Have Breakfast in the Queen’s Backyard: A Londoner’s Guide to Mayfair and St. James’s

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There isn’t anywhere more maligned, in London, than the center of town. It is the Emma Woodhouse of neighborhoods: too pretty and grand for universal popularity. But between Hyde Park and Piccadilly Circus, Oxford Street and Pall Mall, are a few reliable places that were made for red-letter days.

A bedroom at the RitzPhoto: Jo Rodgers

For a Stay:The Ritz HotelThe Ritz, an independent hotel (unaffiliated with the chain of the same name) that overlooks Green Park, is a bastion of fun and nearly always the right choice. Where to meet your mother for lunch? The Ritz. A friend for martinis? The Ritz. Your husband for a weekend away? You know. By all means, check in for a few nights if you’re looking for a treat; the rooms are a fine jumble of marble fireplaces and oil paintings, and some have rare views of the public gardens below, which roll right up to Buckingham Palace. But if you aren’t staying, there is the Rivoli Bar for cocktails, designed to look like a cabin on the Orient Express, and afternoon tea in the gilded Palm Court. On Fridays and Saturdays, the Michelin-starred Ritz Restaurant offers dinner and dancing, with a four-course supper and a live band. Don’t skip the tableside crêpe suzette; you’ll need your strength for the rumba.

Breakfast at Claridge'sPhoto: Jo Rodgers

Claridge’s HotelA London icon, Claridge’s has been ironing newspapers for the great and the good for eons, perfecting a standard of service that would give Jeeves the yips. Luckily, none of the efficiency translates to stiffness, and Champagne buckets are thick on the ground. Many of the bedrooms are decorated in a sleek Art Deco style to match the glamorous lobby, and a handful are traditional, with romantic four-posters and antique dressing tables. The hotel restaurant, Fera, has become a local destination under chef Simon Rogan, serving British cuisine in a beautiful gray dining room. The barman at Fera is terrific, and only available to those in the restaurant; ask him to mix you a cocktail of his choice.

A booth at Wilton'sPhoto: Jo Rodgers

For Supper:WiltonsFor best-in-show British cooking, there isn’t anywhere nicer than Wiltons. It’s particularly stuffed at lunch, when a loyal crowd arrives for the reasonably priced set menu, but dinner on Saturdays is the only time they wheel around a gigantic beef Wellington on the carving trolley (every slice will be spoken for and it’s harrowing to be left out, so phone ahead). The setting is tidily elegant—the most private tables are the tall green velvet booths, from which guests peep out to order silver bowls of oysters—but Wiltons isn’t snobbish; a bottle of Lea & Perrins comes to the table alongside the Welsh rarebit, and the restaurant’s mascot is a lobster (“Harry”) wearing a top hat. In short, it’s an infallible place. Go there whenever you can.

GymkhanaPhoto: Jo Rodgers

GymkhanaPeople are always hovering at Gymkhana’s small bar, sipping pink gin and hoping that someone else won’t turn up for their reservation. Annoyingly, the lure of top-notch pork cheek vindaloo and tandoori lamb chops is usually too strong. The heaving dining room was inspired by colonial sporting clubs in India; there are black-and-white photos of cricket teams on the walls, and wooden fans above gray-veined marble tables and rattan chairs. In a city bursting with excellent Indian food, this is my favorite, and I never book early enough. See you at the bar.

Scott'sPhoto: Jo Rodgers

Scott’sThe most rarified stretch of Mount Street (an ear-poppingly lofty road), is the patch outside of Scott’s, where a few neatly dressed guests are usually seated at café tables, partially obscured by piles of shellfish. Inside, the dining room is anchored by a sleek oyster and Champagne bar, with glinting fish scales sweeping out beneath the swivel seats. The best thing on the menu, maybe the best thing in London, is the sole meunière. Homemade ice creams—look for the Amalfi lemon and marshmallow—are also wonderful.

Bellamy'sPhoto: Jo Rodgers

Bellamy’sThe proprietor of Bellamy’s, Gavin Rankin, reckons he knows 80 percent of his guests on any given evening. Anyone who has sat in his dining room, where Rankin hails hordes of friends and recommends the best-value wines, will judge this to be a conservative estimate. Bellamy’s is a rare bird—a place for locals, in a neighborhood full of visitors on the way to better-advertised tables. The food is French with British editing, unselfconscious (there are fish fingers), and very good. The menu is difficult to misjudge, but if you need steering, nearby resident Queen Elizabeth II is said to have gone for the eel mousse and roast partridge.

Le GavrochePhoto: Jo Rodgers

Le GavrocheWhen guests mount the steps at Le Gavroche, a locked door springs open and they vanish inside with a smart snap, like arrivals at a resistance meeting. Downstairs, the subterranean dining room has the feeling of a club, full of plummy voices and people sunk comfortably into tufted chairs. The cuisine is high-church French, the kind of food that is held to the cruelest standards, and it is inviolably perfect—my favorite dish, a mainstay of the menu, is the airy cheese soufflé that stands in a puddle of cream. There is hardly any natural light and no one ever seems to know which o’clock it is; they’re all having too good of a time to check.

The Fumoir BarPhoto: Jo Rodgers

For a Cocktail:The Fumoir Bar at Claridge’sTucked away off of the lobby, the Fumoir Bar is an Art Deco–style nook with velvet seats and honeyed lighting. The cocktail list includes ringers like the Bee Pollen Crusta, a lowball with vodka, vermouth, and chestnut honey; and the Saffron Sidecar, mixed with cognac and pear juice.

The Coburg BarPhoto: Jo Rodgers

The Coburg Bar at the ConnaughtThe Coburg Bar is an opulent snug with high-backed armchairs and terrific snacks (nothing like a club sandwich after dancing). Drinks are arranged according to the decade of their creation, from Fish House Punch (“Pre-1800”) to Penicillin (“2000s”); one of the most delicious is Death in the Afternoon, named for the novel by Hemingway, a zippy combination of absinthe and Champagne.

Berry Bros. & RuddPhoto: Jo Rodgers

For Fun:Berry Bros. & RuddEstablished in 1698, Berry Bros. & Rudd has been keeping whiskey and claret for centuries. The shop on St. James’s Street is a rabbit’s warren of bottles and experts (there are seven masters of wine prowling around), and in addition to selling wine, it holds extremely popular courses and events. One of the most fun is the One Day Wine School, which includes a few hours of precise and thirsty instruction, followed by a delicious lunch.

The London LibraryPhoto: Jo Rodgers

The London LibraryThomas Carlyle started this private lending library, the largest in the world, in 1841 after running afoul of the librarian at the British Library. It occupies a stately corner of St. James’s Square, with windows overlooking the gardens and writing desks dotted throughout the stacks. Membership to the library is open to all, regardless of occupation; Virginia Woolf reported hers as “spinster” when she applied for a subscription at age 22.

The Harold Pinter TheatreThis 19th-century theater is elegantly proportioned but intimate, and a particularly wonderful venue for plays. It’s currently showing a hit revival of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, which is riveting enough to be worth the scramble for tickets. The red velvet seats are very comfortable, and the snack bar sells lovely ice cream at intermission.