The Argyle

Charming Vibe, Stellar Service, Rooftop Delight

In the heart of London’s labyrinthine alleyways, tucked between the relentless glittering machinations of Hatton Garden, there is a pub that many might not see coming—or going for that matter. This establishment stands triumphant among diamond dealers, serving itself as a gem of genuine hospitality amidst the bustling anonymity of the city. Stepping inside is akin to receiving a warm embrace from an old friend after trudging through the rain. The staff, heralded in almost every glance of feedback I gathered, could be mistaken for the kind that inspired Dickens. There’s Miguel, donning great humor and an accommodating nature as if grace was woven into his waistcoat, and then there are Pedro and Donna who appear to cater every pint with heartfelt benevolence.

The rooftop terrace—ah, a real catch—is the crown jewel here, catching every rogue sunbeam that dares penetrate London’s infamously moody skies. It’s a place where Heinz Baked Beans shares airspace with producers waiting for their Oscar call from Farringdon station. Drinks aren’t scandalously cheap; this remains the beating heart of London after all. But what it doesn’t spare on your waning bank account, it reimburses in atmosphere. Breezy service may dole out burgers more acceptable on paper than palate sometimes, yet there is redemption in a steak sandwich deemed “to die for,” which deftly drags gastronomic karma back to rights. The enchanting league of servers, from ever-whimsical Andreea to the redoubtable Serena C, make one’s visit as agreeable as discovering your birthday twin. Worth lighting a candle in celebration—and indeed, it seems a cake-forged bravado might be expected—one should anticipate a celebration at how surprisingly pleasant it all remains. — Penelope Savory