Old Ship

Just what London needs - another supposedly charming pub claiming to be the genuine article. The Old Ship in Richmond has all the usual suspects: exposed beams, weathered wooden floors, and that carefully curated "we've been here since Queen Victoria was in nappies" aesthetic. I approached with my usual skepticism, fully prepared to add it to my mental list of mediocre Thames-side tourist traps.

But damn it all if this place didn't start to work its magic on me.

Perhaps it was the way the afternoon light filtered through those ancient windows, casting warm shadows across the bar where a surprisingly competent bartender was pulling the perfect pint. Or maybe it was the fact that my cynical heart melted slightly when I spotted a local regular sharing his crisps with his elderly golden retriever in the corner - because yes, the Old Ship is dog-friendly, and no, I'm not getting soft about it.

The food menu initially drew my standard eye-roll - another pub claiming to elevate British classics while charging Zone 1 prices in Zone 4. But here's where things get awkward: they're actually pulling it off. The fish and chips (which I ordered purely for standardized comparison purposes, mind you) arrived with beer batter so crisp it practically sang, accompanied by chips that managed that elusive perfect balance between fluffy interior and crunchy exterior. The curry sauce on the side was a touch that shouldn't work but absolutely does.

Look, I'm not saying the Old Ship is reinventing the wheel here. What I am saying - and it pains me to admit this - is that they're making a damn fine wheel. The Sunday roasts (when they haven't run out, which does happen during peak hours, so book ahead like a sensible person) are genuinely worth crossing London for. The Yorkshire puddings rise like golden crowns, and the roast potatoes actually taste of something other than cooking oil - a miracle in modern London.

The drink selection deserves its own reluctant paragraph of praise. Beyond the expected lineup of local ales and mass-market lagers, there's a surprisingly well-curated wine list that won't require a second mortgage. The cocktails are mixed with unexpected precision for a pub - their Old Fashioned wouldn't be out of place in one of those pretentious Soho establishments where bartenders wear suspenders and wax their mustaches.

The service manages to thread that delicate needle between traditional pub casualness and actual competence. Staff remember your order, appear when needed, and - most importantly - know when to leave you alone with your pint and your thoughts. It's almost annoying how good they are at reading the room.

Let's talk about the space itself. The riverside location could easily have led to complacency (looking at you, every other Thames-side pub), but the Old Ship actually maintains its standards. The interior strikes a balance between cozy and claustrophobic, with enough nooks and crannies to hide from your neighbors without feeling like you're in a maze. The outdoor seating, when weather permits, offers views that even this jaded reviewer must admit are rather special.

For groups, they've somehow managed to accommodate both the "quick pint after work" crowd and the "family Sunday lunch" brigade without either feeling out of place. The booking system actually works - a miracle in London pub terms - though you'd be wise to plan ahead for peak times.

Here's the thing about the Old Ship in London: it's the pub equivalent of running into an old schoolmate you were prepared to hate but who turns out to be genuinely lovely. The prices are what you'd expect for Richmond - not cheap, but not daylight robbery either - and you actually get what you pay for, which in London's current dining scene is increasingly rare.

Don't tell them I sent you, but do yourself a favor and get to the Old Ship. Book ahead for Sunday lunch, arrive early for prime riverside spots, and prepare to be annoyed at how little there is to be annoyed about. Just don't all rush there at once - I still need somewhere to hide when deadlines loom, and I've grudgingly admitted to myself that this is the place.