London's best seafood spots where the catch of the day is always fabulous

There's something magical about J Sheekey that keeps pulling me back. Take their fish pie (£22.50) — a dish that could easily be mundane in lesser hands. Here, it's a masterpiece of controlled indulgence. Chunky pieces of fish — cod, haddock, salmon — nestle in a sauce so perfectly balanced it might bring a tear to a chef’s eye. The potato crust is golden and crisp, creating that magical moment when you crack through to the creamy interior. I always order it with a glass of razor-sharp Chablis (from £13.50 a glass), watching the Covent Garden crowd drift outside. But J Sheekey’s magic goes beyond the food. These walls have absorbed a century of conversations, of celebrations and commiserations. And here I am, just another temporary character in its long, rich narrative.

Wiltons exists in a world slightly removed from reality. It's like stepping into a novel by Wodehouse — all mahogany panelling, subtle hunting prints, and an atmosphere that speaks of old money and older traditions. But don't mistake tradition for stagnation. This kitchen is very much alive. The dressed crab (£34) is a work of precision: white meat so delicate it practically dissolves on the tongue, a hint of brown meat adding depth and complexity. It arrives looking almost too perfect to eat — a sculpture more than a meal. But eat it I do, with a sense of reverence that surprises even me. The charm of Wiltons lies not just in its food but in its ability to bring people together. I've seen bankers in thousand-pound suits and artists in paint-splattered jackets share this space, united by their appreciation of truly exceptional seafood. It's a leveller, this place — proof that good food transcends social boundaries.

If restaurants could tell stories, Rules would be an epic novel. Established in 1798, it's not just London's oldest restaurant — it's a living museum of British culinary history. The décor is unapologetically old-school: taxidermy, dark wood, prints that speak of hunting and empire. Their smoked haddock (£21) arrives looking deceptively simple — a golden piece of fish topped with a perfectly poached egg that oozes liquid sunshine when you cut into it. The mustard sauce provides a sharp counterpoint that cuts through the richness like a witty remark at a Victorian dinner party. I love how Rules doesn't chase trends. This is cooking that respects tradition, that understands that some recipes are perfect exactly as they are. No deconstruction, no molecular nonsense — just honest, exceptional food.

Let's be clear: this isn't a place for Instagram moments or culinary showboating. The Golden Hind is pure, unadulterated British eating experience. The kind of place where the fish and chips (£13.95) are so good, they make you temporarily forget about fancy dining. The batter shatters like fine glass when you cut into it, revealing perfectly cooked fish. Not dry, not greasy — just right. The chips are crisp outside, fluffy inside, with that distinctive taste that comes from years of seasoned fryers. Mushy peas on the side — not as a trendy side, but as a genuine accompaniment. This is the kind of place that doesn't care about Michelin stars or food critics. It cares about feeding people well, quickly, and without unnecessary fanfare.

Richard Corrigan's touch is everywhere at Bentley's. The kitchen feels like a controlled storm — precise, yet with an underlying wild energy that speaks of genuine passion. This isn't cooking by numbers; this is cooking with soul. The seafood risotto (£29) is a perfect example. Some days it's dominated by sweet, delicate langoustines, other days by robust white fish. I love the unpredictability, the sense that each plate tells a different story depending on the day's catch. It's modern without being pretentious, traditional without being stuck in the past. A balancing act that very few restaurants manage to achieve.

Sustainability isn't a buzzword here — it's a way of life. Wright Brothers has reimagined what a seafood restaurant can be, with a menu that's as dynamic as London itself. Their raw bar is a geographical tour of British waters. Oysters (£3.50 each) from different coastlines, each with its own personality. Some deliver a briny, electrifying punch, while others unfold with rich, mineral complexity. It's like a masterclass in terroir, but for the sea. I appreciate how they've turned seafood sourcing into an art form. Each oyster, each piece of fish has a story, and they're not afraid to tell it.

The moment I step inside Randall & Aubin, I’m always hit with a wave of energy that’s impossible to resist. The seafood is the centerpiece of the celebration. Their plateau de fruits de mer (£65 for two) is the kind of dish that demands participation. You’re cracking open crab claws, squeezing lemon over oysters, and laughing as sauce inevitably ends up everywhere but your plate. It’s messy, communal, and gloriously chaotic in the best way. I love how this place turns a meal into a memory. You’ll find yourself chatting with the table next to you, swapping stories over shrimp, and maybe even making a few friends before the night’s out. Randall & Aubin is everything dining out should be — fun, personal, and completely unforgettable.