Naturalist

Just what London needs - another gastropub with a pseudo-ecological name trying to convince us they're reinventing the wheel. The Naturalist in London initially struck me as yet another pretender in the city's oversaturated "elevated pub fare" scene. You know the type: exposed brick, encyclopedic gin selection, and servers who insist on telling you the life story of every ingredient on your plate.

But damn them for actually getting it right.

I'd love to maintain my cynicism, but The Naturalist has managed to do something remarkably un-London-like: deliver substance over style. The space itself is deceptively welcoming, managing to balance the line between "cozy pub" and "place you'd actually want to eat a proper meal" without falling into the usual trap of looking like a Pinterest board come to life.

Let's talk about their Sunday roast because it seems everyone else in London is. The portion sizes are almost American in their generosity - a refreshing change from the "artistically plated" microscopic servings that plague similar establishments. The pork belly (and yes, I'm reluctantly admitting this) is something of a masterpiece. The crackling actually crackles, rather than threatening to shatter your dental work, and the meat beneath carries the kind of tenderness that makes you momentarily forget about your cholesterol levels.

Their fish and chips - that eternal litmus test of any British establishment worth its malt vinegar - manages to surprise even this jaded palate. The batter achieves that mythical balance between crisp and grease-free that so many places promise but few deliver. The fish inside (and there's plenty of it) flakes apart with the mere suggestion of fork pressure. Even the tartar sauce tastes like someone actually made it rather than opening a jar with a Best Before date from the previous monarchy.

The bar program deserves mention, if only because they've somehow managed to curate a drinks list that doesn't make me want to roll my eyes at its pretentiousness. Yes, they have craft beers. Yes, they have natural wines (it's called The Naturalist, after all - they're legally obligated, I assume). But they serve them without the usual sermon about hop profiles or biodynamic farming practices unless you actually ask.

The pricing sits in that sweet spot where you can't quite call it a bargain, but you also don't feel like you're being fleeced. Main courses hover in the realm of "well, I suppose that's what things cost now," which in London's current climate is practically a blessing. The Sunday roast, considering its magnitude, actually verges on reasonable - words I type while checking to make sure I haven't developed a fever.

Service manages to be attentive without hovering, knowledgeable without lecturing, and - most importantly - capable of reading whether you're there for a quiet meal or eager to hear about the chef's personal relationship with their vegetable supplier. The staff actually seem to enjoy their jobs, which in London's hospitality scene is about as rare as an affordable rental.

They take reservations (praise be), accept all major forms of payment (including contactless, because this is civilization), and even welcome dogs - though thankfully not in the numbers that turn some London pubs into impromptu kennels. The street parking situation is typically London-terrible, but that's hardly their fault.

Look, I came to The Naturalist in London ready to add it to my list of overhyped, mediocre establishments that survive solely on location and good lighting for Instagram. Instead, I found myself adding it to my rotation of places I recommend when people ask for "somewhere good, but actually good, not just London good." Their 4.4-star Google rating, usually a red flag for my contrarian nature, turns out to be frustratingly deserved.

Make a reservation. Go for the Sunday roast if you can. Order the sticky toffee pudding even if you're full. And join me in the uncomfortable position of admitting that sometimes, just sometimes, a place manages to be exactly what it promises to be.