Bar Hemmingway - Paris

The Hemingway Bar in Paris feels like an enclave of literary history, cocktail craft, and that unique kind of Parisian charm that lingers long after you’ve left. Nestled within the Ritz on the Place Vendôme, it’s a small, dimly lit bar, and if you’re lucky enough to get in (it’s small, so there’s often a wait), you quickly understand why it’s one of the most revered drinking spots in the world. It’s a kind of chapel for those who believe in the sanctity of a good drink. You can almost feel the weight of history pressing down as you walk in, Hemingway’s spirit, the legends of Fitzgerald, Picasso, and Cole Porter, and countless others who drank here long before it bore the name of the famed writer.

It’s a place that’s shrouded in mythology, and yet, unlike so many spots that rely on reputation alone, the Hemingway Bar lives up to every expectation. The décor is classic but understated: dark wood, leather stools, shelves lined with books, old photos, and letters from literary icons. There’s a sense that this is a place built for conversation, for contemplation, for savoring the quiet art of a perfect cocktail. The atmosphere is intimate, with low lighting that makes every corner feel like a secret waiting to be discovered.

Hemingway Bar serve what might be the best martini you’ll ever taste, a drink crafted with an almost obsessive attention to detail by the legendary head bartender, Colin Field (who retired in 2023 after 29 years). Field wasn't just a bartender; he’s an artist, a storyteller, a kind of cocktail philosopher who believes in the transformative power of a well-made drink. He approached each martini as if it’s a masterpiece in the making, and the results speak for themselves.

The martini here is simple, elegant, and absolutely flawless. Field uses a meticulously selected gin, typically Plymouth or No.3 London Dry, chosen for their balanced botanical profiles that allow the true essence of a martini to shine through. The gin is chilled to an almost icy perfection, mixed with just a hint of dry vermouth. Understanding that a martini is all about restraint, about letting each ingredient speak without overwhelming the drinker. The vermouth is added with the lightest touch, just enough to round out the edges, to soften the gin without drowning it.

Field has perfected a technique that he calls “the Churchill pour,” named after Winston Churchill, who famously preferred his gin served in the general direction of Italy (where most vermouths originate) rather than with any actual vermouth in it. Here, the vermouth is introduced like a whisper, a hint, a suggestion rather than a main event. It’s the kind of detail that feels almost theatrical but speaks to the philosophy that a great martini is as much about what’s left out as what’s included.

The drink is stirred, not shaken, and with the kind of care that only comes from years of dedicated practice. Field believes that stirring preserves the drink’s clarity, keeps it smooth and pristine, allowing the flavors to blend in harmony rather than the chaos that shaking might bring. When it’s poured into the classic stemmed glass, it’s almost mesmerizing in its purity: a silvered surface so clear it’s like looking into glass, cold to the touch and perfectly balanced.

The garnish it simple but effective: either a perfectly twisted lemon peel, whose oils are carefully expressed over the drink to release that subtle burst of citrus, or a single, perfectly brined olive that adds just the faintest hint of salt. The lemon twist is cut with precision, releasing its aroma in a way that complements but doesn’t overpower the gin’s botanicals. The olive is likewise chosen with care, brined to the exact level that enhances the drink rather than competing with it.

Drinking a martini at the Hemingway Bar feels like a private ritual, a moment that’s about more than just the drink. It’s about the experience, the setting, the quiet conversations happening around you, the feeling that you’re part of a tradition that stretches back to Hemingway himself. You’re not just drinking; you’re participating in a kind of Parisian ritual, a celebration of craftsmanship, of history, of taste.

The crowd at the Hemingway Bar is as eclectic as they come, a mix of old-world regulars who’ve been coming here for decades, tourists who’ve made the pilgrimage, and locals who understand that there’s something special about this place. It’s the kind of bar where everyone seems to instinctively lower their voice, where people linger over their drinks, savoring every sip, where time seems to slip away as you lose yourself in the ambiance.

What struck me most when I went was the warmth of the crowd. For a bar with so much history and prestige, it felt surprisingly jovial and unpretentious. I ended up striking up a conversation with a couple next to me about the books we were forced to read in school, which quickly turned into a nostalgic exchange. We laughed about the ones we slogged through and the ones that stuck with us, and when The Old Man and the Sea came up, there was a collective nod of recognition. In that moment, it was fun to imagine Hemmingway rolling into the Ritz post war

As you take that last sip, you realize you’re not just at any bar; you’re at a place where history and artistry converge, where the martini is more than just a cocktail. It’s a symbol, a reminder of a way of life that values quality over quantity, craft over convenience. You walk out of the Hemingway Bar feeling like you’ve been part of something special, like you’ve experienced a small slice of Paris that exists nowhere else in the world. It’s a place that doesn’t need to try to be iconic; it just is. And the martini? It’s as timeless as the bar itself, a drink that will haunt you long after you’ve left.

Website: Bar Hemingway