The Camel

Just what London needs - another pub claiming to be a "proper local." The Camel in London's Bethnal Green had me rolling my eyes before I even crossed the threshold. I mean, how many times can we romanticize dark wood paneling and questionably authentic "vintage" fixtures before admitting we're all just playing pretend at ye olde pub experience?

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

Maybe it was the moment I realized the staff actually knew the regulars' names - not in that forced, corporate "customer engagement strategy" way, but in the genuine "we actually give a toss about you" fashion that's rarer than a reasonable rent in Zone 2. Or perhaps it was when I witnessed the landlady, Debbie (yes, there's actually someone named Debbie running a London pub in 2025), personally checking on tables like some sort of hospitality unicorn.

The prices won't make you weep into your pint glass, though they're not exactly giving the place away. But here's the thing - you're getting what you pay for, which in London's current "charge them double because we can" climate feels almost revolutionary. The pints are kept properly, and at around £5 for a Becks, you won't need to remortgage for a round. Though why you're ordering Becks in a proper pub is between you and your conscience.

Let's talk about the pies because apparently, we must. Everyone bangs on about them, and I walked in fully prepared to denounce them as another overhyped London "specialty." The Moo Blue (their painfully cute name for the steak, ale, and blue cheese pie) made me eat my words along with every last crumb on my plate. At £11.95, it's actually decent value, considering you're getting real food rather than something that emerged from a microwave's fever dream.

The space itself manages that delicate balance between "cozy" and "claustrophobic" that so many London pubs get wrong. There's outdoor seating in an alleyway which, in any other context, would sound deeply unsavory, but here somehow works. The interior has all the expected pub trappings, but they feel earned rather than ordered from a "Generic Pub Decor" catalog.

Dog-friendly without becoming a canine circus, group-friendly without devolving into chaos, and - perhaps most remarkably - able to serve you at the bar without making you feel like you're competing in the Hunger Games. They've even got that holy grail of London pub features: functioning card payments and contactless that actually works.

The regulars add character rather than serve as cautionary tales, and the evening atmosphere manages to be lively without crossing into "why is everyone shouting?" territory. It's the kind of place where you can actually hear yourself think, unless you're trying to think of reasons not to order another pint.

Sure, there are fancier pubs in London. There are certainly more Instagram-worthy spots where the cocktails come with more garnish than actual drink. But The Camel isn't trying to be the next big thing - it's quite content being exactly what it is: a proper pub that happens to do everything just a bit better than it needs to.

Look, I didn't want to like The Camel. I really didn't. But in a city where "authentic pub experience" usually means either a soulless chain or a hipster interpretation of what they think a pub should be, this place is stubbornly, infuriatingly genuine. Between Debbie's watchful eye, those annoyingly good pies, and the fact that you can actually find a seat most nights, I'm forced to admit that The Camel in London has earned its stellar reputation. Go ahead, book a table, order a pie, and prepare to become another convert. Just don't tell them I sent you - I've got a cynical reputation to maintain.