The bar where Ian Fleming drank his martinis. Thirty seats. Alessandro Palazzi makes the drink in front of you. No crowd, no rush, no reason to leave before the second.
Duke's Bar is the kind of place that rewards knowing about it. The room holds roughly thirty people. There is no DJ, no mood lighting beyond candles, no cocktail menu requiring six pages. There is a martini trolley, Alessandro Palazzi, and the accumulated weight of everyone who has sat in this room since Fleming was a regular.
One martini is the correct number. Two is the decision that makes the evening longer — which Alessandro will tell you himself, with no obvious discouragement either way.
Dark wood, leather chairs, the proportions of a room designed for conversation rather than spectacle. The hotel is on St. James's Place — not St. James's Street, which is the mistake most people make on the first visit.
Duke's Bar is the kind of place that rewards knowing about it. The room holds roughly thirty people. There is no DJ, no mood lighting beyond candles, no cocktail menu requiring six pages. There is a martini trolley, Alessandro Palazzi, and the accumulated weight of everyone who has sat in this room since Fleming was a regular.
No reservations for the bar. Arrive before 7pm to guarantee a seat. The hotel is on St. James's Place — not St. James's Street — a distinction that will cost you ten minutes if you get it wrong.
What to order — the martini, stirred, not shaken; the Fleming version, which is exactly what you think it is.