Thatched House

Just what London needs - another pub with pretensions of grandeur. The Thatched House in London's Hammersmith area initially struck me as yet another middling establishment trying desperately to elevate itself above the neighborhood boozer category. How wrong I was. And it pains me greatly to admit that.

Let's be clear - I approached this place with the weary cynicism of someone who's endured one too many gastropub disappointments. The traditional exterior, complete with its namesake thatched roof (a rarity in London these days), seemed almost trying too hard to be quaint. But then something unexpected happened.

It might have been the crackling fireplace that first began to chip away at my carefully cultivated disdain. Or perhaps it was the sight of content locals lounging on surprisingly comfortable couches, looking irritatingly at home. The Thatched House commits the cardinal sin of actually being welcoming, damn them.

The food - and I hate myself for saying this - is frustratingly good. Their chicken schnitzel (yes, schnitzel in a London pub) achieves that mythical balance of crunch and succulence that most establishments butcher with the expertise of a drunk surgeon. The Sunday roast, which I approached with the skepticism usually reserved for politicians' promises, proved annoyingly satisfying. The lamb... well, let's just say it made me momentarily forget my professional obligation to find fault.

What's particularly vexing is the price point. It sits in that sweet spot where you can't even properly complain about being ripped off. The portions are generous without being grotesque, and the quality suggests someone in the kitchen actually gives a damn. This is not the London pub pricing that usually leaves you questioning your life choices.

The staff, led by various competent souls like Eva (whose encyclopedic knowledge of the drinks menu is almost showing off), display an irritating level of genuine enthusiasm. They manage that rare feat of being attentive without hovering like anxious helicopters. I've tried to catch them having a bad day, but they're persistently pleasant.

The space itself deserves mention, though I'm loath to give it more praise. The mix of traditional pub elements with modern touches shouldn't work, but it does. There's outdoor seating for those brave London souls who consider 15 degrees tropical, and the interior layout manages to create distinct areas without feeling choppy. Dogs are welcome, which means occasional canine visitors add to the atmosphere - and somehow, even they seem better behaved here.

They've done something clever with the bar setup, offering a solid selection of beers, wines, and cocktails that caters to both the "just a pint" crowd and those seeking something more elaborate. The wine list isn't trying to compete with Mayfair establishments, but it's thoughtfully curated enough to make you forget you're in a pub.

For those interested in the practicalities (and I know you are), they take reservations - a blessing in London's increasingly chaotic dining scene. There's paid parking nearby, though locals will tell you finding a spot requires the patience of a saint and the timing of a master strategist. They accept all major payment methods, and yes, they do takeout and delivery, though that rather misses the point of the place.

Look, I didn't want to like the Thatched House. London has enough solid pubs without me adding another to your list. But here I am, recommending you make the trek to Hammersmith to experience it yourself. Go for the Sunday roast, stay for the atmosphere, and prepare yourself for the annoying realization that you've found your new favorite local - even if it isn't actually local to you. Just don't all rush there at once. I'd hate to have trouble getting a table now that I've reluctantly admitted it's worth visiting.