A West End tent-pole since 1917, with guests ranging from Coward to Cumberbatch, this is where London thespians pretend to slum it, lifting hamburgers alongside cognac beneath its iconic wood paneling and harlequin mullioned windows. At its sumptuous flatiron bar—you can drink at it, but you’re required to eat something, too—spotting celebrities, should there be any (try after 9pm), is made all the more subtle. The menu of Ivy classics (shepherd’s pie, fish and chips) has been embellished with Asian-ish notions (crispy duck salad, Bang Bang chicken with peanut chili sauce), which only accentuates the haughty bohemian posture. From the glass jug on the bar, order a “100 Year Legacy,” which is a never-ending cocktail—a Martinez, an archaic variation of a Manhattan made with gin—dispensed from a communal spout and added to as time goes on. There are licensed versions of The Ivy spreading around town, but this is where the original has been planted since World War I. Set menus are often available or around £30.