The British Queen

Just what London needs - another gastropub with delusions of grandeur. The British Queen in Locksbottom styles itself as some sort of culinary sovereign, and I arrived fully prepared to commit acts of literary treason. But curse this place for making my cynicism look foolish.

Let's address the elephant in the room - yes, The British Queen is technically a pub, in the same way that Buckingham Palace is technically a house. The moment you walk in, it's clear this establishment has ideas above its station, with its sophisticated dining space and staff who actually seem to know what they're doing. How irritating.

I wanted to hate the cheese soufflé. I really did. It arrived looking smugly perfect, all puffed up like a politician's promises. But then I tasted it, and... well, damn it all. The ethereal lightness, the rich depth of flavor - it's the kind of dish that makes you momentarily forget your carefully cultivated restaurant critic's cynicism. They clearly know they're onto a winner here, as it's become something of a signature dish at The British Queen London.

The pork tomahawk (yes, they call it that, how pretentious... and how absolutely delicious) arrives with crackling that shatters with just the right amount of resistance. The meat itself is cooked with the kind of precision that makes you wonder if they've got a physicist moonlighting in the kitchen. It's the sort of dish that forces you to put down your pen and just... enjoy the moment. Horrifying.

The wine list isn't trying to bankrupt you, which is a refreshing change for London. They've managed to find that sweet spot between "plonk" and "second mortgage required," with some genuinely interesting options by the glass. The cocktails, too, show more creativity than your average pub's sad attempts at mixology.

The space itself strikes an impressive balance between pub comfort and restaurant refinement. They've somehow managed to maintain enough of that traditional British pub atmosphere to keep it genuine, while elevating the experience well beyond pork scratchings and flat ale. The dining area manages to feel both spacious and intimate - a neat trick that too many London venues get wrong.

Service walks that same clever line. The staff know their stuff without being pompous about it, and they've mastered the art of appearing exactly when needed and vanishing when not. It's the kind of attentiveness that makes you forget you're in a pub, until you glance over at the bar and see the reassuring lineup of local ales.

Dogs are welcome, which could be a disaster but somehow isn't. The outdoor seating area is actually pleasant when weather permits (yes, both days of the British summer), and they take reservations - a blessed relief in a city where queuing has become a competitive sport.

Here's the thing about The British Queen London - it's not trying to reinvent the wheel. Instead, it's taking the concept of a gastropub and actually doing it properly, which is somehow more revolutionary. The prices aren't cheap, but they're fair for what you're getting, which in London's current dining climate feels almost charitable.

Is it perfect? Of course not. The paid street parking is a minor annoyance, and sometimes the kitchen can be too precious with its plating. But these are quibbles that feel petty in the face of such consistent quality.

Look, I don't enjoy admitting when I'm wrong. But The British Queen has managed to create something special here - a proper London pub that serves proper food, without losing its soul in the process. Book ahead, especially for weekend evenings, and prepare yourself for the unsettling experience of having your cynicism thoroughly undermined. Just don't tell them I sent you. I have a reputation to maintain.