One of London’s best Sunday lunch offerings coincides with one of London’s best fireplace set-ups. Beloved Islington institution The Drapers Arms has two blazing stoves downstairs, in the vicinity of which diners fortify themselves with slow-cooked shoulder of lamb, pheasant with lentils, bacon and green sauce or suet-crust salt-beef pie. The dessert menu is given over to the holy trinity of cosiness: sticky toffee pudding, bread and butter pudding and apple crumble with cream.

The regulars might be reluctant to pull on a fleece, but more fool them: those who brave the cold are rewarded handsomely at Chiltern Firehouse. Come the winter a roaring fire is installed in the courtyard, along with blankets and squashy sofas. There’s an oyster-cart and a hot-toddy menu, plus a seafood-focused menu (including a beautifully executed fruits de mer platter). Just remember to spare a thought for the chilly paparazzi on the other side of the wall.

Ah, a wintery walk on Hampstead Heath — it’s all fun and good-for-the-’gram games until it starts to rain and someone falls in the mud. Stomp from east to west before retiring to The Holly Bush, a Dickensian Grade II-listed pub at the top of the High Street with a kitchen that has an instinctive feel for comfort food. Thaw out by the crackling fire then repair to a table for rabbit and chestnut pie with celeriac mash, parsnip gnocchi, and an all-British cheeseboard.

Both Zetters feel like the kind of places Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson might have frequented after a hard day’s case-cracking: snug, soothing, soundtracked by gentle murmurs and the hiss of glowing logs. For sheer overstuffed charm, the Clerkenwell one has the edge — settle down in one of the armchairs in front of the fire with a cocktail and order some substantial snacks, like smoked pork jowl croquettes with tarragon mayo.

East Dulwich’s best boozer has not one but two fireplaces, both of which blaze invitingly when there’s a nip in the air. The Victorian building feels homely and well-loved, with chintzy wallpaper and a hotchpotch of wooden chairs, and the food is reliably excellent, whether it’s brunch — ‘nduja toast with poached eggs, cinnamon-bacon waffles — or a special-occasion supper — hake with orzo and mussel cream, girolles with kohlrabi, cavolo nero and black truffle. There’s a strong wine list, too.

Paddington’s brightest star has a fire-warmed snug that feels very old fashioned, and a kitchen that’s anything but. Head chef Louis Lingwood is ex-Oldroyd, and the same kind of quiet confidence that’s in evidence over in N1 runs through the menu: think duck and chanterelle pappardelle, romanesco with red peppers and almonds, bavette in a verdant pool of garlic butter.

Wood-fired grills are ten a penny right now; but log-fuelled ‘hearths’ are harder to come by. London’s most magnificent is at St Leonards; it’s the kind of cheering fire that marshmallows could conceivably be toasted over in the wild. It’s not just for show, either — it gets its own section of the menu, full of the likes of coal-roasted pumpkin, whole Challans duck and 100 day-aged Hereford sirloin with anchovy hollandaise.