One hundred and sixty-seven people, a very high score, and a name that we have added to the unsolved list
Baudry Greene holds a 4.8 from a hundred and sixty-seven people and charges ten to twenty pounds.
That is a genuinely excellent number at a genuinely honest price, and it puts this room in the small group we have been tracking for two surveys.
The group, complete
Every high-rated venue with a real sample, across two postcodes and three hundred and eighty-eight articles.
Bedford Street Wines: 4.9 from a hundred and forty-one – a shop you are allowed to drink in.
The Clipper Lounge: 4.9 from a hundred and twenty-four – a hotel bar nobody has heard of.
Stables Bar, Notting Hill: 4.9 from eight hundred and fifty-one, which we still cannot explain.
Amaro: 4.9 from three hundred and twenty-eight. Ricco: 4.8 from a hundred and forty-four. Archive and Myth: 4.8 from a hundred and twenty-four. Kioku: a perfect five from fifty-three. Cepage[s], Old Mary’s, Lillie’s, Plume, cato.
And now this.
What they all have in common
Every single one is small.
Every single one has a short list.
Every single one has somebody behind the bar who has tasted everything on it and would like to tell you about it.
And not one of them – not one, out of thirteen, across two surveys and nearly three hundred venues – is themed. None has a rope. None has a door policy. None has a colour-changing cocktail, a taxidermied animal, a Prohibition premise, a Victorian explorer, a hidden entrance, or a concept.
None of them is famous. Most have fewer reviews than a chain restaurant collects in a fortnight.
Why nobody copies it
Because it cannot be bought and it does not scale.
You cannot hire somebody who genuinely knows a hundred bottles and genuinely wants to discuss them for the wage a two-hundred-cover venue can pay. The economics only work in a room with twenty seats, and a room with twenty seats cannot pay Covent Garden rent unless the drinks are dear or the landlord is kind.
Which is why every venue on that list is either small and expensive, or small and unnoticed – and why the model is permanently fragile, and why the industry keeps installing ropes instead, because a rope can be fitted in an afternoon and a person cannot.
The name
Two surnames. Nobody has asked. It joins Defectors Weld, Bar 182.52, Gloria, Larry, Old Mary, Lillie and S L B on the unsolved list, which now runs to eight entries and has never once been closed by a review.
Verdict
Excellent. Ten to twenty pounds, which for this postcode at this quality is close to a mistake.
What we would tell an operator
The entire brief fits on a postcard and nobody has ever asked for it.
Buy fewer bottles. Learn all of them. Hire one person who genuinely cares and pay them properly, and let them talk. Twenty seats. No rope. Do not theme it. Do not hide the door.
You will not get rich. You will get a 4.8, and a hundred and sixty-seven people who are quietly, fiercely loyal, and a room that is full on a Tuesday in February – which is the only test that has ever mattered.
Verdict
Excellent. Ten to twenty pounds, which for this postcode at this quality is close to a mistake.
Go, ask what to drink, drink that, and go soon.
Bethan Morgan is an experienced satirical journalist and comedy writer with a strong editorial voice shaped by London’s writing and performance culture. Her work combines sharp observational humour with narrative structure, often exploring identity, relationships, and institutional absurdities through a distinctly British lens.
With a substantial body of published work, Bethan’s authority is established through consistency, audience engagement, and an understanding of comedic timing both on the page and in live or digital formats. Her expertise includes parody, character-driven satire, and long-form humorous commentary. Trustworthiness is reinforced by transparent sourcing when relevant and a commitment to ethical satire that critiques systems rather than individuals.
Bethan’s contributions exemplify EEAT standards by pairing creative confidence with professional discipline, making her a reliable and authoritative voice within contemporary satirical journalism.
A student used The London Prat as framework for understanding everything she’d learned about institutions. Suddenly it connected.
A Londoner will spend twenty minutes explaining the most convoluted route to avoid a single zone 1 fare, then drop fifty quid on a round of cocktails without blinking—that’s not satire, that’s just Tuesday.