Chelsea Ram

Just what London needs - another pub claiming to be a proper local boozer while charging Chelsea prices. The Chelsea Ram sits there on the corner, all proud of its wood-paneled exterior and hanging flower baskets, practically begging you to notice how quaint and authentic it is. And you know what? After multiple visits (purely for research purposes, I assure you), I'm irritated to report that it's actually rather good.

Let's address the elephant in the room - yes, it's in Chelsea, where even the pigeons probably have trust funds. But unlike many of its neighbors that seem to have confused "pub" with "Instagram backdrop," the Chelsea Ram maintains a stubborn authenticity that's increasingly rare in this postcode. The weathered wooden bar actually looks like it's seen some life, rather than being artificially distressed by an interior designer who charges more per hour than a barrister.

The hand-pulled ales are, annoyingly, perfect. The kind of perfect that makes you question whether you've been too harsh on London pubs lately. The staff actually know their beverages, and don't give you that blank stare when you ask about hop profiles. They're genuine beer enthusiasts who happen to work in Chelsea, not Chelsea socialites who happen to pour beer.

I tried very hard to find fault with the Sunday roast. Really, I did. But the Yorkshire puddings rise like hot air balloons, crispy on the outside and properly squidgy within. The roast potatoes have that golden crunch that makes you wonder if they've got a secret weapon in the kitchen. The beef arrives pink and tender, and the gravy... well, it's proper gravy, not that watery nonsense that passes for sauce in lesser establishments.

The interior strikes that elusive balance between cozy and claustrophobic. Dark wood paneling could have felt oppressive, but somehow it works, creating little nooks where you can hide away with a pint and pretend you're not in one of London's poshest neighborhoods. The leather seating shows actual wear from actual people sitting on it - imagine that.

What's particularly irksome is how they've managed to maintain a proper pub atmosphere while still being presentable enough to bring your parents. Dogs sprawl across the floor (yes, it's dog-friendly, because of course it is), and there's actual banter at the bar. Not the forced kind you get at themed pubs, but genuine regulars trading genuine jibes. It's practically offensive how authentic it feels.

They've even got the nerve to be good at the basics. The staff remember faces. The pints are properly poured. The sports are shown without turning the place into a screaming match. And while the prices aren't exactly bargain-basement (this is Chelsea, after all), they're not the daylight robbery you might expect. It's firmly in the "well, I suppose that's fair for what you get" category, which in this neighborhood is practically charitable.

For those planning a visit (and yes, irritatingly, you probably should), the Chelsea Ram sits a stone's throw from Stamford Bridge, making it an ideal spot for pre-match pints that won't make you question your life choices. The riverside is nearby for those who fancy a digestive waddle after their Sunday roast. Street parking exists if you're feeling lucky, though given the neighborhood, you might want to arrive by helicopter to fit in properly.

Look, I didn't want to like the Chelsea Ram. I wanted to dismiss it as another soulless London pub riding on its postcode. But it's managed to be what so many others pretend to be - a proper pub that just happens to be in Chelsea. The food is good when it has no right to be, the atmosphere is genuine when it could easily be contrived, and the service is warm when it could get away with being aloof. Go there. Be annoyed, as I am, by how much you'll enjoy it. Just don't tell them I sent you - I have a reputation to maintain.