Relaxed Atmosphere Pubs in London

Just what London needs - another pub with delusions of grandeur. The Crown & Cushion in London's increasingly gentrified landscape initially struck me as yet another victim of the capital's relentless pursuit of the perfect gastropub. How wrong I was. And it pains me deeply to admit that. Let's address the elephant in the room: A London pub serving Thai food upstairs? It sounds like the setup to a mediocre joke told by a tipsy uncle at Christmas. Yet somehow, against all odds and my better judgment, The Crown & Cushion has managed to create something that shouldn't work but absolutely does. It's like finding out your ex-partner's new relationship is actually healthy and functional - irritating, but you can't deny the evidence. The ground floor maintains its proper pubby credentials with an authenticity that's becoming rarer than a reasonable rent in Zone 1. Dark wood, worn cushions, and a bar staff who actually know how to pour a proper pint of Guinness (a skill seemingly lost to the ages in many London establishments). The prices won't make your wallet weep, which in today's London is practically a revolutionary act. But it's upstairs where things get interesting. The Thai kitchen produces the kind of food that makes you question everything you thought you knew about pub grub. The Pad See Ew, in particular, is a revelation - the kind of dish that makes you want to time-travel back to your younger, more cynical self and say, "Listen, mate, one day you'll find yourself writing embarrassingly enthusiastic paragraphs about noodles served above a London pub, and you'll be right to do so." The atmosphere somehow manages to thread the needle between "proper London boozer" and "actually pleasant place to spend an evening." Dogs are welcome, which always earns bonus points in my book, even if it means occasionally sharing your personal space with an overenthusiastic labrador who's equally interested in your Thai fried rice and your affection. What's particularly irksome is how they've managed to maintain reasonable prices without sacrificing quality. The drinks won't require a second mortgage, and the food portions are generous enough to satisfy even the most demanding value-hunter. In a city where a sandwich and a coffee can cost more than your first car, this feels almost suspicious. For sports fans, they've got screens showing the matches, but mercifully, they've managed to avoid the common pitfall of turning into a soulless sports bar. It's more like watching with your mates in a particularly well-equipped living room, assuming your living room had better beer selection and professional Thai chefs upstairs. The outdoor seating area provides a front-row view of London life passing by, though given our climate, it's more of a theoretical amenity for most of the year. Still, those three days of summer when it's actually usable are quite pleasant. They take cards, support contactless payments, and - in a shocking deviation from traditional London pub protocol - the staff actually seem to enjoy their jobs. I've witnessed genuine smiles that didn't appear to be the result of facial muscle spasms or contractual obligations. The Crown & Cushion has achieved something remarkably rare in London's pub scene: authenticity without pretension, quality without extortion, and innovation without losing its soul. It's the kind of place that makes you want to keep it secret, but journalistic integrity (and the fact that over a thousand Google reviewers have already let the cat out of the bag) compels me to share. If you're in London and seeking a pub that delivers more than just empty promises and overpriced pints, The Crown & Cushion deserves your attention. And yes, writing that sentence physically pained me, but sometimes the truth hurts. Just go, order the Pad See Ew, grab a pint, and thank me later. Just don't all go at once - I still need somewhere to drink in peace.

Just what London needs - another pub claiming to be a "hidden gem" near Old Street Station. The Prince Arthur sits there, acting all modest about its Victorian facade while secretly knowing it's cooler than the try-hard bars dotting Shoreditch's main strips. I wanted to hate it. Really, I did. But here's the thing about the Prince Arthur that gets under your skin: it's managed to nail that elusive sweet spot between historical charm and contemporary relevance without coming across as desperately contrived. The stripped plaster walls and heritage bubble glass windows somehow work alongside street art and vintage oddities without looking like your uncle's failed attempt at "eclectic decor." I found myself grudgingly appreciating the way they've maintained the building's character while adapting to modern London's demanding sensibilities. The reclaimed wood cladding could've been tragic - we've all seen enough Pinterest-inspired disasters - but they've actually pulled it off. The corner fireplace serves as an anchor point, surrounded by what should be a mess of flea market finds but somehow creates an atmosphere that makes you want to settle in for the evening. Let's talk about the upstairs function room, which I fully expected to be another soulless space for corporate events. Instead, I discovered a rather charming setup with a floral balcony that offers a welcome escape from the street-level bustle. The rotating art exhibitions up there provide a cultural veneer that's just pretentious enough to be interesting without making you roll your eyes. The drink selection is predictably decent - it would be career suicide for a London pub near Silicon Roundabout to serve anything less than a solid range of craft beers and wines. What's unexpected is the staff's genuine knowledge and lack of superiority complex about it. They'll happily guide you through the options without making you feel like an idiot for not knowing the exact hop content of every IPA. Speaking of staff, they've somehow managed to hire people who remember what hospitality means. In an era where many London pubs seem to consider basic courtesy an optional extra, the Prince Arthur's team maintains a level of friendliness that doesn't feel forced. It's refreshingly genuine, even during peak hours when the place is heaving with the usual mix of tech workers and creative types. The outdoor seating area deserves mention, if only because they've managed to make something actually pleasant out of what could have been a sad collection of wobbly tables on the pavement. Both the ground level and upstairs spaces offer decent spots for those rare London days when the weather permits outdoor drinking - though let's be honest, we'll sit out there in the rain too, because we're British and that's what we do. Price-wise, it sits in that comfortable middle ground where you won't need to remortgage your house for a round, but you're not getting suspiciously cheap deals either. The quality matches the cost, which is about all you can ask for in zones 1-2 these days. They've made the wise decision to allow dogs, which adds an element of chaos and charm that helps prevent the place from taking itself too seriously. There's something about watching a French bulldog waddle past a carefully curated vintage mirror that keeps everyone honest. The Prince Arthur has positioned itself perfectly in its slice of London - close enough to the action to be convenient, but just far enough off the main drag to avoid the worst of the Shoreditch weekend warriors. It's the kind of place that makes you consider becoming a regular, despite your best cynical intentions. For those seeking it out, you'll find the Prince Arthur tucked away behind Old Street Station, doing its best impression of a proper London pub while actually being one. Make a booking if you're planning to come with a group - it's popular enough to warrant it, especially during peak hours. And yes, I'm annoyed at having to admit this, but it's worth the visit. Just don't tell them I sent you.

Just what London needs - another pub calling itself The Ship. Because apparently nautical nostalgia never goes out of style in this landlocked corner of Wandsworth. I approached The Ship with the same enthusiasm I reserve for dental appointments, fully expecting another mediocre attempt at gastropub relevance. Spoiler alert: I hate being wrong. Let's address the elephant in the room - The Ship London isn't actually on a ship. Revolutionary, I know. But what it lacks in maritime authenticity, it makes up for with an atmosphere that somehow manages to be both pretentious and genuine at the same time. Like that friend who studied abroad for one semester and came back with an accent, but you forgive them because they're actually quite lovely. The first thing that caught my attention wasn't the food (we'll get to that particular revelation later), but the clientele. It's an impressive mix of locals who look like they've been claiming the same bar stool since the Blair administration, and young professionals who probably think they're being terribly authentic by drinking in a "proper London pub." The funny thing is, both groups seem equally at home here. The interior strikes that infuriatingly perfect balance between traditional pub charm and modern comfort. Dark wood panels that have absorbed decades of conversations share space with contemporary lighting that actually allows you to read the menu without squinting. It's like someone managed to update a classic without ruining its soul - a feat rarer than a reasonable London rent. Now, about that food. I arrived ready to write off the menu as another collection of predictable pub standards, probably microwaved to perfection. Instead, I found myself facing the uncomfortable reality that The Ship actually knows what it's doing in the kitchen. The Sunday roast (because when in Rome, or rather, when in a London pub) arrived looking like it belonged in a food magazine - one of the good ones, not those free supermarket rags. The beef was cooked to that precise point where it's pink enough to satisfy the food snobs but not so rare it scares the traditionalists. The Yorkshire pudding didn't have that sad, mass-produced uniformity you get in chain pubs. It was properly homemade, with all the glorious irregularities that entails. Even the vegetables - usually the forgotten supporting actors on the Sunday roast stage - showed signs of actual thought and preparation. Their drinks selection is equally annoying in its competence. A rotating cast of local craft beers sits alongside the usual suspects, and the wine list doesn't assume you stopped learning about wine after "red" and "white." The cocktails are mixed by people who understand that a proper Old Fashioned doesn't involve crushing fruit into submission. Service manages to hit that sweet spot between attentive and overbearing. The staff seems to possess that rare ability to appear exactly when needed and vanish when you're deep in conversation. They're knowledgeable without being pretentious, friendly without forcing you to become their best friend. The pricing is... well, it's London. You're not going to gasp in horror at the bill, but neither will you feel like you've discovered the bargain of the century. It's fair for what you get, which in this city counts as a minor miracle. What truly sets The Ship London apart - and I can't believe I'm saying this - is its ability to be multiple things without failing at any of them. It's a proper pub where you can have a quiet pint, a legitimate restaurant where you can impress a date, and a social hub where you can while away a Sunday afternoon. The fact that it manages this hat trick without feeling schizophrenic is frankly irritating to someone who prefers having clear reasons to complain. Look, I'm not saying The Ship is going to change your life. But in a city where pubs either try too hard to be gastropubs or cling desperately to a manufactured notion of "traditional," it's found a comfortable middle ground that actually works. If you find yourself in this part of London, fighting against every cynical bone in your body, do yourself a favor and give it a try. Just don't tell them I sent you - I have a reputation to maintain.