Prince Albert

Just what London needs - another pub claiming to be the local's favorite while serving up the same tired fish and chips to camera-wielding tourists. The Prince Albert in London had me rolling my eyes before I even crossed the threshold. Another Victorian-era watering hole trading on its historical charm? Please. And yet...

I hate when I'm wrong. It physically pains me to admit that this place, nestled in its prime London location like a smug cat that got the cream, actually deserves its sterling reputation. The moment you step inside, the worn wooden floors and carefully preserved original features whisper of authenticity rather than screaming "tourist trap" - though I'm still bitter about having to acknowledge this fact.

The service, while not lightning quick (welcome to London, darlings), has a genuine warmth that feels increasingly rare in the city's hospitality scene. Yes, you might wait a bit longer than ideal for your food, but the staff's authentic charm makes it surprisingly difficult to maintain one's carefully cultivated cynicism. They manage that delicate balance between attentiveness and hovering that so many places get wrong.

Let's talk about the food, shall we? The menu at Prince Albert reads like a greatest hits of British pub classics, which initially had me preparing my most withering criticisms. But the kitchen, damn them, actually knows what they're doing. The fish and chips - and I cannot believe I'm writing this - are genuinely excellent. The batter shatters satisfyingly, revealing flaky haddock that tastes of the sea rather than the freezer. Even the chips, often an afterthought in London pubs, emerge hot and crispy, though God help you if you arrive during the pre-theatre rush.

The burger (because of course they have a burger) is actually worth ordering, which in London is saying something. They've resisted the urge to turn it into an Instagram-bait tower of unnecessary additions, instead focusing on quality meat and proper cooking. The same restraint shows in their other dishes - the kitchen seems to understand that good ingredients, properly prepared, don't need bells and whistles.

Their drinks selection deserves mention, if only because it made me question my long-held belief that most London pubs are phoning it in when it comes to their beer selection. The rotating craft options show actual thought rather than just ticking boxes, and their wine list, while not encyclopedic, is surprisingly well-considered for a pub.

The pricing sits in that sweet spot where you can't quite complain but still feel obligated to make a few pointed comments about London prices. It's not cheap - nothing worth eating in this city is anymore - but you won't feel like you've been mugged in a dark alley after settling your bill.

The dog-friendly policy is another reluctant tick in their favor. There's something oddly comforting about seeing a well-behaved spaniel lounging under a table while its owner enjoys Sunday lunch. They've managed to maintain that traditional pub atmosphere while serving food that's actually worth eating - a feat rarer than a reasonable rent in Zone 1.

The Prince Albert has done something I thought impossible in London's oversaturated pub scene - they've created a space that works equally well for a casual pint, a proper meal, or a long afternoon transitioning from one to the other. The covered beer garden provides refuge for both smokers and those seeking vitamin D without committing to full outdoor exposure - this is England, after all.

For those considering a visit (and yes, damn it, you should), the Prince Albert takes reservations, which in London's current "queue for everything" climate is practically a public service. Book ahead for Sunday lunch unless you enjoy disappointment. And while the kitchen can be slow during peak times, the quality makes it worth the wait - words I don't write lightly.

Look, I didn't want to like this place. But in a city where mediocrity often masquerades as excellence, the Prince Albert in London delivers something genuinely worthwhile. Go there. Eat things. Just don't tell them I sent you - I have a reputation to maintain.