London's 25 best martinis revealed: After five years of research (and hundreds of drinks!), HUGHIE DE ZULUETA and ELLA MAY share their must-read guide
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Five years ago, my girlfriend and I set out to find the best martini in London. We were intent on locating a place where even the martini’s greatest ambassador, James Bond, would enjoy drinking his favourite drink. And now, finally, we can reveal the definitive bars for a martini worthy of 007 himself.
At first, it felt like an almost impossible task. There’s an incalculable number of bars in the capital and almost endless martini combinations. Gin or vodka? Lemon or olive? Wet, dry, extra dry, or bone dry? And then what about more maverick varieties: the Gibson, the Montgomery, Martinez, Lychee, Appletini and the risque-sounding Porn Star?
While the drink’s origin is unclear, what’s certain is that Ian Fleming’s spy popularised the martini. In all Fleming’s books, Bond consumes a total of 35 martinis, with Sean Connery the first to deliver the famous line - ‘shaken, not stirred’ - on screen in Goldfinger (1964).
Being 007’s home city, London made sense for our mission - and we stuck to hotel bars as Bond rarely drinks anywhere else. As a strict rule, I only ordered martinis the way he liked them (‘dry vodka martini with a lemon twist’), while my girlfriend, to spice things up, ordered dirty martinis.
It’s seemingly fashionable, once again, to be a martini drinker. However, this trend has spawned a growing number of ‘martini-pseuds’, a wave of ‘connaisseurs’ who describe their tipples with oblivious, bombastic pretension as anything from ‘vessels of temptation’ to ‘silken glaciers’ or ‘barfly bewitchers’.
Then there are those, with a small amount of knowledge, who will ask: ‘Have you tried The Connaught bar?’ or ‘What about Duke’s Hotel?’
And yes, both establishments are on this list, but neither makes our top ten (and both, frankly, felt like tourist traps).
This project was ruinously expensive. Martinis in London typically start at £20 - and once you get a couple of rounds and some (absurdly expensive) bar snacks, bills regularly top £100. This is the reason this list has taken so long to research.
The most expensive martini, for the record, was at The Connaught Bar (£30), while the most ‘reasonable’ at the Side Hustle bar at The Nomad (£18).
I’d often look at our ornate, lengthening spreadsheet and wonder whether the task justified the debt. I would cast my eyes over our notes, our the scoring system and at the receipts (which we could never bring ourselves to total) - sometimes coming to the conclusion that the whole project might have been completely pointless.
But that, I think, was actually the point. In an age where everyone is posting, tracking and achieving, we had done the opposite.
We had gone out, night after night, and got quietly, yet stylishly, incapacitated - and, in doing so, found something close to pure happiness.
How we scored each bar...
We developed a scoring system across five measures. The first was the requirement for a balanced, ice-cold, near-neat ethanol hit. Secondly, the glass should sit nicely in the hand. The third point of order was the need for flawless, friendly service. Fourth up, we were seeking a feel-good atmosphere, whatever that may be. Finally, we sought finger-licking bar snacks. All these considerations combined - at a heightened level - and you’ll have the perfect martini experience.
Hughie and Ella May on their mission to find the best martini in London
And now, finally, we can reveal the 25 bars that serve a martini worthy of 007 himself – in ascending order...
Here’s our favourite 25 - from number 25 to our top pick...
I’ll be honest, The Egerton should not really be on this list; it has, in my opinion, the atmosphere of a Doctor’s waiting room, serves a comically bad martini, and pairs it with a side of soggy cheese on toast.
That it is on the list is because it offers a very accessible, well-advertised, and quite unique martini masterclass experience (which, at £50, makes for a fun present). Just make sure you don’t get your hopes up; if Basil Fawlty ran a hotel martini experience, this would be it.
Another spot that comes close to exclusion from this list, but sneaks in purely on atmosphere. Opened in 2019 with skyline views across King’s Cross and north London, The Standard’s Decimo Bar has a fantastic vibe; Mexican decor, DJ in the corner, eclectic dancing, and a late licence until 2am.
Just don’t order a martini - they taste like washing-up liquid (at least mine did). I genuinely thought the bartender had mistakenly mixed a dishwashing tablet into the cocktail shaker, while my girlfriend had to hold her nose to even take a sip.
Dukes has built a reputation on its martini. No other place in London is as dedicated in its pursuit of serving up the martini; it’s as though the hotel exists for that reason alone. In that sense, it’s number one on this list. Going to Duke’s is great fun; it’s always bustling, the service is flawless, and their ‘two martini limit’ rule adds an exciting sense of danger.
For me, however, they serve an almost undrinkable martini. If you want to slurp a half pint of ice-cold rocket fuel and get stretchered home, then yes, this is your place. The hardened drinker in me certainly liked being in a bar where - without exception - everyone was intending just that.
But the Duke’s bone-dry take misses all of the cocktail’s subtlety that can come from delicately mixing ice, lemon, and vermouth. On more forgiving days, I applaud Duke’s monk-like devotion to martinis; on less, I think it’s an expensive tourist trap peddling trumped-up lighter fluid.
Anything by Salvatore Calabrese is hallowed turf for a martini aficionado; he is the godfather of this cocktail and a cornerstone of martini culture - il grande formaggio del martini - or ‘maestro’ as he’s known by his peers. Salvatore has been, at various points in his career, the brains behind several of the bars on this list, and is most famous for creating the world-renowned Duke’s martini over 30 years ago.
And that is precisely the martini you will get at the Corinthia. It’s very, very dry. The vodka and gin are kept in the freezer, along with the glass, before both are removed, the alcohol poured straight in, and your martini served neat. If you like a bone-dry martini, there is no better man; unfortunately, it’s just not for me. The bar itself is a little gauche, with red velvet everything and dimmed lighting - but with its regular live jazz performances, it makes for a fantastic evening out.
For Bond theatrics alone, Raffles tops the list. On asking the doorman where I could find The Spy Bar, he cautiously looked around and then whispered back: ‘The Spy Bar is down the stairs; Miss Money Penny is expecting you.’ Not quite what I was expecting. But after all, this is the site of the Old War Office, where real-life 007s would have come and gone.
The Spy Bar is a basement speakeasy; you knock on a door to enter, an eye slit pulls open, and then you pass into Money Penny’s office. Inside, there’s a vintage Aston Martin DB5 over the bar, the original Barry Bond soundtrack’s playing, while the barman declares he has ‘licence to thrill’. It’s all a bit much - like some nightmarish corporate away day ‘escape rooms’ experience. I can’t remember the martini, let alone the snacks. Strong on style then, but perhaps lacking substance.
Another establishment that plays to the Bond theatrics with its so-named ‘Vesper Bar’ - a homage to the Vesper martini, popularised by Casino Royale, with 007 ordering a special martini of ‘...three measures gin, one measure vodka, and half a measure of Lillet’, before naming it after his love interest Vesper Lynd.
Swing off the impressive main lobby of The Dorchester, and you’ll find yourself in the bar with its cinematic feel and a 1930s chic. It’s relaxed, but with a soft buzz and an in-house DJ mixing away. Any evening here has a certain glamour and a great sense of occasion. My martini is a touch warm and a little over-vermouth’d, but still very enjoyable - and paired with their extensive bar snack menu, a winning combination.
The first thing I noticed when walking into the K Bar was a large dog on top of one of the bar tables lapping at a patron’s drink. That almost tells you everything you need to know about this place; it’s unstuffy, homely and relaxed - despite being in Kensington.
The wood-panelled and book-shelved walls give it the feel of a quaint library in a large country house. There’s friendly service, excellent burger sliders, and a solid martini (albeit not cold enough and too perfumed). Definitely drop in if you’re ever in the area.
Another great London institution. By its reputation alone, Claridge’s should be in the top three on this list. The bar has everything going for it: the global brand, the history, the building, the location.
That it’s not higher in the rankings is likely because martinis are an afterthought at Claridge’s. For many of the bars on this list, the martini is their obsession; unfortunately, they don’t get the care they deserve here.
The martini glass is unwieldy; their take on the drink itself is very watery; and the bar atmosphere is a bit wooden. All that said, you’re in Claridge’s, so enjoy.
Behind one of the great London hotel facades lies the Mandarin Bar and a fantastic martini. Granted, the bar looks and feels like an airport lounge, the service is transactional, and you half expect a tannoy to announce: ‘This is the final call for the 9.50pm flight to Shenzhen.’
My advice is to ease into the experience and imagine you’ve got a first-class ticket for the night. The Mandarin Bar is a great evening spot - it offers a cold, balanced martini with a refreshing burn - and produces some superb tuna tacos.
When most people are asked - ‘Where’s the best martini in London?’ - they’ll often say The Connaught. Those people, however, have clearly never been. And if they have, they haven’t been to enough other places to know it’s nowhere near the best. Certainly, its reputation precedes it - but the result is staff with total disdain for their customers, drinkers more concerned with their social media content, and a very average drink.
I’ll concede the chicken, prawn, and Iberico sliders were exceptional. The barman’s ‘trolly show’ was quite impressive too and would have made great content for my TikTok account (if I had one). But the martini was plain, and went down very poorly when combined with the staff’s unwelcoming air of exclusivity. Twenty years ago, this was the place, but nowadays, I’d only advise you to go there if you too want to create a long list of hotel martini bars.
I arrived at Brown’s already three martinis down; I can’t remember the details, but what I do know is that I now have a deep feeling of love for the Donovan Bar. It has a quiet style and mood atmosphere. The lighting is very dim, black-and-white half-nude Terence Donovan photographs line the walls, and the cocktails are, again, courtesy of Salvatore Calabrese.
It’s a winning combination. And, suiting my preference, the martini at Brown’s isn’t as dry as the usual Calabrese mark - it’s a more balanced drink, with a hint of vermouth and served ice cold. Nest into their ‘naughty corner’ bank of tables, gorge on the parmesan nibbles (served as standard), and enjoy one of London’s great spots.
Head to the 8th floor of the Peninsula hotel, via their hot air balloon-style elevator, and you’ll find Brooklands Bar. Overlooking Hyde Park Corner, you have views right across London. It’s a hell of a spot.
The bar’s interior is a homage to classic racing cars, while the accompanying restaurant features an almost-to-scale silver Concorde hanging from the ceiling. And then the martini - it’s an instant classic; sleek glass, ice-cold drink, touch of vermouth, and a fiery burn. Were it not for some diabolical (non-existent) service, this could very easily have been a five-star bar.
The Stafford isn’t the obvious martini destination - Duke’s, next door, hogs the limelight - but the drink at The American Bar is quietly superior. It’s freezer cold, with a faint brush of vermouth, and stirred perfectly.
The bar is an unapologetic luxury frat house: US college baseball caps on the ceiling, a legendary cigar terrace, and a crowd that’s ninety per cent Upper East Siders. If you can tolerate fellow drinkers with names like Emerson III, debating Aspen plans and their latest NASDAQ shorts, you’ll find this one of London’s most unexpectedly delightful martini haunts.
Another bar named The American Bar, but this one - The Savoy’s - is the original, dating back to 1893. My granny worked here in the 1950s, and I’m not convinced it’s changed much since. It’s pure art deco glamour: a grand piano in the middle and waiters gliding around in white jackets and black ties. It’s a very drinkable martini and best paired with the mini roast beef Yorkshire pudding sliders (the sort that make you briefly wonder if your nan has popped into the kitchen to prep them herself).
One of the latest additions to the London hotel scene, The Chancery Rosewood has opened on the site of the old US Embassy in Grosvenor Square. It’s a remarkable refurbishment, with a grand atrium at the centre.
The crowd’s a little sceney and the decor a little too gold, but see past that, and you can enjoy the rooftop Eagle Bar. The martini is solid (nothing remarkable), but it is more than compensated for by the great atmosphere, beef sliders, and views across central London.
For Bond devotees, this is on the must-visit list: The Langham makes a cameo in GoldenEye (1995), doubling as the St Petersburg hotel where Bond meets Valentin. Inside the Artesian Bar, though, you get something quite different - a 200-year-old English grand hotel, blended with Chinese-inspired decor, and a menu devised with BiBi Indian restaurant.
It shouldn’t work, but it does: the whole place feels relaxed, warm, and completely unpretentious. We settled in with Wookey Hole cheese papads, were looked after with effortless precision, and even saw Rylan sipping champagne in the corner. And the martini? Exceptional. Perfectly stirred vodka, lemon, and vermouth, delivered in an ice-cold glass straight from the freezer.
From the outside, The Lanesborough looks pretty unassuming. But its Library Bar is a hidden gem - in no small part thanks to an overly enthusiastic Greek maitre d’, called Angel, who welcomes you (practically with a bear hug) and then darts around the room as host, raconteur, and resident comedian.
Before you’ve even realised you’re then hungry, or need another drink, Angel senses it and comes sweeping back with exactly what you didn’t know you wanted. And if you did then want to know about their dazzling Scotch collection, including a rare 1778 whisky, Angel can give you the history of every bottle. Or if you wanted to sing along to ‘The Lion Sleeps Tonight’ with the pianist, Angel will join you in a duet. He is a rare and special man. The martini arrives with a fun table-side pour and is beautifully stirred, if just a touch too heavy on the vermouth.
Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth’s favourite hotel, where Kate spent the night before her wedding, and where nowadays most American retirees choose to holiday in London. The Goring is a scene out of a Home Alone movie; it’s a deeply reassuring, wholesome, cosy opulence. The bar has a fire in the centre and a grand piano alongside - like walking into the drawing room of some rich bachelor uncle. And if you’re lucky, you might get to see Uncle Monty himself: the hotel’s Managing Director, David-Morgan-Hewitt.
If you don’t mind a jet-lagged couple from Palm Beach having tea and scones at the table next to you at 9pm, this is the place. The bar menu is outrageous; I’ve never had a martini anywhere else with a lobster omelette and triple-cooked fries. And yes, that martini achieves that rare simple balance - gently stirred over ice, a flash of vermouth, and a wide-brimmed glass make for a very satisfying hit.
Stables Bar at The Milestone feels like someone has squeezed a Scottish Highland lodge into Kensington. There are racing prints on the walls, leather armchairs, tartan wool everywhere, and little nooks and crannies that make the place feel like a rabbit warren designed specifically for conspiratorial drinking.
The waiters wear white jackets and black ties, which adds to the charm, but only when you can actually find one. Because that’s the crux of it. The martini is superb - genuinely one of the best - and the snacks are outstanding, but the service swings wildly from attentive to totally absent. If they ever fixed that, this place could easily be number one on our list.
I think of The Berkeley as HQ for the supercar drag racing that seems to happen around Knightsbridge every summer. As I arrived at the hotel, so too did a Bugatti Veyron - the fastest and one of the most expensive cars in the world.
In many ways, it turned out to be the perfect preview of the clientele inside: absurdly wealthy, entirely international, and the sort of crowd for whom a Bugatti is akin to a Ford Fiesta. And yet, it’s genuinely hard to argue with the place.
The atmosphere is warm and lively, the staff are kind, there’s a DJ, a cigar terrace, and the martini is faultless - balanced, cold, and exactly right. And somewhere in the middle of all that noise and wealth and perfect martinis, I realised the best cocktail in the world had been sitting opposite me all along.
Arriving at the Nomad, you’re catapulted out of the fever of Covent Garden and into the helter-skelter of the Side Hustle Bar. The vibe is orchestrated mayhem, somewhere between a Mexico City private members’ club and a dive bar in Ho Chi Minh.
Each night, it’s jammed with pre-theatre crowds and plates of guacamole and tostadas flying about. The martini is astonishingly good - cold as granite, beautifully balanced, and finishing with that warm whisper down the throat. It’s as good as anything in London. Sit at the bar for maximum atmosphere - assuming you can wrestle a seat.
On the fifty-second floor of The Shard sits the Shangri-La’s GŎNG bar. Looking over Tower Bridge and with panoramic views across London, it’s the highest hotel bar in Western Europe.
It’s a mixed crowd: part tourists, part anniversary celebrators, and part those looking to experiment with the effects of high-altitude cocktail consumption.
There’s an Asian theme - all lacquer, lanterns, and some excellent sashimi and olives on ice. And the martini? It’s gently stirred, well balanced, and served so cold you momentarily forget your vertigo.
Third time lucky, we managed to get into the Rosewood’s Scarfes Bar - and only once I’d called ahead and played the ‘press card’. The first time we went, we faced an hour-long queue at seven o’clock on a Friday night. The second time, we tried to sneak in through the hotel’s side entrance, only to be caught and turned away.
Well, it’s worth persisting. When you do make it, you are met by one of the great bars in London. It’s like arriving at a raucous drinks party in a very traditional library; there’s a raging fire, some very large and impressive lanterns, comfy sofas, live music, excellent service, and plates of popcorn chicken being passed around. The martini is spot on; ice-cold glass, stirred so as not to be overpowering, and a well-balanced hint of vermouth.
I arrived willing myself to find fault with the Ritz; what a waste of five years’ searching, if the most well-known hotel brand in London topped the list.
It would be a depressingly predictable outcome. But walking off Piccadilly, through the entrance, and into the hotel’s grand foyer is iconic. It’s total over-the-top grandeur: the tailcoats and top-hatted doormen, the bustling afternoon tea, the Cellist and the grand piano. Walking past all that, you then curve into The Rivoli bar. It’s a small bar with gold and Italian art deco design - like being aboard Silvio Berlusconi’s private train carriage, but (sadly) without the Bunga Bunga party.
It’s decadent yet still stylish. The beef empanadas were 10/10; the prawns even better; and the martini close to perfection.
So this is it; the number one, The Beaumont Hotel’s Le Magritte bar. ‘The what, what...’ I hear you say. And therein lies the beauty of this place; it’s inconspicuousness.
Although The Beaumont is near Mayfair’s busy Grosvenor Square, the hotel is down a quiet side street, and you’re not likely to chance upon it. When you do, you’ll find a similar understatedness effusing throughout.
The interiors are a warm, homely 1920s Americana. The staff are friendly, but leave you to yourself. And you can always get a table in the bar, whatever the time or day. It’s a small bar with dark wood, dimmed lighting, soft jazz playing, and a cigar terrace off the side. And then there’s the martini; served just above freezing in an iced glass, it’s a perfect balance, with no one ingredient too overpowering.
The Beaumont was legendary restaurateur Jeremy King’s first foray into hotels, and it shows. Order from the bar menu - preferably the bacon French toast or mini hamburgers - and you sink into a warm, vodka-induced time warp.
If I could, I’d be back here every night and would no doubt find 007 drinking alongside me on one of those evenings.
Romance update: On finishing their martini tour this week, with a drink at The Berkeley, the authors got engaged.
