Best Beer Selection Pubs

In the heart of Camberwell, The Hermits Cave in London stands as a testament to what happens when Edwardian grandeur meets proper pub culture. This isn't just another London watering hole – it's a curved architectural beauty from 1902 that feels like stepping into a time capsule, albeit one with perfectly pulled pints and a wildebeest head keeping watch over the proceedings. Legend has it The Hermits Cave took its name from Saint Giles, a French hermit who chose spiritual enlightenment over medical treatment when he caught an arrow meant for his dinner (a friendly doe who'd been bringing him food). While today's patrons aren't expected to make such dramatic sacrifices for their beverages, there's something spiritually uplifting about this South London gem that keeps locals coming back. The moment you cross the threshold, you're enveloped by an atmosphere that only century-old pubs can create. Those burgundy glazed tiles and etched glass windows aren't trying to be Instagram-worthy – they just are, having earned their character through decades of service. The central servery, adorned with an eclectic collection of bric-a-brac that would make any antique dealer's heart skip a beat, serves as command central for what might be some of the best-kept cask ales in this part of London. Speaking of drinks, The Hermits Cave doesn't just serve beer – it celebrates it. The cask lineup would make a CAMRA enthusiast weep tears of joy, while the keg options cater to everyone from craft beer aficionados to those who just want a reliable pint of Heineken. At prices that won't send you running to your banking app, it's a refreshing reminder that quality doesn't always have to come with a premium price tag. The pub spans two adjoining rooms, each with its own personality but sharing the same DNA of mahogany woodwork and characterful wallpapers that somehow work together in that distinctly British pub way. The two fireplaces, topped with ornate mirrors that have probably witnessed more stories than any bartender could tell, add to the cozy factor. Historic photos of Camberwell adorn the walls, providing a visual timeline of the neighborhood's evolution, while that aforementioned wildebeest head keeps a stoic watch over one doorway – because why wouldn't it? For sports fans, there are screens strategically placed throughout, offering the perfect excuse to spend an afternoon watching the match while enjoying the pub's liquid offerings. But unlike some sports pubs that seem to lose their soul to the screens, The Hermits Cave maintains its character whether the game's on or not. The service here comes with a side of authentic London pub personality. No artificial cheeriness, just genuine interaction from staff who know their beers and their regulars equally well. It's a wet-led establishment, meaning food isn't on the menu, but that's part of its charm – this is a proper drinking establishment that knows exactly what it is and doesn't try to be anything else. What really sets The Hermits Cave apart from London's countless other pubs is its ability to feel simultaneously preserved in time and completely relevant to today's drinkers. The payment options are thoroughly modern (contactless? Of course), but the soul of the place remains delightfully old school. Dogs are welcome, adding to the homely atmosphere, and there's enough seating to accommodate both the after-work crowd and weekend wanderers without feeling cramped. As afternoon sun streams through those historic etched glass windows, casting distinctive shadows across the worn wooden floors, you might find yourself wondering why more pubs can't be like this. The answer, of course, is that places like The Hermits Cave in London can't be manufactured – they have to evolve naturally over decades, collecting stories and character like those burgundy tiles collect patina. Next time you're in Camberwell, do yourself a favor and seek out The Hermits Cave. Whether you're killing time before a takeaway, meeting friends for a proper catch-up, or simply in need of a well-kept pint in characterful surroundings, you'll find what you're looking for here. Just don't expect to leave quickly – this is the kind of pub that turns "just one quick drink" into "where did those three hours go?" And honestly? That's exactly how it should be.

Just what London needs - another pub with a pretentious wine reference in its name. Claret & Ale sounds like what happens when a gastropub has an identity crisis, yet here I am, reluctantly admitting that this unassuming corner of the city might actually be onto something. Let's address the elephant in the room: Claret & Ale in London isn't trying to reinvent the wheel. It's a pub. Just a pub. In a city drowning in establishments calling themselves "craft beer emporiums" and "botanical gin experiences," there's something almost revolutionary about that simplicity. The audacity of just being a decent place to drink. I walked in expecting the usual London pub tableau - sticky floors, a sullen bartender, and that peculiar smell that suggests the carpets remember the smoking ban with fond nostalgia. Instead, I found myself in what can only be described as... well, a proper pub. The kind that makes you wonder if you've somehow stepped through a temporal portal to when pubs actually cared about their beer rather than their Instagram aesthetic. Speaking of beer, their rotating selection of five ales deserves mention, if only because they've managed to curate them with the kind of thoughtfulness usually reserved for wine lists at places charging triple the price. The house Palmer's IPA, which I fully expected to dismiss as another mediocre attempt at craft credibility, turned out to be irritatingly good. It's the kind of beer that makes you reconsider your cynicism, which is frankly quite inconvenient for a professional critic. The staff, contrary to the London standard of practiced indifference, actually know their stuff. It's almost offensive how genuine their enthusiasm is when discussing their latest tap selections. They've managed to strike that elusive balance between knowledgeable and approachable, without descending into the dreaded realm of beer snobbery. I'm still not entirely sure how they've achieved this miracle. Size-wise, Claret & Ale is cozy - estate agent speak for "small" - but they've embraced it rather than trying to squeeze in unnecessary tables or, God forbid, a DJ booth. It's reminiscent of those neighborhood pubs that used to exist before London decided everything needed to be a concept venue with a side of sourdough. The prices? Here's where I expected to find my gotcha moment. But no - they've had the absolute cheek to keep things reasonable. In a city where a pint can cost more than a small car payment, finding properly kept ale at these prices feels like stumbling upon a unicorn that also does tax returns. It's almost suspicious how affordable it is, making me wonder if there's some sort of catch. There isn't. I've looked. They're dog-friendly too, which normally sends me running for the hills (I've seen too many "fur baby" situations go horribly wrong in London pubs), but somehow they've managed to maintain a balance. The four-legged patrons seem as well-behaved as their two-legged companions, which is saying something. For sports fans, they show the matches without letting it dominate the atmosphere - a feat of social engineering that deserves some kind of award. How they've managed to create a space where both match-day enthusiasts and casual drinkers can coexist peacefully is beyond my understanding of London pub dynamics. The takeout option for their ales is a nice touch, though I'm still trying to find fault with it. Perhaps it makes it too easy to enjoy their selection at home? No, that's reaching even for me. Look, I didn't want to like Claret & Ale. I really didn't. London has enough pubs that get by on mediocrity and location. But this place has committed the cardinal sin of actually being good at what it does. It's a proper pub, in London, in 2025, that remembers what pubs are supposed to be about. If you must insist on drinking somewhere in London that doesn't require a second mortgage and actually cares about the quality of what they're serving, you could do far worse than Claret & Ale. Just don't tell them I sent you - I have a reputation to maintain, and they've already damaged it enough by being inexplicably competent at their job.

Let me tell you about the most mind-blowing beer paradise you've never experienced - 7000 Jars of Beer in London is literally what heaven looks like if angels were craft beer enthusiasts. This isn't just another pub in London; it's basically a liquid library of happiness where every shelf tells a different story. OKAY BUT SERIOUSLY. The moment you walk in, you'll wonder if you've stumbled into some secret society of beer wisdom. The walls are literally lined with more varieties of beer than you've had hot dinners, and trust me, that's not even the best part. You know those places that become your "definitely taking visitors here" spot? This is THAT place. Whether you're planning a date (instant cool points), meeting friends (prepare for them to worship your venue-picking skills), or just want to expand your beer horizons beyond "whatever's on tap at the local," 7000 Jars of Beer is your new happy place. The rotating tap selection? It's like Netflix for beer enthusiasts - always something new to discover, and you'll never run out of options. I once went in thinking I knew my beer preferences, and three hours later, I was texting everyone I knew about some Norwegian craft brew that changed my entire worldview. True story. Let's talk about the vibe because THIS. IS. IMPORTANT. It's somehow managed to nail that perfect sweet spot between sophisticated beer haven and cozy neighborhood hangout. The staff? Actual beer wizards. No joke. Ask them anything - they'll guide you to your perfect pour like some kind of hop-obsessed Yoda. Picture this: You're sitting there, surrounded by literally thousands of beer options, while one of the friendly experts walks you through a tasting journey that'll make you feel like you've just enrolled in the world's most enjoyable masterclass. It's like being at a wine tasting, but without any of the pretension and with 100% more fun. The setup is genius too. Part bottle shop, part tasting room, all awesome. Want to try something on tap? Done. Found your new favorite and want to take some home? Also done. It's basically impossible to leave empty-handed or disappointed. Here's some insider intel: They regularly host tasting events that'll blow your mind. We're talking carefully curated flights that take you around the world faster than a jet plane, minus the jet lag and with way better refreshments. Pro tip: Follow their social media because these events sell out faster than concert tickets. The Kingston location is perfect too - easy to find but just hidden enough to make you feel like you're in on London's best-kept secret. And trust me, once you've been here, you'll understand why regulars get that knowing look in their eyes when someone mentions 7000 Jars of Beer. Let me paint you a picture of a typical night: You start with one of their expert-recommended drafts, maybe chat with some fellow beer enthusiasts (because the conversations here are always top-tier), and before you know it, you're planning your next visit while carrying home a carefully selected six-pack of bottles you never knew you needed in your life. Listen, I could go on about this place forever, but here's the bottom line: 7000 Jars of Beer in London isn't just a destination - it's the beginning of your new favorite story. The one that starts with "So, there's this amazing place in Kingston..." and ends with you having a new go-to spot for, well, pretty much everything. Don't even think about making plans this week without including a visit here. Seriously, what are you even doing still reading this? Get yourself to 7000 Jars of Beer and thank me later. Your future self will high-five you for making such an excellent life choice. Just remember - once you've experienced it, regular pubs will never quite measure up again. Consider yourself warned!

Just what London needs - another old-school pub claiming to be a "proper local." The Saxon Horn in London's Rainham district is exactly what you'd expect from the name: a place that probably hasn't seen new upholstery since the actual Saxons roamed these isles. And yet, against my better judgment and professional cynicism, I find myself defending its peculiar charms to the cocktail-sipping masses who wouldn't know authentic character if it spilled warm ale on their designer shoes. Let's address the elephant in the room - The Saxon Horn isn't pretty. It's the kind of London pub that makes you wonder if the last renovation coincided with the Queen's coronation (the first one). The carpets tell stories that would make a health inspector weep, and the regulars eye newcomers with the sort of suspicion usually reserved for tax collectors and mime artists. But here's where my carefully cultivated disdain begins to crack: there's something genuinely magnetic about this place. The beer is surprisingly well-kept, and the prices won't force you to remortgage your house - a refreshing change in a city where a pint often costs more than a small car payment. The Saxon Horn maintains that increasingly rare balance of being affordable without making you question your life choices too severely. The regulars, once they decide you're not an undercover gastropub developer, transform from suspicious sentries into an entertaining cast of characters who could put any Netflix series to shame. They'll share stories that get progressively more outlandish with each round, and honestly, that's worth the price of admission alone. The pub's pool table, while not exactly championship grade, has witnessed enough dramatic matches and friendly wagers to fill a memoir. What really gets me - and I'm loathe to admit this - is how The Saxon Horn has steadfastly refused to bow to the pressures of gentrification. While every other pub in London seems desperate to transform into a small-plates paradise with artisanal gin flights and deconstructed fish and chips, this place stands as a defiant middle finger to the relentless march of progress. There's something admirable about that, even if the dart board looks like it's been serving as target practice since the Blitz. The outdoor seating area isn't going to win any garden design awards, but on a mild London evening, it provides a perfectly adequate spot for contemplating life's mysteries or watching the local characters go about their business. The dog-friendly policy means you'll often find a motley crew of four-legged patrons adding to the atmosphere, most of them better behaved than their owners. For sports enthusiasts, the screens showing football matches might not be 8K ultra-HD, but they work just fine, and the atmosphere during big games is electric. There's something to be said for watching sports in a pub where people actually care about the outcome rather than treating it as background ambiance for their social media photoshoots. The payment system has grudgingly entered the 21st century - they accept cards and even contactless payments, which seems almost disappointingly modern for a place that otherwise feels pleasantly stuck in time. Though I've noticed some regulars still treat card payments with the same suspicion usually reserved for witchcraft and vegetarian sausage rolls. Listen, I know what you're thinking - this doesn't sound like the sort of place you'd venture into willingly. But here's the thing: in a London increasingly dominated by cookie-cutter chains and Instagram-bait establishments, The Saxon Horn offers something increasingly rare - authenticity. Yes, it's rough around the edges. Yes, some of the regulars might look like extras from a Guy Ritchie film. And yes, you might want to think twice before investigating the origins of those mysterious ceiling stains. But if you're tired of London pubs that feel like they were designed by an algorithm, The Saxon Horn provides a refreshing (if slightly sticky) alternative. Find it in Rainham, where it stands as a stubborn reminder of what London pubs used to be. Just don't expect craft cocktails, small plates, or anyone to care about your social media following. Do expect honest pints, characters straight out of central casting, and an experience that, despite my professional obligation to be cynical, I have to admit is worth having at least once. Though you might find yourself, like me, becoming a reluctant regular.

Just what London needs - another railway arch turned trendy watering hole. The Enid Street Tavern in Bermondsey sits among the seemingly endless parade of brick vaults that have been transformed into craft beer sanctuaries, natural wine shops, and places serving small plates that are, inevitably, "meant to be shared." Eye roll. And yet, damn it all, there's something about this place that keeps drawing me back. Maybe it's the way the evening light streams through those imposing arched windows, casting long shadows across the weathered wooden floors. Or perhaps it's the refreshingly unpretentious staff who actually know their stuff without making you feel like you've failed some secret hipster entrance exam. Let's talk about that beer selection, shall we? While every other venue along the Bermondsey Beer Mile seems determined to showcase exclusively rare Estonian microbrews that taste like they were filtered through a Viking's beard, Enid Street Tavern maintains a surprisingly well-curated list that balances local heroes with some genuinely interesting finds. Yes, you can get your obscure Walthamstow craft IPA if you must prove your beer credentials, but there's also properly kept cask ale for those of us who don't need our drink to taste like a liquidized Christmas tree. The space itself is one of those clever conversions that somehow manages to honor its industrial heritage without beating you over the head with exposed pipes and Edison bulbs. The mezzanine level is particularly well-executed - a cozy perch from which to watch the evening unfold below while nursing something hoppy. And speaking of cozy, the fact that they welcome dogs is a nice touch. Nothing quite takes the edge off a pub's try-hard vibe like a sleepy labrador sprawled across the floor. What's truly remarkable about Enid Street Tavern - and I can't believe I'm saying this - is how they've managed to create a genuine community pub atmosphere in an area that's increasingly becoming a weekend warrior playground. The regular crowd is an entertaining mix of local creative types, beer enthusiasts who actually know what they're talking about, and people who simply appreciate a well-run establishment. It's the kind of place where you might come for one quick pint and find yourself still there three hours later, deep in conversation with a furniture designer about the merits of different wood types for barrel aging. The events calendar deserves a mention, if only because they've somehow cracked the code of hosting private parties without making the rest of us feel like we've accidentally crashed someone's wedding. The space adapts remarkably well, whether it's accommodating a milestone birthday celebration or a casual Thursday evening crowd. The staff handles these transitions with surprising grace, maintaining service levels even when the place is heaving. For those seeking sustenance, they've wisely avoided the trap of trying to be a gastropub. Instead, they focus on doing what they do best - being a proper drinking establishment - while occasionally hosting food pop-ups that range from decent to surprisingly good. It's refreshing to see a venue that knows its strengths and doesn't try to be all things to all people. Payment is mercifully straightforward - they take cards, contactless, and yes, even cash (remember that?). The outdoor seating area, while not exactly the Riviera, provides a pleasant enough spot for summer evening drinks, assuming you don't mind the occasional rumble of trains overhead - which, after a few pints, becomes rather charming. Look, I didn't want to like Enid Street Tavern. London's railway arch bar scene is saturated enough without another contender joining the fray. But there's an authenticity here that's increasingly rare in Bermondsey's ever-evolving landscape. It's a pub that actually feels like a pub, rather than a consultant's idea of what a modern London drinking establishment should be. If you find yourself in SE1, possibly lost among the countless railway arches of the Bermondsey Beer Mile, do yourself a favor and stop in at Enid Street Tavern. Just don't blame me when you end up making it your regular spot. Trust me, I tried to resist too.

The Porterhouse in London stands as a testament to the enduring appeal of a proper British pub, albeit one that's evolved far beyond the traditional corner establishment. Nestled in the heart of Covent Garden, this labyrinthine venue has become something of a cultural touchstone, where the historical architecture of London meets contemporary craft beer culture in a setting that feels both timeless and thoroughly modern. What strikes first-time visitors to The Porterhouse London is its deceptive facade, which gives little hint of the sprawling interior that unfolds across multiple levels. The venue's Victorian-era architecture has been thoughtfully preserved while accommodating the demands of a 21st-century drinking establishment. Copper pipes snake along ceiling beams, their burnished surfaces reflecting warm lighting and adding an industrial-chic element that pays homage to London's brewing heritage. The pub's evolution mirrors the transformation of London's drinking culture over the past few decades. While many traditional pubs have struggled to maintain relevance in an era of sleek wine bars and cocktail lounges, The Porterhouse has carved out its own distinctive niche. Its impressive collection of beer bottles, displayed in illuminated cases throughout the venue, serves both as decoration and documentation of brewing history, creating a museum-like quality that beer enthusiasts find particularly compelling. Few venues in London's bustling Covent Garden district manage to balance tourist appeal with local credibility quite like The Porterhouse. The pub's multi-level design creates natural divisions between spaces, each with its own character. Ground floor areas buzz with after-work energy, while upper levels offer quieter nooks for intimate conversations or small group gatherings. During summer months, the outdoor terrace becomes one of the area's most sought-after spots, protected from occasional showers by generous umbrellas while offering prime people-watching opportunities. The beverage program at The Porterhouse London reflects a sophisticated understanding of contemporary drinking culture. Their extensive beer selection emphasizes regional craft options alongside international favorites, positioning the venue as a serious player in London's competitive craft beer scene. The food menu similarly strikes a careful balance between pub classics and modern interpretations, with dishes like their acclaimed fish and chips sharing menu space with contemporary small plates. Live music performances, typically featured in the lower level, add another dimension to The Porterhouse's cultural offering. These sessions, often showcasing local talent, transform the space into something more than just another London pub – it becomes a venue where the city's musical heritage continues to evolve and find new expression. Service here follows the traditional British pub model – orders are placed at the bar – but with a level of knowledge and attention that elevates the experience. Staff members demonstrate impressive familiarity with their extensive beer selection, happy to guide novices while engaging knowledgeably with aficionados. This approach maintains the casual atmosphere essential to a proper pub while ensuring guests receive the guidance they might need to navigate the impressive beverage options. The venue's popularity with both tourists and locals speaks to its success in creating an authentic London pub experience that acknowledges contemporary expectations. During peak hours, particularly Thursday and Friday evenings, securing a table can require patience and timing, though the multi-level layout means there's usually a quiet corner to be found somewhere in the building. The Porterhouse represents a thoughtful evolution of London pub culture, one that honors traditional elements while embracing modern sensibilities. Its location in Covent Garden places it at the intersection of historical London and the city's contemporary cultural life, making it an essential stop for anyone seeking to understand how traditional British pub culture continues to adapt and thrive. To experience The Porterhouse London is to participate in an ongoing dialogue between tradition and innovation in British pub culture. Whether you're a craft beer enthusiast, a lover of historical architecture, or simply in search of an authentic London pub experience, this venue offers a compelling reminder of why the British pub remains such a vital cultural institution. Make time to explore its various levels and corners – you're not just visiting a pub, you're engaging with a living piece of London's evolving cultural landscape.

Ah yes, The Mossy Well in London - another Wetherspoons trying to convince us it's more than just a place where pints cost less than a sandwich in central. Nestled in Muswell Hill like some sort of budget-conscious phoenix rising from the ashes of what was probably a perfectly good cinema or bank, this particular 'Spoons has the audacity to actually... not be terrible. I know, I'm as shocked as you are. Walking into The Mossy Well, I was prepared for the usual symphony of sticky tables and questionable life choices. Instead, I found myself in what appears to be a genuinely well-maintained establishment, spread across two floors with enough space to accommodate both the "it's 11 AM somewhere" crowd and families actually seeking a decent meal. The horror. The building itself, I must admit through gritted teeth, is rather impressive. They've managed to preserve some architectural character, which is more than can be said for most venues where you can get a burger and beer for under a tenner. The high ceilings and original features give it an air of respectability that feels almost fraudulent given the prices. Let's talk about those prices because they're essentially why we're all here, aren't we? In a city where a pint can cost as much as a small car payment, The Mossy Well in London maintains the Wetherspoons tradition of keeping things suspiciously affordable. The catch? There isn't one, and it pains me to say that. The beer selection is surprisingly decent, with real ales that actually taste like someone cared about brewing them, not just shifting units. The food - oh, the food. I arrived ready to pen a scathing critique about microwaved mediocrity, but found myself instead confronting the uncomfortable reality that their kitchen actually knows what they're doing. The curry club offerings are legitimately satisfying, and their breakfast (served without the judgy looks you might get elsewhere before noon) could shame establishments charging triple the price. The front and rear gardens are another unexpected triumph. When London gives you one of those rare days of sunshine, these outdoor spaces transform from simple smoking areas into genuine urban oases. Well, as oasis-like as you can get while watching someone's grandad tackle his third pint of the afternoon. The staff, who I assumed would share my general disdain for humanity, display an irritating level of competence and friendliness. They're quick, efficient, and seem to actually enjoy their jobs, which feels almost suspicious in the London service industry. The app ordering system (when it works) means you can avoid human contact entirely - a blessing for those of us who prefer our social interactions strictly necessary. What's particularly vexing is how they've managed to create an atmosphere that works for everyone. During the day, you'll find students with laptops (taking advantage of the free WiFi and heating), families having surprisingly decent meals, and professionals who've discovered you can have a business meeting here without bankrupting the company card. By evening, it transforms into a proper pub, showing sports and serving drinks without the usual Central London markup that makes you question your life choices. The cleanliness levels hover somewhere between "unexpectedly decent" and "suspiciously immaculate." Either they've hired some sort of cleaning ninja squad, or they've made a deal with a supernatural tidying entity. The bathrooms - usually the final frontier of pub horror - are maintained with a vigilance that borders on obsessive. Look, I didn't want to like The Mossy Well. As a card-carrying cynic, it's practically against my religion to praise a Wetherspoons. But in a city where pub culture increasingly means paying artisanal prices for basic services, this place delivers something increasingly rare: value without complete sacrifice of standards. They've created an environment where you can spend an afternoon without spending your entire monthly budget or your dignity. If you're in Muswell Hill and need a place to eat, drink, or simply exist without your wallet screaming in protest, The Mossy Well is... fine. Actually, it's more than fine, and that admission physically hurts me. Just go, enjoy the reasonably priced drinks, surprisingly decent food, and spacious setting. Just don't tell them I sent you - I have a reputation to maintain.