Buff

Just what London needs - another pub with a cheeky one-word name trying to convince us it's not just another sticky-floored watering hole. The Buff in London had me rolling my eyes before I even crossed the threshold. Another "reinvented" neighborhood pub that probably serves those infamous granite slabs masquerading as plates? Please.

But damn it all if this place hasn't wormed its way into my cynical heart like an unexpectedly charming blind date. The moment you step inside, you're hit with an atmosphere that somehow manages to thread the needle between "cozy traditional pub" and "actually clean enough that you'd eat off the tables." The recent refurbishment walks that precarious line without tumbling into the abyss of sterile modernization that claims so many London pubs these days.

Let's talk about the service, because it's here where my carefully cultivated skepticism first began to crack. The staff - and I can't believe I'm writing this - actually seem to enjoy their jobs. I know, I'm as shocked as you are. There's this bartender, Oliver (who I'm convinced must be method acting for some feel-good British indie film), who remembers your drink order and actually smiles like he means it. What sort of sorcery is this?

The beer selection is thoughtfully curated, which is pub-speak for "they have more than just the usual suspects on tap." And while the prices won't make your wallet weep openly, they're firmly in the "this better be worth it" territory. Spoiler alert: it usually is. The pints are properly pulled, and they actually serve them in glasses that haven't been through the wars.

The food menu, which I approached with the trepidation of a food critic who's seen too many pub "renovations" go horrifically wrong, turned out to be another reluctant triumph. They've managed to elevate classic pub fare without disappearing up their own pretensions - a feat rarer than a quiet corner in Piccadilly Circus. The portions are generous enough to satisfy but won't leave you feeling like you need to be rolled home.

The space itself deserves mention, if only because they've somehow managed to maintain that essential "pub-ness" while actually being clean enough to pass a health inspection with flying colors. The beer garden out back is a particular triumph - spacious enough that you're not sharing breathing space with strangers, yet intimate enough to maintain that coveted pub atmosphere. And yes, they allow dogs, because apparently, they're determined to tick every box on the "things that make grumpy critics secretly pleased" checklist.

Live music features regularly, and unlike many venues where that phrase strikes terror into the hearts of conversation-seekers, they've somehow managed to balance volume with audible human interaction. It's almost as if someone actually thought about the customer experience. Revolutionary concept, I know.

For sports enthusiasts (I use the term loosely), the screens are positioned in such a way that you can either be fully immersed in the match or completely ignore it - a diplomatic solution to the eternal pub dilemma that I didn't think possible. And the parking situation (free, mind you) is suspiciously convenient for London, though I'm half convinced it's some sort of elaborate trap.

Here's the truly irritating part - they take both cards and cash, accept contactless payment, and even have reservable tables, all while maintaining the casual "pop in for a pint" atmosphere that defines a proper pub. It's as if they're deliberately making it difficult to find fault.

For context, The Buff sits in a part of London that could use more establishments of this caliber, which makes its success all the more annoying to someone who professionally maintains high standards of cynicism. Whether you're local or making the journey, you'll find it's worth your while - and it pains me physically to make that admission.

Look, just go, alright? Go before I change my mind and remember that I'm supposed to be maintaining my reputation as London's most difficult-to-please critic. The Buff has made me question my life's work of finding fault in everything, and I'm not sure whether to thank them or send them a strongly worded letter of complaint for the inconvenience.