Peach Xun - Beijing

Finding Peach Xun feels like stumbling upon a secret. The bar is perched on the 16th floor of an unassuming apartment building in Wangjing, the kind of tower that looks like it hasn’t been given a deep clean since the late 1990s. The elevator creaks its way up, and for a moment you wonder if you’re in the right place at all. But then the doors open, and you step into a space that feels worlds away from the worn corridors outside.

The interior is disarmingly simple. It doesn’t feel like a cocktail lounge trying to impress; it feels like someone’s living room. Clean, comfortable, and inviting. There are soft chairs, warm lighting, and a kind of intimacy that makes you want to sink in and stay a while. It’s the opposite of pretension, a reminder that the best bars aren’t always the ones with the flashiest design, but the ones that make you feel at home the second you walk in.

At Peach Xun, the martini isn’t treated as just another drink on the menu, but as something quietly revered. On this visit, the order was a dry martini, a classic, stripped down, with a dash of bitters in a subtle nod to the earliest recipes. It was a small detail, but one that spoke volumes about the bar’s respect for tradition.

The gin was crisp and precise, stirred ice-cold until the glass frosted over. The vermouth was used sparingly, just enough to soften the edges without dulling the sharp clarity of the spirit. Then came that dash of bitters, transforming the drink with nuance rather than force. It added a faintly earthy complexity, a whisper of old-world character that reminded you this was more than a modern martini; it was a link back to the drink’s roots.

The garnish was understated, just a single olive in a shot glass to the side. Nothing showy, nothing forced. Just a final touch of balance that completed the drink’s quiet elegance.

Drinking that martini at Peach Xun felt like partaking in something deeply personal, almost domestic, as if you’d been invited into someone’s home and served their idea of perfection. The bar’s unusual setting, hidden high above the city in a residential block, only added to the charm. It made the experience feel both clandestine and comforting, as if I'd uncovered one of Beijing’s better-kept secrets.

The crowd reflected the bar’s vibe: small, eclectic, and quietly appreciative. Locals only, all seemed to understand that this wasn’t a place for spectacle. It was a place to sit, sip, and sink into conversation, or simply into the sofa.

By the end of the glass, it was clear that Peach Xun wasn’t trying to be anything other than itself. It’s not polished, it’s not grand, but it’s absolutely genuine. And the martini? Dry, sharp, softened by vermouth, lifted by bitters. It was a drink that connected the past to the present in the most understated way possible. A perfect fit for a bar that feels hidden in plain sight, quietly waiting for those who know to climb the 16th floor and settle in.