Roebuck

Just what London needs - another pub claiming to be a cut above the rest. The Roebuck in Richmond has all the usual suspects: the promise of "proper pub grub," locals propping up the bar who look like they were installed with the original fixtures, and that particular shade of burgundy paint that's apparently mandatory for all London watering holes. But here's the thing - and it pains me to admit this - there's something rather special about this place.

Perhaps it's the view. While most London pubs offer stirring vistas of bus stops and betting shops, The Roebuck sits smugly atop Richmond Hill, serving up one of the most impressive panoramas in the capital. The Thames Valley stretches out before you like nature's own oil painting, making even a mediocre pint taste remarkably better. Not that the pints here are mediocre - another irritating point in the pub's favor.

The interior does that infuriating thing of actually living up to its exterior's promises. Dark wood, worn leather, and brass fittings that have developed a genuine patina rather than the artificial aging so many venues resort to these days. It's as if someone actually took the time to let a pub age naturally, like a fine whisky or a good cheese. How inconsiderately thoughtful of them.

Speaking of thoughtful, the staff possess that rare quality of knowing exactly when you need them and - more importantly - when you don't. No hovering, no disappearing acts, just that perfect balance of attentiveness and restraint that makes you wonder if they've installed mind-reading devices behind the bar. The service is so good it's almost offensive.

The food menu, while not trying to reinvent the wheel (thank heavens - we've all suffered through enough "deconstructed fish and chips" to last a lifetime), delivers pub classics with unexpected finesse. The fish and chips arrive with perfectly crisp batter, not the soggy armor you often encounter. Their burger - and I'm loathe to praise yet another London pub burger - manages to be both satisfyingly messy and surprisingly sophisticated. The prices won't make your wallet weep, which is becoming increasingly rare in London's pub scene.

They've even managed to nail the atmosphere, striking that elusive balance between "local's pub" and "welcome, strangers." The Roebuck has somehow avoided both the sterile tourist-trap feel of many Richmond establishments and the slightly threatening "you're not from round here" vibe of true locals' pubs. Dogs are welcome, children are tolerated (as they should be in any proper pub), and there's enough space that you don't feel like you're participating in an involuntary social experiment in close-quarters living.

The drinks selection is frustratingly well-curated. A rotating cast of real ales keeps things interesting for the beer enthusiasts, while the wine list is actually worth reading rather than just pointing randomly at the house red. They've even got a decent selection of spirits that extends beyond the usual suspects gathering dust on the top shelf.

The outdoor seating area - when you can snag a spot - is worth whatever passive-aggressive British standoff you need to engage in to secure it. The view, as mentioned earlier, is the kind of thing that makes you momentarily forget you're in London, until a red bus appears in your peripheral vision to remind you where you are.

Now, for the practical bits: They take cards (including contactless), there's paid street parking nearby (this is London, after all), and they accept reservations - though the best spots are often held for walk-ins, which is either charmingly democratic or deeply frustrating, depending on which side of the door you end up on.

Look, I wanted to find more fault with The Roebuck. I really did. But like that friend who's irritatingly good at everything while remaining genuinely nice, this pub refuses to give me sufficient ammunition for a proper skewering. So here's my grudging advice: If you're in London and find yourself in Richmond (which you should, it's lovely), drag yourself up Richmond Hill to The Roebuck. Order a pint, grab some food if you're hungry, and soak in that view. Just don't blame me when it becomes your new favorite pub - I tried to warn you about how annoyingly good it is.