Duke of Clarence Hampton Hill

Just what London needs - another gastropub masquerading as the neighborhood's savior. The Duke of Clarence Hampton Hill arrived with all the subtlety of a peacock at a pigeon convention, promising to elevate the local drinking scene from merely respectable to supposedly remarkable. I'll admit, I approached with the enthusiasm of a cat being taken to the vet.

But damn them for actually getting it right. The moment you step through the door, you're hit with an atmosphere that somehow manages to thread the needle between "cozy local" and "we actually care about food." It's like they've studied the exact formula for making jaded Londoners grudgingly approve.

The garden is their secret weapon - set back from the road just enough to make you forget you're in Hampton Hill. It's annoyingly perfect for those endless summer evenings when London remembers it has a sun. I've seen hardened city dwellers actually smile out there, which is frankly disturbing.

Let's talk about the food because that's where they really have the audacity to exceed expectations. Their weekday lunch menu is suspiciously good value - two courses that actually taste like they weren't microwaved by a teenager who'd rather be on TikTok. The pork bon bons with house-made apple sauce are... fine, I'll say it... exceptional. Their apple sauce makes the stuff from the supermarket taste like baby food mixed with regret.

The kitchen team, visible through that oh-so-trendy open kitchen (yes, we get it, you have nothing to hide), actually seems to care about what they're doing. I watched them remake an entire pork porchetta dish just because a customer mentioned preferring vegetarian gravy. Who does that anymore? Apparently, the Duke of Clarence Hampton Hill does, and it's infuriating how refreshing that is.

Their staff training must involve some sort of dark magic because the service manages to hit that sweet spot between attentive and overbearing. A particular bartender named Connor apparently has regulars writing sonnets about his service. I'm not saying he deserved the tip I left, but my hand seemed to move of its own accord.

They've even managed to make the place genuinely dog-friendly, complete with a dedicated menu for four-legged critics. Because apparently, it wasn't enough to impress the humans of London - they had to win over our pets too. The audacity.

For families, they've created an environment where you can actually bring children without receiving death glares from other diners. There's a proper children's menu that isn't just chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs. Although, let's be honest, sometimes dinosaur-shaped nuggets are exactly what a situation calls for.

The wine list is thoughtfully curated, the beer selection shows someone actually cares about what they're serving, and the cocktails... well, let's just say I've had worse in places charging twice as much in central London. They've managed to create a drinks menu that satisfies both the "I know my wine" crowd and the "just give me something cold" brigade.

For those keeping score at home: yes, they take reservations (use them, especially for Sunday roast), accept all major forms of payment (how gracious), and even offer takeout for those days when you can't face humanity but still want decent food. The parking situation is typically London (read: bring your walking shoes), but that's hardly their fault.

Look, I didn't want to like the Duke of Clarence Hampton Hill. I really didn't. London has enough gastropubs claiming to be the next big thing. But if you're going to be in this part of town and need somewhere that consistently delivers good food, proper drinks, and service that remembers hospitality is actually part of the job description, you'll end up here. And annoyingly, you'll probably end up coming back. Just book ahead for Sunday roast - apparently, the whole of Hampton Hill had the same idea, and for once, the masses might be right.