Like the thick slabs of bread with good salty old-school butter plunked on your table here without ceremony, a meal at The Drapers Arms is not always the most finessed. But — particularly in winter — its gutsiness is sometimes the ideal tonic to food that has been ponced into anonymity elsewhere: soup, that most unfashionable of dishes, is a panacea on a cold day; pies are huge ribsticking affairs that leave even the staunchest trenchermen utterly contented. There is also more than the occasional flirtation with Hendersonian nose-to-tail cookery, not least the annual offal-fest Glandstonbury. Come hungry.

For a certain class of Regents Canal-bothering Hackney resident, this is not so much “hidden gem” as site of regular weekend pilgrimage (to try running or cycling past the growing brunchtime crowd is to risk an impromptu and truly unpleasant bath). But the food — not least the legendary cheese toastie — is worth the hassle; a range of homemade cakes and pastries make for an ideal afternoon pick-me-up once the crowd has subsided.

After a long run around glorious Victoria Park, there’s really nowhere better to undo all of that good work. Good coffee and Nordic-style buns in an arresting array of flavours (cardamom, cinnamon, turmeric) are just the prelude to one of London’s most delicious, incongruous Sri Lankan breakfasts, complete with string hoppers, daal and all manner of chutneys and sambols.

The practice of frying in tallow — or beef fat — is still fairly common in the north of England, but it’s much scarcer in saturated fatphobic London. More’s the pity, because it definitely imparts a distinctive savour and sweetness to everything here, as well as allowing for a batter that is notably thinner than that on show in the majority of chippies. But it’s not really about the fish and chips, actually — there are probably better, even in London — so much as it is about everything that the decades-old Fryer’s Delight represents: tradition and simplicity in a city often all too happy to leave both behind.

This isn’t the first attempt to get more people to visit this Baker Street institution, and it won’t be the last: truly — and whatever some spurious list of 38 other restaurants might tell you — this is one of London’s must-visits. The exactitude required to knock out dozens of different, flawless dim sum carries over into how the kitchen approaches other fare like roast duck and steamed seafood; the service is no less full of care. It’s great whenever, but for Sunday lunch it’s an unimprovable upgrade on the usual roast.

One of the (many) infuriating quirks about London’s Chinatown is the relatively narrow spectrum of quick, grab-and-go options available. There are some OK bakeries; there are a couple of storefronts slinging OK dumplings. But really there is only the mighty Good Friend Chicken, where legs, breast, and even — baller order, this — slabs of skin emerge fresh from the fryer encased in a shattering, impossibly crisp batter, only to be dusted in a range of eye-popping seasonings. In true Taiwanese style, there’s boba tea, too — a necessary accompaniment when £5.50 buys you a breast fillet the size of your head.

The dishes that come out of Skye Gyngell’s kitchen at Spring are variously delicate, beautiful and immaculate. The décor and staff outfits are Jean-Paul Gaultier conceptual (and therefore, uh, “divisive”), but there’s no debating the quality that suffuses everything on the plate, from riffs on Italianate classics like malfatti and vitello tonnato, to the impeccable produce shipped in from Fern Verrow, to the properly glorious desserts. It’s expensive, but given it somehow does justice to its pocket of real estate in the magnificent Somerset House, it still ends up feeling like a bargain.

It cannot make any sort of rational business sense for the owners of Wrap It Up! to stock an entirely different type of flatbread alongside the bog-standard tortillas that surround the so-so fillings ordered by the majority of their customers. But praise be that they do, because in their “Caribbean” (Trinidadian) lamb or chickpea, pumpkin and tamarind roti they offer what is surely the best option to be found in the lunchtime food desert along The Strand. Not one for eating on the move — or without a knife, fork, and plenty of napkins. Various locations.

Before it was stuffed in a bao bun and sold for a couple of quid, good Chinese food in London looked a lot like this: the familiar Anglo-Cantonese classics, but cooked with a skill and attention to detail — and just a tweak of originality — that elevated them above 1970s cliché. Even as the market has evolved, The Good Earth hasn’t lost a step: really, what is there better than prawn toast, aromatic duck, a whole steamed seabass, and some egg-fried rice?

Equal parts quirky and classy, Cambio de Tercio has been a South Ken gem since it opened in 1995; its menu reads like a distillation of the best things to happen to Spanish food from the time of Cervantes to the present day. Go traditional with jamón ibérico followed by stickily caramelised oxtail; if that doesn’t appeal, go full Ferran Adrià bonkers with a tasting menu for the table. The wine list is as thick as Don Quixote (and, come to think of it, as thick as Don Quixote); the gin-tonics come in the vast balloon copas so beloved in the king of drinks’ spiritual home. ¡Salud!

Hunan is in Belgravia, which is another way of saying it’s not cheap. But surrender to the cost and the concept — there is no menu at dinner; flag dietary restrictions upfront — and be sumptuously rewarded for your courage with dozens of gorgeous small bites rooted in the Hunan region but content, too, to range wider across China. A grown-up wine list makes this one for special occasions — even among the Belgravia set.

In the site formerly occupied by Marco Pierre White’s legendary Harvey’s, Chez Bruce represents another major step in London’s evolving, convoluted relationship with French food. Like the best Parisian brasseries, it makes everything feel utterly effortless; like the (other) best London restaurants, it remains open to influences from both close to home and further abroad (a recent menu boasts foie gras but also a Thai-spiced soup and taramasalata, though thankfully not at the same time). For a supplement of a mere six pounds, the groaning, exquisite cheese board is an absolute steal.