Exmouth Arms — Restaurant in London

Shocking service. Arrived and had to find the table I booked as there were no staff to help. No menus, so had to go to the bar to ask for one. Ordered a lemonade got a tonic water. After complaining I got a lemonade. Staff were not attentive to customers who had made table bookings. We had to go to the bar again as we wanted to order 2 Sunday Roasts and no one came to the table to take our order. Note, it was not that busy. Before our food came we were asked to pay the bill, which is ridiculous. We questioned this and the young man told us his manager was asking for people to pay. He was asking us without even showing us a receipt. After paying I asked for a receipt. I should of asked for this before as they charged us 5% and another 12.5% service charge and we had to go to the bar and make our orders!! The table next to us had to pay as soon as their food arrived, they were not happy either. How can you ask customers to pay for drinks & food before you finish and not present a receipt, just ridiculous. Based on other reviews seems like people had to wait too long and left. So they want your money and will overcharge you the service charge..just shocking. Our food arrived quickly and it was ok. Glad they had vegan and vegetarian options. I asked for more gravy as I ordered more sides. I did not have any confidence in the staffs service and when the gravy arrived I asked if it was vegetarian. It wasn't and had to be changed. No initiative by staff to ask me or check. Also as soon as my friends plate was clean someone came and took it without asking if it was ok. We had booked the table for 2 hrs so there shouldn't of been any rush. The service was abysmal. It was like a bunch of students with no experience or common sense running a sunday service in a pub. The place is not the same since the refurbishment. The booths were tiny and very snug. Not sure how people will fit with Winter layers on. Go somewhere else. Loads of better places with great staff and service on...

Imagine, if you will, a bartender with the voice of Harry Brown—gravelly, philosophical, like a cockney oracle who's seen things—and the grace of Bruce Lee—fluid, lightning-fast, and somehow managing to dodge your hangover before it hits you.

That’s the gentleman who served me on a recent jaunt to the Exmouth Arms, where I found myself after a day at work that was more taxing than listening to the nonsense that would often spew from my ex's mouth.

Whilst I did not ask his name specifically due to the sheer bewilderment of watching him work, for the sake of this review I shall assume it is Harry.

You don’t order a drink from Harry. You receive one, like a gift from a wise old Shaolin monk who also happens to know the exact amount of vermouth your soul requires. He doesn’t just pour a martini—he whispers it into existence. One second he’s polishing a glass, the next—BAM—there’s a cocktail on the bar and you have no idea how it got there. It’s like watching philosophy and kung fu shake hands and serve you a Negroni.

And the accent. Oh, the accent. Listening to Harry talk is like being slowly mugged by poetry. He’ll say something like, “You look like a geezer what needs a proper Old Fashioned,” and you’ll nod, because obviously you do need one now, don’t you?

At one point, a guy tried to order a vodka Red Bull. Harry stared at him for five seconds—just five—and the guy quietly changed his mind and asked for an espresso martini, with oat milk. No words. Just presence.

In conclusion: Harry doesn’t make drinks. He makes moments. And probably also knows six ways to disable you with a bar spoon, should...

Oh. My. GOD. Let me tell you about Harry, the absolute Michelangelo of mixology, the Da Vinci of daiquiris, the Einstein of espresso martinis! ✨🍸

From the second I sat down at the bar, Harry had that sixth sense only the best bartenders possess — the ability to know exactly what you want before you even do. One glance and he was like, “You look like you need something refreshing with a citrus twist,” and boom — a masterpiece appeared in front of me. It was less of a drink and more of a religious experience.

But it’s not just his craft that blew me away — it’s his care. Harry isn’t just pouring drinks; he’s pouring heart and soul into every glass. He checked in just enough to make me feel like royalty without hovering, remembered my name, my drink, and somehow even that I like my napkin folded diagonally (HOW?!).

By the end of the night, half the bar was on a first-name basis with each other because of Harry’s charm and warmth. He didn’t just make cocktails; he made connections.

Honestly, if every bartender were like Harry, nobody would ever drink at home again. Five stars aren’t enough — give this man his own...