Paradise by way of Kensal Green

Just what London needs - another gastropub with delusions of grandeur. Paradise by way of Kensal Green sounds like it was named by someone who got a bit too excited about their A-level poetry analysis. And yet, here I am, reluctantly penning what might actually be a recommendation for this West London establishment that's somehow managed to charm its way past my carefully cultivated cynicism.

Let's address the elephant in the room - that name. Paradise by way of Kensal Green is the kind of pretentious mouthful that would normally send me running for the nearest Wetherspoons. It's taken from a G.K. Chesterton poem, because of course it is. But much like that friend who won't shut up about their gap year in Thailand, you eventually learn to look past the annoying exterior to find something genuinely worthwhile underneath.

The Victorian building itself is what estate agents would call "full of character" - translation: slightly wonky floors and the occasional draft. But unlike most London venues trying to capitalize on vintage charm, Paradise by way of Kensal Green actually pulls it off. The interior manages to walk that precarious line between atmospheric and affected, with mismatched furniture that somehow works and moody lighting that makes everyone look like they're in a Rembrandt painting (trust me, that's a good thing).

I arrived determined to hate their Sunday roast, if only because everyone keeps banging on about it. The Yorkshire puddings looked suspiciously perfect, like they'd been engineered by NASA rather than cooked in a pub kitchen. But then I tried one, and... fine, yes, they're bloody fantastic. Crispy edges, soft middle, structurally sound enough to hold an ocean of gravy. The roast potatoes achieve that holy grail combination of crackling exterior and cloud-like interior that makes you wonder if they've sold their soul to some sort of root vegetable deity.

The drink situation requires some strategic planning. During busy periods, you might want to order your second round while still nursing your first - the bar can get busy enough to make you contemplate the meaning of existence. But the selection almost makes up for the wait. The beer list is extensive without being overwhelming, and the cocktails are actually crafted rather than just thrown together by someone who once watched a Tom Cruise movie.

What's particularly infuriating is how well they handle the day-to-night transition. By day, it's a legitimate dining destination that won't make you hate yourself for spending £16 on a burger. Come nightfall, the upstairs transforms into something approaching a party scene, but without the sticky floors and regrettable life choices of your average London nightspot. Live music features regularly, and it's usually good enough to make you forget you're in Kensal Green rather than Soho.

The staff somehow maintain their composure whether they're serving Sunday lunch to families or managing the evening crowds. They're knowledgeable without being pretentious, attentive without hovering, and - most importantly - they know how to pull a proper pint. Yes, service can slow down during peak times, but show me a London pub that doesn't occasionally make you question your life choices while waiting for a drink.

What's perhaps most annoying is how they've managed to create a space that works for multiple purposes. Want a casual pint? Fine. Special occasion dinner? Sure. Sunday roast with the family? They've got you covered. Looking to dance off that roast dinner later? Head upstairs. They even welcome dogs, which means you can blame your cooing noises on someone else's four-legged friend rather than the exceptional sticky toffee pudding.

For those considering a visit (and I can't believe I'm saying this), Paradise by way of Kensal Green sits on Kilburn Lane, a short walk from Kensal Green station. Book ahead for Sunday lunch unless you enjoy disappointment, and remember that while the prices won't require a second mortgage, they reflect the reality of eating out in London's zone 2. But here's the truly irritating part - it's actually worth it. Despite my best efforts to maintain my professional skepticism, I find myself returning here voluntarily, even when I'm not being paid to write about it.