Harry’s Bar
IF YOU’VE EVER WONDERED what it would be like to dine inside a rose, ask a member of Harry’s Bar. They should be able to tell you. No, I’m not letting my imagination get the better of me. The interiors of this, the prettiest restaurant in London, are bathed in an around-the-clock glow that does wonders for the complexion. Shaded chandeliers and sconces of Murano glass offset by Fortuny fabrics of pink and green evoke La Serenissima at its lushest and most opulent. While a plethora of mirrors and row upon row of framed cartoons by Peter Arno keep the ambience on the right side of sugary, the fact remains that this is a feminine space, utterly beloved by ladies who can and do lunch – often.
It would be a mistake, though, to assume that Harry’s Bar is not sophisticated as well as beautiful. Wittily described by one devotee as ‘nursery food for billionaires’, its signature dishes – beef carpaccio, green tagliolini ham gratin, and bitter chocolate ice cream washed down by mandatory peach bellinis – are so reliably superb that a token glance at the menu need not impede the power-broking conversation. From media moguls and heads of state to European and Middle Eastern royalty, the regulars here are among the most discerning because they’re the most privileged anywhere in the world. Harry’s Bar never lets them down.
Members only.
See also: Annabel’s, Claridge’s, Scott’s
