Robin Hood & Little John

Just what London needs - another pub with a painfully quaint name. The Robin Hood & Little John in Forest Hill had me rolling my eyes before I even crossed the threshold. These themed establishments usually have all the authenticity of a Renaissance Fair costume bought on Amazon Prime.

But damn it all if this place hasn't wormed its way into my cynical heart like a persistent case of British nostalgia. While most London pubs seem content to coast on Instagram-worthy Victorian facades and mediocre pub grub, the Robin Hood & Little John actually remembers what made British pubs worth visiting in the first place.

Let's start with the beer, shall we? The attention to proper serving temperature and glass selection borders on obsessive. Each brew arrives in its designated vessel, chilled to specifications that would impress a German beer master. It's the kind of detail that makes you wonder if you've stumbled into some alternate universe where British publicans actually care about their craft.

The interior could have easily descended into theme-park tackiness, but someone showed remarkable restraint. Yes, there are nods to the legendary outlaw and his merry men, but they're subtle enough that you won't feel like you're drinking in a medieval Times franchise. The wood-paneled walls and worn leather seats tell stories of decades of proper pub life, not some designer's Pinterest board labeled "authentic British pub aesthetic."

What truly blindsided me was the food. When they mentioned they serve both English and Italian cuisine, I braced myself for culinary confusion of Brexit proportions. Instead, I found myself facing plates that wouldn't be out of place in either a countryside inn or a family-run trattoria. The menu changes weekly, which usually sets off my "trying too hard" alarm, but here it actually works. They cook everything on-site, and you can taste the difference between their hand-crafted offerings and the frozen-then-microwaved fare that passes for pub grub in most London establishments.

The outdoor seating area provides a welcome escape when the weather cooperates (which, being London, is approximately three days per year). It's dog-friendly too, which means you'll occasionally share your space with four-legged patrons who are generally better behaved than their two-legged companions.

The staff, led by Ray, Katerina, and Tony, manage that rare balance between professional service and genuine personality. They remember regulars' names and preferred drinks without falling into that forced familiarity that makes you want to change pubs - and possibly neighborhoods.

Payment is refreshingly modern for a traditional pub - they accept everything from cash to contactless, though I suspect some regulars still maintain running tabs sealed with nothing more than a handshake. There's free street parking, which in London feels like finding a unicorn that does your taxes.

The pricing sits squarely in the "fair enough" category. You're not being robbed blind like in central London, but neither is it suspiciously cheap. You get what you pay for, and sometimes a bit more if you've managed to charm the staff (good luck with that - they've seen every trick in the book).

Located in a neighborhood that actually feels like a neighborhood rather than a tourist brochure, the Robin Hood & Little John has become something I never expected to find in modern London - a proper pub that respects tradition without becoming a museum piece. It's the kind of place where you can have a quiet pint alone or bring your entire extended family for Sunday lunch without either scenario feeling awkward.

So fine, I admit it. The Robin Hood & Little John in London has earned its sterling reputation. Book a table for lunch (served 12-2 weekdays), bring your dog if you have one, and prepare to be charmed despite your best cynical defenses. Just don't blame me when it becomes your regular haunt - I tried to stay away too, and look how well that turned out.