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Hello fellow, rain-sodden “summer” 2026 survivors.
Over the last few years, my once-frequent work trips to the US – generally a week in either LA or New York, fitting jet-lagged eating and drinking around a mildly incongruous travel writing assignment – have dried up and left a considerable gastronomic void. I miss the pilgrimages to In-N-Out and White Castle and neighbourhood diners for nerve-jangling top-ups of drip coffee; I miss the habitual pitstop at the Russ & Daughters cafe in Manhattan or a trip to some hyped opening in Williamsburg with an unfathomably long queue. But, most of all, I miss the strange, alluring magic of the departure terminal sports bar: those overly lit, vaguely purgatorial counter operations where weary air travellers pitch up for an oddly soothing, all-American mix of televised baseball, light beer and serviceable Buffalo wings slopped in a lurid orange glaze.
This week, as the supersized 23rd edition of the Fifa World Cup shudders to life, I have been thinking about these bars, and their many non-airport equivalents. Not just because these spaces across the Atlantic will soon fill with English and Scottish fans heading to games in North America, Canada and Mexico (quite fun to imagine perplexed, Miller High Life-sipping regulars looking on as delirious men in kilts sing about John McGinn). But also because the American sports bar strikes me as one of the more effective expressions of a hospitality genre that is more contentious, multilayered and fiendish than we give it credit for. Is it ever possible to balance serious culinary intent with televised football? Which venues in London provide atmosphere, decent screens and diverting dishes alongside a vibe that isn’t too off-puttingly feral? And what is it that we actually want from a great sports bar or football pub?
The most obvious response to that last question is that it very much depends on the “we” that we’re talking about. Thanks to the continued Boxparkification of televised football – think glitter cannons, flung pints and Shaun “Barry from Eastenders” Williamson doing his fourth lucrative PA of the week – London is not short of options for people who want eventised spectacle with their match experience. I’ve had many a lively time (and creditable bar food) during England games amid the ever-vibey, moderately unhinged scrum at Bermondsey Bar & Kitchen. And Walthamstow’s Big Penny Social (complete with sprawling urban beach and Hackney Gelato concession) and The Volley in Old Street (where there’ll be live performances and Buckfast on tap for Scotland’s 2am match with Haiti on June 14) both have great reputations for fostering fun, immersive match-watching environments.
Still, locations like this won’t appeal if you don’t really want to buy a ticket in advance, embrace a stranger, or get doused by a rainstorm of chucked Birra Moretti. You don’t need me to detail every pub, bar or restaurant that will be discreetly showing World Cup games (clue: almost everywhere is). But among the more relaxed and gastronomically dependable options, I’d especially recommend The Old Nun’s Head (for a gently raucous LGBTQ+-inclusive atmosphere and Slice Circle pizzas from a Dough Hands alumnus), The George on Great Portland Street (for frozen Irish coffees, Argentinean prawn toast and peerless buttermilk fried chicken) or The Calthorpe Arms – a glittering, swirly-carpeted wonder of a Holborn pub where the parade of stodgy, gravy-drenched dishes are workmanlike in the most comforting way.
This brings us to the question of how good the food should be, or even can be, within the context of a sports bar. I’m of the firm opinion that fiddly, highly involved dishes do not really make sense alongside the blaring sound of TV commentary and 22 men running around in punishing temperatures (the Gymkhana-level Indian drinking food at Brigadiers is probably the exception that proves the rule).
The winners, to my mind, are those kitchens that dial in to vividly flavoured comfort, operate within clearly established parameters and bring rigour, craft and surprise to something ostensibly simple. Here, I am thinking of Oranj wine bar in Shoreditch running a series of World Cup-themed burger specials devised by guest chefs including Marcelo Rodrigues and Nick Bramham (Quality Wines); I am thinking of the pre-match smoked pork doughnut buns – plus the outdoor big screen and sprawling, 500-cover space – at Five Points Brewery; or Uncle Hon’s BBQ in Hackney Wick, where there’ll be a limited-run special inspired by England’s group stage opponents (think Croatian cevapi and peppery Ghanaian grilled meat skewers).
And I am thinking, perhaps most enticingly, of Bloodsports. Though Meatliquor has recently had to abruptly shutter most of its sites, this hellraising Covent Garden spin off – an overloading, lagerita-scented melding of an American sports bar and a late-night horror-themed dive – is still hanging in there, and providing an eerily compelling answer to the specific conundrum of the best place to watch a North America-based sports tournament predominantly broadcast in the wee hours. Bloodsports founder Scott Collins isn’t the first restaurateur to play around in this thematic sandbox (here we pour one out for defunct ventures like Islington’s Valderrama’s and Hackney taqueria Bad Sports). But, his detailed, punkish vision – more than 30 pulsing screens showing both sport and horror films, a kitchen that serves Meatliquor standards until 1.30am, a Psycho-themed photo booth – both subverts and celebrates the form. Expect to find me there at least a few times over the next month or so. Eating wings, watching sweltering international football. And, mostly, feeling glad that I haven’t got to run to a departure gate any time soon.
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