Aces and Eights Bar & Pizza

Just what London needs - another pub-slash-pizza-joint with a rockabilly attitude. Aces and Eights Bar & Pizza in Tufnell Park sounds like it was named by someone who watched too many Elvis movies while crushing empty PBR cans. And yet, against my better judgment and years of cynical restaurant criticism, I found myself reluctantly charmed by this peculiar hybrid of American dive bar aesthetics and British pub sensibilities.

Let's address the elephant in the room: yes, Aces and Eights is trying very hard to be cool. The 50s-inspired décor teeters dangerously close to theme park territory, but somehow manages to pull back from the brink just in time. Perhaps it's the genuine wear and tear that gives it character, or maybe I'm just getting soft in my old age.

The pizza, which I approached with the kind of skepticism usually reserved for gas station sushi, turns out to be surprisingly legitimate. Not Naples-worthy, mind you, but the kind of satisfying pie that hits the spot after a few pints. The kitchen clearly knows what they're doing, even if they're doing it in a place where most people come to headbang to Journey songs.

Speaking of which, the music here deserves its own paragraph. It's loud. Sometimes gloriously, intentionally loud, other times unnecessarily, conversation-killingly loud. But unlike many venues that blast generic playlists, Aces and Eights' soundtrack actually has personality. Yes, you'll hear "Don't Stop Believin'" - it's practically constitutionally mandated in places like this - but you'll also catch deep cuts that remind you someone actually curated this instead of hitting shuffle on "Generic Rock Bar Classics."

The drinks menu walks a similar line between predictable and pleasant surprise. The beer selection is solid if not spectacular, with prices that won't make you weep into your wallet. Cocktails show more ambition than you'd expect from a place serving pizza on paper plates, though don't come expecting molecular mixology or hand-carved ice spheres.

What truly sets Aces and Eights apart from London's endless parade of try-hard venues is its split personality disorder. The main bar area does its rock'n'roll thing, but there's also a separate space that hosts comedy nights and live music. It's like finding out your tattoo-covered, Harley-riding uncle also teaches ballet - unexpected, slightly confusing, but somehow endearing.

The service is... well, it's a study in contrasts. The kitchen staff could teach masterclasses in friendly efficiency, while some of the bar staff seem to have graduated from the "you're lucky we're even serving you" school of hospitality. But there's something almost comforting about this inconsistency - it feels authentic in a city where too many venues train their staff to within an inch of their personality.

Location-wise, it's perfectly positioned for pre-gig drinks if you're heading to The Dome across the road. The prices won't make you cancel your streaming subscriptions to afford a night out, though they're not exactly giving it away either. Think middle-of-the-road London prices with above-average returns on investment.

Here's the thing about Aces and Eights Bar & Pizza: it shouldn't work. It's a mishmash of concepts that reads like it was conceived during a particularly enthusiastic late-night drinking session. Pizza in a rock bar? Sure. Comedy club in the back? Why not. Cocktails that don't taste like they were mixed in a bucket? Go on then. Yet somehow, improbably, it all comes together into something that's greater than the sum of its parts.

I hate to admit it, but Aces and Eights has earned its place in London's drinking and dining landscape. Whether you're there for the pizza (which you should be), the atmosphere (which grows on you like a particularly persistent fungus), or the entertainment (which ranges from decent to surprisingly good), you'll find something worth coming back for. Just don't blame me if you end up singing along to power ballads with a slice of pizza in one hand and a surprisingly well-made Old Fashioned in the other. Sometimes surrender is the only option.