Coach & Horses

Just what London needs - another pub calling itself the Coach & Horses. Because apparently, Victorian-era publicans exhausted their collective imagination after coming up with "King's Head" and "Red Lion." This particular Coach & Horses in London sits there, smugly traditional, daring you to dismiss it as just another cookie-cutter boozer. And oh, how I wanted to.

Let's address the elephant in the room - yes, it's yet another London pub with worn wooden floors and those suspiciously sticky tables that have witnessed more spilled pints than a brewery's quality control department. But damn it all, there's something about this place that keeps drawing me back, like an ex you know you shouldn't text but somehow end up meeting for "just one drink."

Perhaps it's the way they've managed to strike that elusive balance between "proper pub" and "actually habitable space." The layout is surprisingly thoughtful, with distinct areas for different breeds of pub-goer: sports enthusiasts can cluster around the tellies without disturbing the quiet corner dwellers nursing their perpetual pints and existential crises. It's like someone actually put thought into it, imagine that.

The service, I must grudgingly admit, defies the London pub stereotype of surly bartenders who treat your drink order as a personal affront. The staff here actually acknowledge your existence before you've stood at the bar long enough to develop roots. They're efficient, friendly even, which in London hospitality terms is practically revolutionary.

Now, about the food - I approached it with the same enthusiasm I reserve for dental appointments, but here's where things get complicated. It's not gastropub pretentious (thank whatever deity you prefer), but it's several notches above microwaved pub grub. The menu walks that precarious line between traditional and edible, which is rarer than you'd think in London's pub scene. Yes, you're paying more than your local Wetherspoons, but at least here you can taste the difference between the chicken and the fish.

The drink selection deserves mention, if only because they've managed to stock more than just the usual suspects. Their beer rotation shows someone actually cares about what's on tap, rather than just ordering whatever the big breweries are pushing this week. And the wine list? Surprisingly decent for a place where most people order by saying "red" or "white."

Let's talk atmosphere because they've somehow mastered that indefinable quality that makes a pub feel like it's been there forever, even when you know it's had more facelifts than a Beverly Hills socialite. The lighting is dim enough to be flattering but bright enough to read the menu without your phone's flashlight - a subtle art many London pubs have yet to master.

Dog-friendly without becoming a canine social club, group-friendly without descending into chaos, and equipped with outdoor seating that doesn't feel like you're drinking in a loading zone - it's as if they're actually trying to cater to multiple demographics. The nerve of them.

The parking situation is surprisingly civilized, with both free and paid options available. Though let's be honest, if you're driving to a pub in London, you might want to reassess your life choices.

Here's the truly infuriating part - it works. All of it. The Coach & Horses has no right to be this competent, this welcoming, this... good. It's the kind of place that makes you question your carefully cultivated cynicism about London pubs.

So fine, I'll say it. The Coach & Horses in London is worth your time and money. Go there. Have a pint. Order some food. Bring your friends, your dog, even your judgmental aunt who "doesn't do pubs." Just don't tell them I sent you - I have a reputation to maintain. And for heaven's sake, book ahead on weekends, unless you enjoy the special kind of torture that is hunting for a free table in a London pub on a Saturday night.