KK McCools

Just what London needs - another "authentic" pub claiming to be the last bastion of proper drinking culture. KK McCools in London's bustling streets had me rolling my eyes before I even crossed the threshold. The telltale signs were all there: the weathered facade, the promise of "real pints," and that particularly smug air of a place that thinks being deliberately unfashionable somehow makes it special.

And yet.

There's something infuriatingly charming about this stubborn little establishment that refuses to bow to the whims of trendy London's craft beer revolution or succumb to the siren song of small plates and artisanal gin flights. The moment you step into KK McCools, you're struck by what isn't there - no exposed Edison bulbs, no reclaimed industrial furniture, no bearded mixologists in leather aprons consulting their moleskines before pouring you a simple pint.

Instead, you'll find something far more valuable: authenticity that doesn't feel like it's trying too hard. The ceiling-high bookshelves laden with actual books (imagine that) create an atmosphere that's more lived-in library than carefully curated Instagram backdrop. Dark wood furniture bears the honest scratches and scuffs of countless conversations, not the artificial distressing of a designer's vision board.

The bar staff at KK McCools operate with the kind of efficient multitasking that makes modern "experiential hospitality" look like amateur hour. They'll pour you a perfect Guinness while handling three other orders, never missing a beat or feeling the need to tell you about the beer's journey from grain to glass. It's refreshingly competent service without the theatrical flourishes that plague so many London establishments.

Let's talk about those Tayto crisps for a moment. Yes, I'm about to wax poetic about potato chips, and no, I'm not sorry. In a city where every other pub seems to think charging £6 for "hand-forged root vegetable crisps with Himalayan pink salt" is acceptable, there's something wonderfully defiant about serving proper Irish crisps that actually taste like crisps should.

The jukebox - and I can't believe I'm saying this - is actually good. Not "carefully curated playlist designed to appeal to the target demographic" good, but genuinely, surprisingly, "who the hell picked these tracks and can we be friends" good. It's the kind of musical selection that makes you realize how tired you are of algorithmic recommendations and focus-grouped playlists.

Perhaps most shocking is the price point. In a city where leaving your house generally requires a small loan, KK McCools maintains the kind of prices that make you double-check your bill in disbelief. It's almost suspicious how affordable everything is - like finding a Savile Row suit at Primark prices, except this is actually legitimate.

The regulars - and there are plenty - don't treat the place like a museum piece preserving "old London." They're just here because it's a good pub, full stop. They'll make room for you at their table not because they're participating in some manufactured "community experience," but because that's just what you do in a proper pub.

The pool table isn't an afterthought or a gimmick - it's well-maintained, properly leveled, and actually used for playing pool rather than as a makeshift standing table for people pretending to be interested in sports they don't understand. Speaking of sports, yes, they show the matches, including Gaelic football, and no, you won't have to fight through a crowd of social media influencers to see the screen.

Is KK McCools perfect? Of course not. The outdoor seating isn't going to win any design awards, some might find the lighting a bit too honest, and if you're looking for craft cocktails or small plates, you're in the wrong place entirely. But that's rather the point, isn't it?

Look, I didn't want to like KK McCools. I really didn't. But in a London increasingly full of places trying so hard to be "authentic" that they circle right back around to artificial, this stubbornly genuine pub has managed to do the impossible - it's made me eat my words, and I didn't even mind the taste. Go there, have a pint, play some pool, and experience what a London pub can be when it's not trying to be anything other than itself. Just don't tell them I sent you - I have a reputation to maintain.