Duke of York

Just what London needs - another pub with delusions of grandeur. The Duke of York sits there in its time-honored spot, practically begging you to notice its carefully curated blend of traditional charm and modern polish. I walked in fully prepared to dismiss it as yet another mediocre watering hole trying too hard to be relevant in a city drowning in gastropubs.

And then, damn it all, they had to go and prove me wrong.

Let's be clear - the Duke of York in London isn't reinventing the wheel here. The interior hits all the expected notes: warm wood paneling, ambient lighting that flatters everyone after their second pint, and enough historical photos on the walls to remind you that yes, you're in a Proper British Pub™. But there's something about the way they've done it that stops just short of cliché.

The first crack in my cynical armor appeared when I noticed the surprisingly decent tap selection. While your average London pub is content to serve the same tired handles your father probably drank, the Duke of York manages to balance traditional ales with craft options that don't make you feel like you're trying too hard to be hip. It's the beer equivalent of your uncle who still wears band t-shirts but has also figured out how to use TikTok competently.

Then came the food. I ordered the fish and chips fully expecting to write a scathing comparison to every other mediocre plate of battered cod in the city. Instead, I found myself confronting a genuinely proper piece of fish - crisp batter giving way to flaky white flesh that actually tasted of the sea rather than the freezer. The chips were proper chunks of potato, not those anemic little strips that pass for chips in lesser establishments. Even the mushy peas (a dish I normally consider punishment for sins in a past life) managed to be pleasantly palatable.

The pies deserve their own paragraph, if only because they've somehow managed to elevate what is essentially meat in a pastry case to something approaching art. They're deep-filled affairs that manage to avoid the dreaded soggy bottom that Paul Hollywood is always banging on about. The gravy comes on the side - a thoughtful touch that prevents the whole thing from devolving into a soggy mess while you're trying to maintain a conversation.

Speaking of conversation, the acoustics here deserve mention. Someone actually thought about the fact that people might want to hear each other talk without shouting themselves hoarse. The background buzz provides atmosphere without drowning out your attempts to explain to your mate why you're still single.

The service walks that fine line between attentive and hovering, though I've heard rumors of the occasional staff member having what we'll charitably call "a moment." The QR code ordering system is either brilliantly efficient or utterly infuriating, depending on your technological inclinations and blood alcohol level.

They've managed to make the outdoor seating actually pleasant, which in London is something of a minor miracle. Dogs are welcome, adding that essential element of unpredictable chaos that every proper pub needs. The crowd is a remarkably civilized mix of locals, office workers, and tourists who've stumbled upon it by accident and can't believe their luck.

For a central London pub, the prices won't make you feel like you need to take out a second mortgage, though they're not exactly giving it away. But here's the thing - and I can't believe I'm saying this - it's actually worth it. The Duke of York has achieved that rarest of things: a London pub that manages to be both a proper local and a destination worth seeking out.

Look, I didn't want to like it. I really didn't. But if you're in London and looking for a pub that actually delivers on its promises, you could do far worse than the Duke of York. Just don't tell them I sent you - I have a reputation to maintain.