Sir Sydney Smith

Just what London needs - another pub with pretensions of grandeur. The Sir Sydney Smith swaggered onto the scene with all the subtlety of a peacock at a pigeon convention, promising some allegedly revolutionary combination of traditional boozer and pizza paradise. Color me skeptical.

I'll admit, I dragged my feet getting here. The name alone - Sir Sydney Smith - sounds like it was generated by an AI trying too hard to be British. But after three separate industry friends wouldn't shut up about it, I finally caved. And here's where this review takes an irritating turn, because against my better judgment, I actually liked the place.

Let's start with the pizza, since they're so proud of their wood-fired oven you'd think they'd personally invented the concept of cooking with fire. The chef (who has the audacity to be genuinely friendly) crafts these impossibly perfect crusts that somehow manage to be both crispy and chewy. The salami, rocket, and honey pizza should be an unholy mess of competing flavors, but instead, it's a harmonious masterpiece that I'm still thinking about weeks later. It pains me to say this, but it's some of the best pizza in London.

The beer selection would make a Belgian monk weep with joy. They've even resurrected Double Diamond, which I haven't seen since my father was boring me with tales of his misspent youth. The craft rotation is thoughtfully curated, not just the usual suspects thrown together to appease the beard-stroking crowd.

What's particularly irksome is how they've managed to nail the pub atmosphere without feeling like they're trying too hard. The space isn't huge, but it's arranged with the kind of intuitive flow that makes you wonder if they consulted a feng shui master who specializes in booze feng shui. There's a dartboard that's actually usable (unlike those sad specimens gathering dust in corporate chain pubs), and the music stays at that perfect level where you can still hear yourself think while feeling thoroughly entertained.

The outdoor seating area isn't going to win any design awards, but it's perfectly serviceable for those who prefer their pint with a side of vehicle exhaust and people-watching. Inside, the vibe strikes that elusive balance between "proper pub" and "place you wouldn't be embarrassed to bring your wine-snob friend from Islington."

The staff, annoyingly, seem to actually enjoy their jobs. The Romanian chef personally delivers food to tables when he can, which should feel gimmicky but somehow doesn't. They've managed to maintain that increasingly rare combination of professionalism and personality that makes you feel like a regular even on your first visit.

Price-wise, it 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 keep costs down. The pizzas are fairly priced for the quality, and the drink prices won't send you into cardiac arrest - a increasingly rare feat in central London.

Location-wise, the Sir Sydney Smith has pulled off another minor miracle - it's just far enough from the tourist traps to maintain its soul, but close enough to civilization to be practical. It's the kind of place you could duck into to escape the London chaos, only to find yourself still there three hours later, wondering where the time went.

Here's the truly infuriating part - I've been back four times since my first reluctant visit. The Sir Sydney Smith has managed to do what so many London venues attempt and fail at: create a space that feels both current and timeless, upscale and accessible, familiar and fresh. If you're going to force me to make a recommendation (and I suppose that's literally my job), then fine - go. Book a table, order that ridiculous-sounding but somehow perfect salami pizza, grab a pint of something interesting, and prepare to be annoyingly impressed. Just don't blame me when it becomes your new regular spot. I tried to resist too.