Royal Sovereign

Just what London needs - another pub claiming to be a "proper local." The Royal Sovereign in London's increasingly gentrified landscape initially struck me as yet another establishment riding the wave of carefully curated authenticity. You know the type: exposed brick walls probably painted that specific shade of heritage green that screams "we're traditional, honest!"

But damn it all if this place hasn't wormed its way into my cynical heart like a persistent earworm you initially hate but find yourself humming in the shower. The Royal Sovereign manages to pull off that increasingly rare trick of being both a genuine neighborhood pub and somewhere you'd actually want to spend time.

Let's address the elephant in the room - the prices. In an era where a pint in London often requires a small bank loan, the Royal Sovereign's pricing feels like a clerical error in your favor. I kept waiting for someone to realize they'd forgotten to add the "premium location surcharge" or whatever euphemism they're using these days for highway robbery.

The beer garden deserves special mention, if only because it hasn't been converted into a Instagram-worthy jungle of trailing vines and fairy lights. Instead, it's actually functional - imagine that - with plenty of seating that doesn't require you to be a contortionist to get comfortable. On sunny days (yes, London occasionally has those), it's criminally pleasant.

Their pizza offering initially made me roll my eyes - because heaven forbid a London pub exists without trying to be a gastropub-pizzeria-craft-beer-emporium hybrid. But here's the thing: they're good. Not "good for pub pizza" good, but legitimately good. The kind of good that makes you question your life choices when you realize you're craving pub pizza on a Tuesday afternoon.

The staff deserve mention, if only because they've mastered that increasingly rare art of being simultaneously efficient and personable without feeling like they're reading from a corporate script. They actually seem to enjoy working here, which in the London hospitality scene is about as rare as an affordable zone 1 flat.

What truly sets the Royal Sovereign apart from London's endless parade of pubs is its steadfast refusal to completely surrender to the winds of gentrification. Yes, they serve craft beer (because it's 2025, not 1925), but you can still get a normal pint without having to decode a novel's worth of tasting notes about hints of Paraguayan coffee beans and Norwegian pine needles.

The crowd is refreshingly mixed - a phrase that usually makes me cringe, but here it's actually true. You'll find everyone from local old-timers to young professionals, all coexisting without the usual awkward social segregation that plagues so many London pubs. It's like watching a David Attenborough documentary about different species peacefully sharing the same watering hole.

They've somehow managed to maintain that delicate balance between being a proper pub and meeting modern expectations. The payment system actually works (and accepts contactless), the loos are clean (a miracle in itself), and you can bring your dog without getting side-eye from the staff. Live music appears occasionally, but mercifully not at the expense of conversation.

Look, I wanted to dislike the Royal Sovereign. I really did. London has enough pubs trying to thread the needle between tradition and trend. But this place has achieved something remarkable - it's actually good at being a pub. Not a concept, not a brand, just a pub that knows what it is and does it well.

So here's my reluctant recommendation: if you're in London and want to experience a pub that hasn't lost its soul to the inevitable march of progress, the Royal Sovereign is worth your time. Just don't all rush there at once and ruin it. Some of us still need somewhere decent to drink.