In & Out Naval And Military Club

So, the In & Out Naval and Military Club. Yes, that's genuinely its name. And no, it has nothing to do with burgers — we'll get to that.

It's one of London's old-school private members' clubs, tucked into a handsome townhouse at 4 St James's Square. Think leather armchairs, oil paintings of stern admirals, and a barman who knows your order before you do. Very civilized.

Why "In & Out"?

Glad you asked. The club was founded in 1862, back when it lived at 94 Piccadilly — a grand old pile called Cambridge House.

The entrance had two gates. One said "In." The other said "Out." Members, being members, started calling the whole place the In & Out.

The nickname stuck so hard it basically ate the real name. Ask anyone in the know and they'll say "the In & Out." Nobody says "the Naval and Military Club" unless they're reading from a letterhead.

What was it for?

Simple, really. A home away from home for officers. Men who'd spent years abroad needed somewhere to sleep, eat, and swap stories without renting a whole house in Mayfair.

It was a place to be among your own. No civilians asking awkward questions. No one quizzing you about the weather in Aden.

That purpose hasn't changed much. It's still a refuge. Just a slightly more modern one.

Who actually gets in?

Historically, officers of the British Army and Royal Navy. Hence the name. These days it's broader — service connections help, but plenty of members are simply civilians who like the vibe.

Women, though? They were kept out for a painfully long time. The club only voted to admit them as full members in the late 1990s.

In And Out Naval And Military Club | Detroit Chinatown

Better late than never, sure. But let's not hand out medals for basic decency.

Okay, what's it like inside?

Quiet. Comfortable. Slightly frozen in time, in the best possible way.

There's a dining room, a bar, a library, and a handful of bedrooms if you need to stay in town. The food is proper British club fare. No foam. No deconstructed anything. No tiny portions on enormous plates.

You'll spot retired generals sitting near young captains. Also the occasional actor or politician who wangled an invitation somewhere along the way.

The rules (yes, there are rules)

Dress code? Technically, yes. Jacket and tie in the main rooms, though things have loosened up over the decades.

Phones? Keep them silent. Nobody wants your ringtone ruining the library.

And whatever you do, don't call the dining room a "restaurant." Words matter in places like this.

The In and Out, Naval and Military Club, London

Now, about the burger thing

If you're American, you're probably picturing a drive-thru in California right now. Fair enough. In-N-Out Burger is a completely different institution.

One sells double-doubles and milkshakes. The other sells tradition, silence, and a decent claret. Please don't confuse them in conversation — someone will be very upset.

Why does it still exist?

Good question. Private clubs are fading generally. Fewer members, rising costs, and a culture that increasingly wonders why anyone needs one.

The In & Out survived because it adapted. Slowly. Grudgingly. But it adapted. Women joined. Dress codes relaxed. Membership widened beyond a narrow officer class.

And it still does something genuinely useful. It gives people a place to sit, talk, and eat without shouting over a playlist. That's not nothing.

Should you go?

You can't wander in off the street, sadly. You need to be a member, or the guest of one.

But if an invitation ever lands in your lap? Say yes. Order the roast. Sink into a chair. Soak up the strange, stubborn charm of a club that's been quietly doing its thing for over 160 years.

Just remember the golden rule. It's the In & Out. Not the burger place.