Bank of Friendship

Just what London needs - another pub with a whimsically ironic name. The Bank of Friendship sounds like something dreamed up by a marketing team who thought they were being terribly clever. And yet, here I am, reluctantly admitting that this Highbury establishment has managed to win me over, despite my best efforts to maintain my professional cynicism.

Let's address the elephant in the room - yes, the Bank of Friendship in London actually delivers on its promise of conviviality, though I'm loathe to admit it. The interior feels like stepping into your grandfather's favorite pub, if your grandfather had impeccable taste and a slight obsession with Arsenal FC memorabilia. The red carpet (actual carpet in a London pub that doesn't make you want to hover above it) and buttoned banquettes create an atmosphere that's somehow both lived-in and well-maintained, like finding out your cool aunt still rocks vintage leather jackets from her youth.

The two-bar setup reads like a love letter to traditional British pub architecture, complete with an original Courage back bar that would make architectural preservationists weep with joy. It's the kind of authentic touch that's impossible to replicate, no matter how many Pinterest boards your interior designer studies. The centrally located servery in each bar means you're never more than a few steps from your next pint, which is frankly just good pub engineering.

Speaking of pints, let's talk about the beer selection. Here's where my cynical shell really started to crack. The rotating selection of cask ales sits alongside craft options that would satisfy both your CAMRA-card-carrying uncle and your craft beer enthusiast cousin who won't shut up about hop profiles. The prices won't make you choke on your pint - they're solidly middle-of-the-road for London, which in today's economy feels almost charitable.

The partnership with Yard Sale Pizza is a stroke of genius that I'm annoyed I can't fault. Instead of attempting mediocre pub grub, they've outsourced to specialists who actually know their way around a pizza oven. It's the kind of pragmatic decision-making that makes me question whether the owners are actually secret geniuses.

But the real revelation is the beer garden. In a city where outdoor space is treated like gold dust, the Bank of Friendship in London has managed to create something that feels both spacious and intimate. The variety of seating options - from proper benches to covered huts - means you can maintain your British stoicism even when the weather inevitably turns. It's embarrassingly well-thought-out.

The atmosphere strikes that elusive balance between "lively enough to feel like you're out" and "quiet enough to hear yourself think." During Arsenal match days, expect the energy to shift dramatically - but even then, it somehow maintains its charm, like watching your usually reserved friend get enthusiastically tipsy at a wedding.

What truly sets the Bank of Friendship apart from London's endless parade of pubs is its seemingly effortless ability to be exactly what you need it to be. Whether you're meeting friends for a casual pint, watching the football, or seeking refuge from the chaos of Blackstock Road, it adapts to your requirements without trying too hard - a rare quality in an age where many venues seem desperate to be all things to all people.

Look, I didn't want to like it. I walked in ready to skewer another pretender to London's pub throne. But the Bank of Friendship has earned its place among the capital's better drinking establishments, and I'm tired of pretending otherwise. If you find yourself in North London, do yourself a favor and stop by. Just don't tell them I sent you - I have a reputation to maintain.