

The Wells might just be the best looking pub in the area, at least from the outside. This end-of-terrace boozer looks more like a grand townhouse than somewhere that pulls pints, with its Georgian facades tempting you indoors. It was actually a pretty-run down place up until a makeover in the early 00s, but any lingering memories of its former self are long forgotten when you step inside and sit down to enjoy one of the many beers and craft ales. The food from the kitchen here is top notch, too, served elegantly.

When the sun is out, head to the Garden Gate — it’s got one of the best outdoors of any pub in Hampstead, with plenty of tables to sit around and top up your tan at, while the outdoor bar means that you don’t even have to venture back inside to get the next round in. During the winter though, this is still a good bet for a drink, with a pleasantly lively atmosphere at the weekends.

Ginger and White is a popular place among locals. The all-day breakfast caters to millennials — gluten-free muesli, superfood porridge, scrambled eggs on toasted sourdough, and the like — and is always a good bet for brunch, especially at the weekend. Feeling indulgent? Grab a slice of the carrot cake.

Bagel enthusiasts should head to Roni’s, which specialises in them. The bakery is a great place to fuel up for the day with breakfast, and you can get a coffee for £1 with your food up until midday — bargain. The bagels are obviously the star of the show, although the shakshukas are well worth trying too.

Euphorium has six branches across north and central London, with its first outpost in Islington having been there for 20 years. The pastries are superb here — try the apricot danish or the simple but delicious butter croissant — and make for a perfect treat after one of the all-day brunch dishes.

La Creperie de Hampstead can be found operating from a tiny stall just outside the King William IV pub, where it’s been standing for decades. It’s the perfect spot to pick up something sweet on the go, although prepare yourself for queues, as people travel from far and wide to sample their indulgent delights.

The area isn’t the best for live music — make the short trip down to Camden for that — but the Hampstead Jazz Club is worth knowing about. Found down in the basement of the Duke of Hamilton pub, it’s a cosy, intimate space that puts on a good range of jazz gigs, as well as a fair bit of soul and blues.

Kenwood House, a marvellously grand stately home, sits at the top of the hill in a northerly part of Hamsptead Heath. It’s a huge place but somehow manages to feel like a hidden gem, tucked away behind rows of trees. It’s well worth seeking out — the green in front of the building is a delightful spot to soak up the rays on a sunny day, and inside there is a stunning collection of fine art. Be sure to check out the Hepworth sculptures within the grounds too.

Poetry buffs should visit Keats House. Based within the former home of the famed Romantic poet John Keats, the museum explores his life and work with a range of displays, talks and performances. It’s a good place to get inquisitive children involved in poetry, with lots of family-friendly events and exhibits.

Camden Arts Centre is the place to enjoy contemporary works from a range of international artists, spanning everything from sculpture to film. The art on display here is always intriguingly eclectic and thought-provoking, meaning no visit is underwhelming.

For an insight into the unique mind of Sigmund Freud, head to the museum named after him. Housed within the same building the revolutionary psychologist once lived in, this place also explores his daughter Anna, who broke new ground in the world of child psychoanalysis. The exhibitions here focus on the Freuds themselves, as well as subjects related to their work, with plenty of talks, performances and workshops throughout the year.

The view from Parliament Hill

Whether it’s those grand old houses, the glorious heath or something else entirely, Hampstead has a history of attracting those seeking literary inspiration to live within its homes. As such, there are a numerous blue plaques, put up by English Heritage, paying tribute to famous writers outside their former abodes. The fun is in wandering the area and finding them yourself, but we’ll give you a good place to start: Edith Sitwell’s plaque is just off Hampstead High Street, on Greenhill. Happy hunting.

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