Running Horses

Just what London needed - another pub claiming to be a cut above your average boozer. The Running Horses in London's Erith area initially struck me as yet another establishment trying desperately to balance traditional pub charm with modern gastro pretensions. And yes, I rolled my eyes when I heard about their supposedly legendary carvery. Because who hasn't heard that one before?

But damn it all if this place hasn't wormed its way into my cynical heart.

Perhaps it was the moment I walked in, expecting the usual tepid welcome that's become standard in London pubs, only to be greeted with genuine warmth that wasn't even slightly forced. The staff at Running Horses actually seemed... happy to be there? In London? In this economy? It was unsettling.

The interior strikes that elusive balance between cozy and spacious - something most London pubs butcher spectacularly, either cramming you in like sardines or leaving you feeling like you're drinking in an aircraft hangar. The traditional wood furnishings and well-worn bar actually feel authentic rather than like they were ordered from the "Generic Pub Décor" catalog that seemingly supplies half of London's drinking establishments.

Let's talk about that carvery, shall we? I approached it with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for dental appointments, having suffered through enough dry meat and soggy vegetables to last several lifetimes. Yet here I was, faced with meat that hadn't been slowly mummified under heat lamps since the previous Tuesday. The vegetables - and I can't believe I'm writing this - were actually cooked properly. Not reduced to atomic particles, not raw enough to still be growing, but properly cooked. In a pub. In London. I needed a moment.

The drinks selection deserves mention, if only because they've managed to curate a list that caters to both the "I know my craft beers" crowd and the "just give me a proper pint" traditionalists without making either group feel like second-class citizens. The wine list won't win any awards, but it's perfectly serviceable, and the cocktails are mixed with surprising competence.

Their events calendar is surprisingly robust, with live music that doesn't make you want to puncture your own eardrums and family-friendly gatherings that somehow manage to avoid being tooth-achingly twee. The Halloween events are particularly well-executed, striking that perfect balance between festive and tacky that so many venues spectacularly fail to achieve.

The outdoor seating area - because of course there is one - actually provides enough space between tables that you're not forced to become intimately familiar with your neighbors' conversation about their recent kitchen renovation. And praise be, there's actual parking. Free parking. In London. I had to check I hadn't slipped into some parallel universe.

What really gets me though - and I'm almost angry about this - is how they've managed to create an atmosphere that works for multiple purposes. Want a quiet pint and some peace? There's a corner for that. Meeting friends to watch the match? They've got you covered. Family Sunday lunch? Somehow, inexplicably, yes, that works too. It's like they actually thought about what people might want from a pub instead of just throwing darts at a board of pub concepts.

The pricing sits in that sweet spot where you're not questioning your life choices when the bill arrives, but you're also not wondering what corners they cut to make it so cheap. It's honest pricing for honest fare, which in London's current climate feels almost revolutionary.

Is it perfect? Of course not. Sometimes the service can get a bit overwhelmed during peak times, and yes, occasionally you'll find yourself waiting longer than ideal for a drink. But here's the thing - and I can't believe I'm about to write this - I find myself not really minding.

The Running Horses has accomplished something rather remarkable in London's cluttered pub scene - it's created a space that actually feels like a proper local, even as it caters to the demands of modern pub-goers. If you find yourself in this corner of London, do yourself a favor and stop in. Just don't tell them I sent you. I have a reputation to maintain, and admitting I genuinely enjoy a place goes against everything I stand for.