The Askew

Just what London needs - another pub trying to be all things to all people. The Askew in Shepherd's Bush had me rolling my eyes before I even crossed the threshold. A pub that does karaoke, sports viewing, AND claims to serve decent food? Please. I've seen this identity crisis play out badly countless times across the capital.

But damn it all if The Askew hasn't managed to pull off this juggling act with an irritating level of competence. I hate when I'm wrong, but here we are.

First, let's address the elephant in the room - the prices. In a city where a pint can cost you the equivalent of a small car payment, The Askew's pricing feels like a clerical error that somehow slipped through. Their Wednesday burger-and-pint deal for £15 had me checking my receipt twice, convinced there must be some catch. There wasn't.

The garden situation deserves special mention. London pubs love to grandly advertise their "beer gardens" which often turn out to be three pot plants and a wobbly table next to the bins. The Askew's outdoor space, however, sprawls unexpectedly around the side and back of the building like some sort of TARDIS-inspired expansion pack. Even more surprisingly, it's actually pleasant out there.

What really gets under my skin - in the best possible way - is the staff's stubborn insistence on being genuinely friendly. Not that manufactured, corporate-mandated cheerfulness that makes you want to hide under your table, but actual, honest-to-god warmth. It's positively un-London-like.

The food situation should be a disaster. Match day crowds, multiple big screens showing football, and a kitchen trying to pump out proper meals? It's a recipe for mediocrity at best. Yet somehow they manage to turn out burgers that wouldn't be out of place in one of those trendy joints where they name their cows and charge you extra for the privilege. The steak can be hit or miss, I'll grant you that, but when they get it right, it's properly decent.

Let's talk about the Guinness because any pub worth its salt needs to get this right. They do. The pour is correct, the temperature is right, and they actually wait for it to settle instead of shoving it at you half-finished like some places I could name (but won't, because my lawyer advises against it).

The interior walks that fine line between "cozy pub" and "we actually cleaned the place this century." The communal seating outside has somehow created what I'm reluctantly forced to call a genuine community vibe. I've witnessed actual conversations between strangers that didn't end in awkward silence or restraining orders.

For sports viewing, they've managed to crack that seemingly impossible code of showing the matches without turning the place into a testosterone-fueled nightmare. Don't ask me how they've done it. Some sort of publican wizardry, I suspect.

They take cards, do contactless, and haven't succumbed to that insufferable "cash only" policy that some pubs cling to like it's 1983. The dog-friendly policy means you might have to share your space with the occasional four-legged patron, but they're usually better behaved than most of the two-legged variety.

Look, I came to The Askew in London ready to write one of my signature takedowns. Instead, I'm sitting here, nursing a perfectly poured pint, watching strangers become friends over shared plates of surprisingly good pub grub, and questioning everything I thought I knew about London pubs.

If you must know - and I say this through gritted teeth - you should probably visit The Askew. Go for the reasonable prices, stay for the unexpectedly good food and annoyingly pleasant atmosphere. Just don't tell them I sent you. I have a reputation to maintain.