Freemasons Arms Hampstead

Just what London needs - another gastropub pretending it's not a tourist trap. The Freemasons Arms Hampstead sits there smugly across from the Heath, practically daring you to dismiss it as yet another overpriced watering hole capitalizing on its postcode. I arrived determined to hate it. Spoiler alert: I failed.

Let's address the elephant in the room - yes, the Freemasons Arms Hampstead is exactly where you'd expect to find the yummy mummy brigade sipping prosecco after their morning power walk. The front garden practically screams "Instagram me!" with its meticulously maintained flowers and perfect people-watching vantage point. I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly got stuck.

But then something annoying happened. The staff actually seemed to care. Not in that artificial, corporate-mandated way that makes you want to flee, but with genuine warmth that made me suspicious they might actually enjoy working there. The table service app, which I was prepared to loathe as another example of technology replacing human interaction, turned out to be surprisingly efficient. Though I'll never admit this in person, it's rather nice not having to wage war at the bar during peak hours.

The interior walks that precarious line between "cozy pub charm" and "we hired an expensive designer to make this look effortlessly traditional." Dark woods, comfortable seating, and enough space between tables to prevent that sardine-in-a-tin feeling that plagues so many London pubs. The rear garden, meanwhile, offers a surprisingly peaceful retreat that makes you temporarily forget you're in one of the world's largest cities.

Now, about the food. I ordered the burger fully expecting to write a scathing paragraph about how it's "just another overpriced pub burger." Instead, I'm forced to acknowledge it was actually... good. Properly good. Cooked to specification (a rarity in London), with toppings that complemented rather than overwhelmed. The halloumi fries - which are usually nothing more than a vehicle for Instagram likes - were crispy on the outside, properly melty within, and served with a dipping sauce that showed actual thought rather than just squeezing something from a bottle.

The drinks selection deserves mention, if only because they've managed to curate a list that satisfies both the "I want a proper pint" crowd and the "what's your most experimental craft beer" brigade. The wine list won't win awards, but it's perfectly serviceable and priced within the realm of reason for Hampstead.

Let's talk about those prices, shall we? Yes, you're paying more than you would at your local in Dalston. But considering the location, the quality, and the fact that you're not being charged extra for the genuinely pleasant atmosphere, it's harder to complain than I'd like. The portion sizes are generous enough that you won't need to stop for a kebab on the way home, which counts for something.

The weekend brunch deserves special mention, if only because they've somehow managed to elevate standard fare without venturing into pretentious territory. The Bloody Marys are properly spiced, and they don't judge you for ordering one before noon. Or two. Not that I would know personally, of course.

Families with children seem to be welcome rather than merely tolerated, dogs are allowed (and actually given water bowls without prompting), and the outdoor seating areas are heated during those nine months of the year when London weather is determined to dampen our spirits.

Here's the truly irritating part - the Freemasons Arms Hampstead has managed to become exactly what a neighborhood pub should be. It's reliable without being boring, upscale without being pretentious, and welcoming without being cloying. After a brisk walk on Hampstead Heath (or what passes for brisk when you're desperately trying to work off those halloumi fries), it's the perfect place to reward yourself.

Go ahead, book a table. Just don't tell them I sent you - I have a reputation as a cynic to maintain. But between us, this place has earned its stellar reputation, one perfectly poured pint at a time.