The Albert Arms

Just what London needs - another Victorian-era pub claiming to serve a proper Sunday roast. The Albert Arms in London's Elephant and Castle area had me rolling my eyes before I even crossed the threshold. You know the type: wood paneling that's supposedly "original," leaded windows that have witnessed centuries of debauchery, and locals who look at you like you've just invaded their living room.

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

Five minutes from the Underground station (because London insists on making you work for your pints), The Albert Arms presents itself with all the subtlety of a Shakespeare history play. Two bars named Albert and Victoria - how frightfully original. Yet somehow, the whole Victorian time-capsule thing works here, probably because they're not trying too hard to impress anyone.

Let's talk about that Sunday roast everyone keeps banging on about. I arrived determined to find fault, ready to pen another scathing review about overcooked meat and soggy Yorkshire puddings. Instead, I found myself committing the cardinal sin of food criticism: I cleaned my plate. The beef was actually tender enough to cut with a fork (a proper metal one, not those flimsy things that bend at the mere sight of meat). The roast potatoes had that perfect crunch-to-fluff ratio that makes you wonder if they've got a potato scientist hidden in the kitchen.

The real surprise isn't just the food - it's the staff who somehow manage to be genuinely pleasant without seeming like they're reading from a corporate manual. They remember regulars' names, suggest beers without sounding pretentious, and - brace yourself - actually seem to enjoy their jobs. In London. In 2025. I know, I had trouble believing it too.

Speaking of beer, they keep their cask ales in proper condition, which shouldn't be noteworthy but sadly is in this age of craft-beer-everything. Two handpumps might not sound impressive, but I'd rather have two well-kept ales than twenty mediocre options gathering dust.

The outdoor seating along Gladstone Street offers a rare moment of peace in this corner of London, though you'll have to share the space with local dogs and their humans. Yes, it's dog-friendly, which usually sends me running for the hills, but even the four-legged patrons seem to have better manners here.

They've managed to walk that impossibly fine line between "proper pub" and "good food venue" without stumbling into gastropub pretentiousness. The prices won't make you choke on your pint - expect to pay standard London pub rates, which means it's not cheap, but at least you won't need to remortgage your house for a Sunday roast and a couple of drinks.

The function room upstairs hosts everything from quiz nights to private parties, though if you're planning anything, book well ahead. The same goes for Sunday lunch - trying to get a table without a reservation is about as successful as getting a Londoner to make eye contact on the Tube.

Children are welcome, which usually sets off alarm bells, but they've somehow managed to create an atmosphere where families can coexist with those seeking a quiet pint without either group wanting to murder the other. The kids' menu isn't just an afterthought of chicken nuggets, and they actually serve proper vegetarian options that aren't just a sad plate of grilled vegetables.

Look, I didn't want to like The Albert Arms. London has enough "charming local pubs" that turn out to be tourist traps with mediocre food and warm beer. But this place? It's the real deal. A proper neighborhood pub that serves food worth crossing town for, pours a decent pint, and doesn't make you feel like an intruder if you're not a regular.

Make a booking, especially for Sunday lunch. Yes, I'm actually recommending you go out of your way to visit a pub near Elephant and Castle. Trust me, I'm as surprised as you are. The Albert Arms has made me eat my words, along with some of the best roast potatoes in London. Just don't tell them I sent you - I have a reputation to maintain.