The Bell

Just what London needs - another pub with delusions of adequacy. The Bell in London caught my attention mainly because it wasn't trying too hard to be the next craft beer mecca or gastropub sensation. In fact, it wasn't trying too hard at anything, which, in this era of overeager establishments, is surprisingly refreshing.

Let's address the elephant in the room - this is a proper local boozer, the kind that makes tourists nervously check their Google Maps to ensure they haven't wandered too far from their comfort zones. The Bell in London's charm lies precisely in its unapologetic embrace of what it is: a neighborhood pub that couldn't care less about your Instagram feed.

I walked in expecting the usual tired taproom tropes - sticky floors, surly staff, and that peculiar smell that seems to haunt every ancient London pub. Instead, I found something that annoyed me even more: authenticity. The kind you can't manufacture with reclaimed wood and Edison bulbs.

The beer selection is surprisingly decent, though if you're expecting some triple-hopped, bergamot-infused craft sensation, you're in the wrong postcode. What you get instead is well-kept beer at prices that make you wonder if they've heard about inflation. The kind of prices that make you suspicious rather than grateful, until you realize they're actually serving proper pints, not those fashionable two-thirds measures that plague trendier establishments.

The space itself has all the architectural pretension of a cardboard box, and yet... there's something oddly compelling about it. The beer garden out back is a particular revelation - not because it's spectacular (it isn't), but because it manages to be genuinely pleasant without trying to recreate the Gardens of Versailles. It's just a place to drink outside, and sometimes that's exactly what you need.

They've got a pool table that's seen better decades, and free darts that somehow haven't killed anyone yet. The karaoke nights are an exercise in communal tone-deafness that, after a few pints, transforms from painful to oddly endearing. It's the kind of place where you can actually hear yourself think, except during said karaoke sessions, when thinking becomes optional.

The clientele is a mix of locals who've probably been drinking here since before I was born and younger folks who've discovered that pretense-free pubs still exist in London. The staff maintains that perfect British pub balance of being simultaneously attentive and completely unbothered by your existence.

What's particularly vexing is how The Bell manages to nail the basics without making a fuss about it. Clean toilets (mostly), efficient service, and a security team that's present without being intimidating. They've even got contactless payment, dragging this traditional pub ever so reluctantly into the 21st century.

The drinks menu won't win any awards, but it covers all the bases - beer, wine, spirits, and cocktails that don't require a mixologist's degree to prepare. Prices are refreshingly reasonable, which in London terms means you might actually have money left for your rent after a night out.

For those seeking entertainment beyond their drink, there's live music on weekends that ranges from surprisingly good to entertainingly terrible. The dog-friendly policy means you can expect the occasional four-legged patron, usually better behaved than their two-legged companions.

Here's the truly irritating part: The Bell in London has managed to preserve something that many modern pubs have lost in their rush to reinvent themselves - a sense of community. It's the kind of place where conversations with strangers don't feel forced, where the weekly quiz night actually matters to people, and where the regulars might grumble at newcomers but will probably buy them a drink anyway.

If you're in London and find yourself craving an authentic pub experience without the artificial heritage or inflated prices, The Bell might just be your answer. Just don't tell too many people about it - we don't need another good pub ruined by popularity. Though I suspect The Bell would somehow manage to remain exactly what it is, regardless of who walks through its doors. And that, despite my best efforts to remain unimpressed, is precisely why it works.