Kings Arms

Just what London needs - another pub claiming to be the authentic British experience. The Kings Arms in London sits there, all smug with its wood-paneled interior and promises of proper pints, like we haven't seen this story play out a thousand times before in every tourist guide to the city. I approached with the enthusiasm of a wet Sunday in February.

But damn it all if this place didn't start working its charm on me like some sort of hospitality wizard. Maybe it was the way the afternoon light filtered through those centuries-old windows, casting warm shadows across the bar. Or perhaps it was Shane - yes, I'm calling out a server by name, something I practically never do - who has an almost supernatural ability to recommend exactly what you didn't know you wanted.

Let's talk about that pulled beef rib cottage pie, shall we? I've spent years avoiding cottage pie like it was an ex at a wedding, but this version is something else entirely. The meat, slow-cooked until it practically surrenders, sits beneath a layer of mashed potatoes that achieves that mythical balance between fluffy and crispy that most pubs can only dream about. It's the kind of dish that makes you question every other cottage pie you've ever dismissed.

The fish and chips - because of course I had to test their take on this pub standard - manages to avoid the usual pitfalls. The batter doesn't slide off the moment you look at it sideways, and the chips actually taste of potato rather than whatever oil they've been swimming in since morning. It's not reinventing the wheel, but it's making sure that wheel is perfectly round and rolls exactly as it should.

Their drink selection would be impressive if they weren't so casual about it. The rotating craft beers sit alongside traditional ales without any of the pretentious "craft beer revolution" nonsense that plagues so many London pubs these days. And the gin selection? Let's just say it's extensive enough to make you forget about that construction work happening outside (yes, it's there, and yes, it's annoying, but you'll stop noticing after your second G&T).

What really gets me - and I'm annoyed at having to admit this - is how they've maintained that delicate balance between catering to tourists and locals. The Kings Arms could easily coast on its central London location, serving mediocre fare to one-time visitors who don't know any better. Instead, they're actually putting in the effort, like that one overachiever in group projects who makes everyone else look bad.

The sticky toffee pudding deserves its own paragraph. Actually, it deserves its own sonnet, but I'll spare you the poetry. It comes with custard that would make your grandmother jealous, and I've caught myself thinking about it at inappropriate moments during important meetings. It's not just good "for a pub dessert" - it's good full stop.

Price-wise, you're not going to feel like you've discovered some hidden bargain, but neither will you need to remortgage your house. For central London, especially considering the quality, it's surprisingly reasonable. Though I still maintain that anything in this city costs more than it should.

The Kings Arms sits just far enough off the main tourist drag to feel like a discovery, even though its Google reviews suggest half of London has already discovered it. You'll want to book ahead, especially for Sunday roast, unless you enjoy the special British pastime of queuing while hungry. They're dog-friendly too, which means you might find yourself sharing space with a four-legged critic or two - generally more discerning than their human counterparts.

Look, I didn't want to like the Kings Arms. I really didn't. London has enough "proper British pubs" to sink a ship, and most of them are about as authentic as a three-pound note. But this place? This place has earned its stripes. Make a reservation, ask for Shane's recommendations, and prepare to be reluctantly charmed. Just don't blame me when you find yourself craving that sticky toffee pudding at midnight.