Belgravia’s chi chi gastropub retreat of Prince Arthur has been on fire! Literally; setting their discerning diners tastebuds a blaze with its epically plush, open flame concept.
The London pub scene, lest anyone dare suggest otherwise, is not merely alive and kicking, it is strutting with electric confidence. Across the capital’s old boozers a new guard has emerged, from sharply poured Irish taprooms to moodier wine led sanctuaries, each reworking the public house playbook for a generation that demands both heritage and heat. Yet few arrivals have detonated quite so stylishly as Prince Arthur.
Making its glittering debut in January 2025 along the glossy SW1 stretch of Pimlico Road, this Belgravia beauty has wasted no time in disrupting the pub grub narrative. Is is within this haute-monde dining destination that smooth luxe caviar, sustainable oceanic produce and fine golden hued champagne are not sheepish add ons but proud protagonists, not to neglect the familiar comfort of a neighbourhood tavern humming with the fire licked soul of a serious Basque kitchen. It is a combination that feels deliciously rebellious in a postcode better known for its polished couture clad boutiques, and well heeled discretion.
Featured in the Michelin Guide and already drawing a fashion crowd that treats bar stools like front row seats, Prince Arthur proves that the modern London pub can be both raffishly relaxed and gastronomically ambitious. Smoke curls from the open flame grill, as glasses clink with crisp fizz and conversations swell beneath warm lighting that flatters both the food, and its impeccably dressed devotees as Prince Arthur stands as a bold reminder that the humble pub, when dressed in Belgravia gloss and fuelled by Basque fire can feel utterly electric.
Pimlico Poise Meets Flame-Licked Theatrics
Scarcely a ten-minute stroll from Sloane Square station, the tranquil setup of Pimlico Road hums with lacquered Range Rovers, sculpted hedges, and women who treat tailoring like religion all embodying a Belgravia at its most buffed and blow-dried, before Prince Arthur appears on the corner bedecked in red-brick shoulders, and arched windows glowing with a come-hither warmth that feels far too electric for anything choosing to call itself a “pub”.
Right from the pavement it had already betrayed its ambitions, with the historic façade remained intact but through those generous windows flickered a scene that read less Sunday roast, and more society supper club. Inside the transformation was deliciously audacious, dosed in gleaming polished chocolate wood throughout the space as terracotta walls radiated heat neighbouring a botanical ceiling gracing its presence overhead in inky florals, all creating a cocoon that felt decadent rather than quaint.
But it was for the dashing terrain of the cocktail bar to be the undeniable scene-stealer, curved and commanding as it aced through the room with polished dark wood and backlit shelving rising high behind it, giving light to the shimmering tipple assemblage displayed like trophies in a private collector’s cabinet, not to forget the smooth leather-topped stools stood in poised formation, inviting long conspiratorial sits over rushed pints.
Also dominating the room was the colossal seafood haven of the raw counter, stretched across its length like a decadent altar to the ocean with crushed ice glittering beneath plump oysters, ruby meaty prawns, and thick carved fillets that caught the light with saline sheen, not to miss a mention on the highly prized, delectable sea urchins . Behind it the cocktail station pulsed with kinetic flair with the bartenders moved with athletic precision, flames licking briefly from citrus peels as martinis were stirred to a glacial gloss and Guinness and Hawkstone flowed for purists below, yet Champagne corks popped with equal regularity reinforcing that this was no ordinary pint and pie terrain.
Not one to be pushed out of the beaming spotlight, the state of the art grill roared at the heart of the space, with the open flame dramatics casting a seductive glow across the room as heady smoke curled upwards in aromatic ribbons, charring seafood and Basque cuts with primal drama perfuming the air and sharpening up appetites instantly.
The venue divided itself with deliberate mood; with the pub below thrumming with convivial ease, small plates circulating alongside cold beers and spritzes, the wood clad backdrop lending intimacy without ever dulling the energy whilst a few steps above the restaurant carried a more elevated tempo illustrating larger plates beneath softer lighting, the same timber narrative continuing but embodying a more refined finesse, and polished tables clad in lashing of white cloth all spaced out with a metropolitan poise giving us a pub refitted in crisp couture and handed a raw bar centrepiece, where in Belgravia this feels exactly befitting.
Where Basque Fire Meets SW1 Finesse
Prince Arthur’s Basque led menu reads like a letter of adoration to the flame, sea spray and disciplined indulgence, all centred unapologetically around exceptional seafood and a daily evolving selection that draws from the most carefully sourced sustainable produce across Spain and Britain. There is a quiet confidence to it witg their label caviar developed in partnership with The London Caviar Company, resting alongside a serious Champagne register stretching from Ruinart to Olivier Leflaive in Burgundy while the beer offering moves from British craft ales to Estrella, and a reverent dedication to Guinness poured through installations mirroring those in Ireland.
At the helm Head Chef Adam Iglesias brings heritage rather than affectation. Raised with Basque roots that instilled an early reverence for ingredient purity, his journey carried him through Australia and France before returning to San Sebastián where, at Michelin starred Alameda, he had sharpened a devotion to restraint and clarity. London followed, with formative chapters at BRAT, Barrafina and Sessions Arts Club, kitchens that prize fire, seasonality and precision. It is now at Prince Arthur where he has woven that lineage into a philosophy both grounded and quietly exacting, enhancing rather than obscuring the natural character of what lies on the plate.
The dining odyssey commenced with a Lychee Martini, cool and crystalline, its floral sweetness gently offset by a brisk citrus spine that primed the palate without dulling it, as the Pintxos interval arrived in an elegant procession, the Ensaladilla Devilled Egg crowned with a glistening bead of caviar that burst saline against the creamy yolk, each bite balancing nostalgia with briny opulence.
The small plates only deepened the narrative, with Iberico cheeks slow cooked to surrender collapsing at the mere suggestion of a fork, their richness sharpened by a mushroom escabeche that delivered a vinegared brightness whereas the Spider crab came dressed in a red pepper sabayon, airy yet intensely flavoured with the sweetness of the crab amplified, rather than masked.
It was however the house caviar took centre stage, with butter like salted Amur Royal resting atop golden crisp turbot dripping potatoes, whose bronzed casing gave way to fluffy interiors scented faintly of the sea. A cool spoon of crème fraîche and a scatter of finely diced chives completed the tableau, each mouthful luxurious without excess as dainty glasses of Whispering Angel accompanied this opening act, its pale Provençal blush offering a sweet strawberry lift, coupled with a cleansing mineral edge.
From the wood grill came Native Lobster Rice lacquered with saffron aioli, grains swollen with stock and studded with tender morsels of lobster that tasted of pure coastline as the Galician Blond Txuleta soon followed, thick cut and kissed by flame with its marbled fat rendered into a glossy sheen while the interior remained blushing and deeply savoury. Beef fat potatoes arrived audibly crisp, yielding to cloud like centres whilst winter greens with horseradish cut cleanly through the richness together with a bottle of Ruinart shimmering throughout the evening affair, its fine mousse threading citrus and brioche notes through every course.
Dessert had refused to retreat quietly. Basque cheesecake presented a burnished top giving way to a centre so softly set it bordered on indecent, gently caramelised and faintly tangy alongside, Guinness ice cream delivering a malty bitterness folded into velvety sweetness, a playful nod to the bar below to show this was indeed a fire led gastronomy with polish, conviction, and a decidedly Belgravia attitude.
A Modern Pub With a Basque Pulse
Belgravia has never been short of polished dining rooms or photogenic plates, yet Prince Arthur manages to feel both gloriously grounded and quietly formidable in a postcode that demands polish. It is a place where open flame meets fine Champagne without a flicker of pretension, where Basque instinct is translated through British produce with clarity and conviction, and where caviar sits as comfortably beside a pint of Guinness as it does a bottle of Ruinart.
There is a cool confidence to what happens here, the kind that does not need theatrics to command a room. The grill glows at the centre like a living pulse, seafood stretched proudly across iron bars, prime cuts kissed by flame until their edges caramelise and their centres remain yielding and rich. Plates arrive with intention rather than noise, luxury expressed through restraint and precision rather than excess.
In a city that loves to shout, this Pimlico Road gastro prodigy simply raises the temperature and lets the fire speak for itself, cool headed, magnetic, and completely in command.
