There’s something about stepping out of Oxford Circus and wandering into Soho that always feels electric. The streets hum with a mix of people – tourists pausing to check maps, locals weaving through the crowds with ease, and groups spilling out of pubs already laughing too loudly. Soho doesn’t wait for you to catch up; it pulls you in immediately.
I started my day here with no particular plan, which feels like the right way to experience this part of London. Brewer Street was already busy, cafés filling with freelancers on laptops and early catch-ups over flat whites. I ducked into a record shop, the kind where you lose track of time flipping through sleeves. Around the corner, street art splashed colour onto the brick walls, just as a theatre billboard promised a new show opening next month. Soho always feels like it’s in rehearsal for something – half chaotic, half curated.
By the afternoon, the energy shifted. Office workers slipped out for lunch, tourists queued for bakeries, and I joined friends for a late brunch. It’s one of the things I love here: you can eat brunch at two in the afternoon and nobody blinks. Soho has always run on its own clock.
As the sun dipped, the neon lights flickered on and the volume turned up. Theatres filled, music spilled from upstairs bars, and Soho became the version most people imagine – noisy, sociable, unpredictable. And that’s when I found myself heading back to Brewer Street, this time for dinner at Nessa.
Walking in, the atmosphere hit me instantly. Velvet banquettes, a glowing horseshoe bar, and that low hum of conversation that makes you want to lean in closer. Nessa feels distinctly Soho: stylish but not stiff, playful without trying too hard.
The food matched the setting. We shared a feasting menu, which felt exactly right – a table crowded with dishes, everyone reaching across for another bite. Coal-roasted cabbage with stilton and sriracha had this smoky sweetness cut by a bold kick; celeriac carbonara came rich with truffle, yet somehow light enough that we kept going back for more. Every plate felt familiar and surprising at the same time, the kind of food you talk about as you eat.
By the time cocktails arrived, the night outside had fully taken over. I ordered the Abstract 19, which came in a handmade ceramic cup that looked like something you’d find in a gallery. Across the room, the DJ was setting up for the Negroni Lounge, and the energy shifted again – dinner melting seamlessly into nightlife.
That’s the thing about Soho: it never feels like one scene ends before another begins. You can browse records in the morning, wander into an exhibition in the afternoon, and by evening be sipping Negronis to the sound of vinyl. Nessa fits perfectly into that rhythm – part restaurant, part bar, part salon – a place that feels like it belongs to Soho, yet makes the night feel entirely your own.
