Sessions Arts Club

Clerkenwell's Most Considered Room

London has no shortage of restaurants that lean on architectural drama to do the heavy lifting. What separates Sessions Arts Club from that crowd is that the cooking holds its own against the setting rather than surrendering to it. The former judges' dining room of Palladian Sessions House, once the country's largest courthouse, arrives with genuinely arresting bones: huge arched windows that flood the space with north London light by day, and candlelight that pools across distressed plasterwork by night. The entrance, a pillarbox-red door at 24 Clerkenwell Green, gives almost nothing away. The reveal comes when you take the lift to the fourth floor and pull back the velvet curtain. Most rooms that announce themselves this dramatically ask you to lower your expectations for what arrives on the plate. Sessions asks you to raise them.

Clerkenwell sits at an interesting remove from the more formalized fine-dining corridor running through Mayfair and Knightsbridge, where CORE by Clare Smyth, Restaurant Gordon Ramsay, and Sketch, The Lecture Room and Library operate within well-defined prestige frameworks. EC1 has historically traded in creative independence, and Sessions fits that pattern: it operates more like an artist's dining room than a tasting-menu institution, and the absence of rigid tasting structure is part of the point.

How the Menu Actually Works

The format is worth understanding before you arrive. Sessions runs a single-sheet roster of Mediterranean-accented dishes spanning the diminutive to the substantial, and while the kitchen can present it as three courses, the more accurate framing is a pick-and-mix approach, with dishes delivered as ready rather than in strict sequence. This is a meaningful distinction: it positions Sessions closer to the considered-casual end of the London dining spectrum than the structured ceremony of, say, The Ledbury or Dinner by Heston Blumenthal. Sessions asks you to eat more intuitively.

Abigail Hill, who came through the kitchen as sous-chef before taking the lead, composes food for the eye as deliberately as for the palate. That phrase risks sounding like a criticism, a warning that Instagram has colonised the plating, but the execution here substantiates it as praise. Thick, buttery slices of lightly cured trout come with a tart cream heavy with bergamot; rare onglet arrives beneath a cloud of finely grated Spenwood cheese, which amplifies rather than softens the beef's almost gamey umami. These are choices that require actual palate confidence, not just visual instinct. Roasted muscat grapes bring bursts of sweet acidity to a winter dish of pork with collard greens, demonstrating that the kitchen's seasonal instincts extend beyond surface-level garnish decisions. Even the vegetable dishes, which the menu gives minor billing, carry that discipline: raw Badger Flame beetroot with walnuts and Jerusalem artichoke purée, or purple sprouting broccoli with pistachio crumb and ewe's yoghurt, are not afterthoughts. The chocolate torte has become a Sessions classic for reasons that have nothing to do with novelty and everything to do with execution. This is well-judged, seasonally grounded cooking that earns its setting.

The Wine List as Editorial Statement

Sessions' wine program deserves separate treatment because it operates from a more coherent curatorial position than most restaurants at this level. The list is supplied by Keeling Andrew, the importing and distributing operation behind Noble Rot. That provenance matters: Keeling Andrew's selections have long skewed toward producers with something to say, prioritising character and regional specificity over appellation prestige alone.

The result at Sessions is a list that works simultaneously on two levels: enough crowd-pleasing familiarity to keep the room comfortable, and enough hip, lower-profile appellations to reward the guest who reads past the first page. The by-the-glass selection is broad enough to support a pick-and-mix approach to both food and wine, which aligns sensibly with how the menu itself is structured. For a wine list to genuinely complement a seasonally shifting, freely ordered menu, it needs range across weight and acidity, not depth in a single direction. The Keeling Andrew curation delivers that. The Noble Rot connection gives Sessions a distinct editorial identity.