Panthers

Just what London needed - another pub with aspirations of being more than a watering hole for wandering football fans. Panthers in London sits there on Ealing Road, trying to convince us it's not just another place to drown your sorrows after your team bottles it at Wembley. I approached with the enthusiasm of a vegetarian at a steakhouse.

But damn it all if this place hasn't wormed its way into my cold, critic's heart. Maybe it was the way the staff actually seemed genuinely pleased to see new faces - a refreshing change from the usual London pub experience where you're treated like an inconvenient interruption to the bartender's phone scrolling session.

The first thing that struck me was the complete absence of the typical sticky-floored, smoke-stained atmosphere that seems to be a point of pride in many London establishments. Panthers actually appears to have discovered the revolutionary concept of regular cleaning. I know, I was shocked too.

Let's talk about the screens - because there are enough of them to make a sports bar in Vegas feel inadequate. Both Sky Sports and BT Sport beam their offerings across multiple displays, meaning you won't have to perform elaborate neck contortions or engage in passive-aggressive territory wars with other patrons to catch the match. It's almost as if someone actually thought about the customer experience. In London. I know, I needed a moment to process that too.

The pool table sits in a corner like a silent invitation to embarrass yourself between matches, though I've noticed it tends to attract both serious players and those who think "spin" is a legitimate strategy for every shot. The beauty is, after a few rounds of reasonably priced drinks, nobody really cares about your questionable cue skills anyway.

Speaking of drinks - here's where Panthers could have easily fallen into the trap of charging Westminster prices in Wembley, but they've managed to keep things surprisingly reasonable. The Guinness actually tastes like Guinness (a rarer achievement than you'd think in London), and the Cobra comes properly chilled - not that lukewarm nonsense some places try to pass off as acceptable.

The food menu, while not attempting to compete with the Michelin crowd, knows its lane and stays in it. It's proper pub grub that doesn't pretend to be anything else, and thank heavens for that. We don't need another gastropub serving deconstructed fish and chips on a wooden board with artisanal mushy peas.

What really sets Panthers apart from the legion of London pubs trying too hard is its complete lack of pretense. It's not attempting to be a craft beer paradise or a cocktail revolution. It's a proper pub that happens to do everything just a bit better than you'd expect. The staff remember faces, the regulars welcome newcomers without the usual territorial suspicion, and there's an genuine community vibe that can't be manufactured, no matter how hard chain pubs try.

For match days, you'll want to arrive early - the place fills up faster than a Tube carriage during rush hour. But unlike said Tube carriage, people actually seem happy to be squeezed together here. The atmosphere on these occasions transforms from friendly local to electric carnival, though somehow without descending into the chaos that plagues similar venues.

The parking situation deserves a mention - there's actually a free car park, which in London feels like stumbling upon a unicorn wearing a Arsenal shirt. Though given the quality of the drinks and the reasonable prices, you might want to consider leaving the car at home and embracing public transport like a true Londoner.

Look, I didn't want to like Panthers. I arrived armed with cynicism and a notebook full of potential witty criticisms. But like a stubborn defensive wall facing a free kick from prime Beckham, my resistance proved futile. This unpretentious gem of a pub in London has managed to achieve something remarkable - it's exactly what it needs to be, no more, no less. If you're in the area (especially on match days), do yourself a favor and stop by. Just don't blame me when it becomes your new regular haunt. I tried to warn you about its subtle charms.