The Britannia

Just what London needs - another pub claiming to elevate the humble drinking establishment into something altogether more refined. The Britannia in London's increasingly precious dining scene had me rolling my eyes before I even crossed the threshold. White tablecloths in a pub? Please. Yet another victory of gentrification over authenticity, I thought, preparing myself for disappointment and overpriced mediocrity.

I was wrong. There, I said it. And it pains me to admit how wrong I was.

The first crack in my cynical armor appeared when I spotted the roof terrace - not one of those hastily cobbled-together pandemic additions, but a properly thought-out space that makes you forget you're in the middle of London's urban sprawl. The second was the surprisingly unpretentious welcome, devoid of the usual affected familiarity that plagues establishments of this ilk.

Let's talk about the food, because that's where The Britannia really forces you to eat your preconceptions (along with some rather excellent Orkney scallops). The menu walks that precarious tightrope between pub classics and fine dining without tumbling into the abyss of fusion confusion. Their Duck Wellington - a dish that could so easily be a pretentious disaster - is instead a masterclass in knowing when to show off and when to let exceptional ingredients speak for themselves.

The fish and chips - yes, I ordered fish and chips in what I'd presumed to be a gastropub masquerading as fine dining - arrived with such perfectly crispy batter that I briefly considered apologizing to it for my earlier skepticism. The cod beneath was pearlescent and flaky, managing to make this most basic of British dishes feel somehow special without being silly about it.

What's particularly infuriating is how they've maintained the soul of a proper pub while serving food that wouldn't be out of place in establishments charging twice as much. The bar area still feels like somewhere you could comfortably order a pint without being judged, though the wine list might tempt you to be more adventurous. And speaking of drinks, they've managed to curate a selection that caters to both the "just a beer, thanks" crowd and those who want to explore more exotic libations.

The service strikes that elusive balance between attentiveness and leaving you the hell alone - a rare feat in London where waiting staff seem to oscillate between hovering helicopter parents and distant relatives who've forgotten you exist. They're knowledgeable without being condescending, efficient without being rushed, and - most importantly - actually seem to give a damn about your experience.

The price point sits squarely in the "you get what you pay for" category. It's not cheap, but neither is it the kind of place that has you checking your account balance mid-meal. The Sunday roast, which I'd fully expected to be a disappointment, offers genuine value for money - portions are generous without being grotesque, and the quality justifies the cost.

Let's address the inevitable "buts." Yes, you'll probably want to book ahead, especially for that coveted roof terrace space. And yes, during peak times the atmosphere can edge towards the boisterous side - it is still a pub, after all. The parking situation is typically London (read: challenging), though the nearby paid street parking options are less traumatic than in many parts of the city.

The Britannia has done something I thought impossible in London's dining scene: created a space that serves both as a proper pub and a genuine dining destination. Dog-friendly, group-friendly, and surprisingly unpretentious despite its elevated offerings, it's annoyingly good at being all things to all people.

Go ahead, book a table at The Britannia. Watch as your London-hardened skepticism melts away somewhere between the first perfectly prepared cocktail and the last bite of whatever seasonal delight they're serving. Just don't blame me when you find yourself becoming one of those irritating people who won't shut up about their new favorite pub.