No area in London has stories quite like Soho and no bar has served (and spilled) them quite like Trisha’s. The basement bar on Greek Street is infamous, not just for being a favourite haunt of the late, great Anthony Bourdain, but for its guarantee of a memorable night. This faintly dingy public members’ club looks like the kind of place the Soprano crew would meet, and come weekends there’s a sticky atmosphere that attracts characters and voyeurs alike. A line forms from the blue door outside, the bouncer decides your fate, and from there, thirsty sardines pack the room to slosh gin and tonics and trade tales true and false. A venue for much-needed catch-ups and a heart-to-hearts this is not, but if a few hastily made drinks and a cigarette with a man who claims to be 13th in line to the throne sounds good, then there’s nowhere better.