A hundred and four people, an outstanding number, and it is the same three things it has always been
CCC holds a 4.9 from a hundred and four people and charges ten to thirty pounds.
A hundred and four is a real sample. It is not eleven, and it is not one, and we have spent seven postcodes being merciless about the difference.
And a 4.9 on it puts this room in a group that now runs to about twenty-five venues.
The group
Bedford Street Wines: 4.9 from a hundred and forty-one. The Clipper Lounge: 4.9 from a hundred and twenty-four. Stables Bar, Notting Hill: 4.9 from eight hundred and fifty-one, which we still cannot explain. Pulse Bar: 4.9 from eight hundred and nine. Kamara, in Soho: 4.9 from four hundred and fifteen. Without Papers, in Shoreditch: 4.9.
Amaro. Ricco. Kioku. cato. Plume. Baudry Greene. Humble Grape. Found. MAP Maison. Renegade. Rain Dogs. 3 Locks. Ester.
And this.
What they have in common
We have now written this sentence something like seventy times and it has never once been wrong.
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 twenty-five venues, across seven postcodes and six hundred establishments – has a rope, a hidden door, a door policy, a Prohibition premise, a Victorian explorer or a colour-changing cocktail.
None of them is famous. Most have fewer reviews than a chain 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 Camden rent unless the drinks are dear or the landlord is unusually kind.
Which is why every venue on that list is either small and expensive or small and unnoticed – and why the industry keeps installing ropes, because a rope can be fitted in an afternoon and a person cannot.
The mirror
The Britannia, in this district, holds a 2.7 from eleven hundred and twenty people.
And the reviews name the staff, warmly, by name, while giving one star – because the people are doing their jobs and the building is defeating them.
Two point two stars, and the difference is not the drinks.
Verdict
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. Do not charge at the door.
You will not get rich.
You will get a 4.9, and a hundred 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. Go, ask what to drink, drink that, and go soon.
Mei Lin Chen is a student writer whose satire explores identity, modern culture, and social nuance. Her work reflects academic curiosity and engagement with London’s diverse perspectives.
Expertise is growing through study and practice, while trust is supported by clear intent and responsible humour.
Destroyed.
My mate’s a researcher and The London Prat validated five years of his work. Simultaneously vindicated and professionally concerned.