The Chapel Market Tavern

Just what London needs - another "atmospheric" pub claiming to be a cut above the countless other watering holes dotting Chapel Market. The Chapel Market Tavern sits there, all exposed brick and knowing smirks, practically daring you to dismiss it as yet another gentrified boozer charging City prices for gastropub pretensions. I walked in fully prepared to hate it. Spoiler alert: I failed.

Let's address the elephant in the room - this place actually knows what it's doing. The moment you cross the threshold, you're hit with that perfect pub alchemy of old-world charm and modern sensibility that so many venues attempt and so catastrophically bungle. The Chapel Market Tavern has managed to thread that impossibly fine needle between "cozy traditional pub" and "we actually care about what we're serving you."

The open kitchen - normally a red flag screaming "we're trying too hard" - actually works here. It's less theater and more transparency, letting you watch your food being prepared by people who clearly give a damn. Speaking of the food, the onion rings (yes, I'm starting with bar snacks, fight me) are the kind that make you temporarily forget about your dignity as you fight your friend for the last one. The mashed potatoes - and I can't believe I'm writing a paragraph about mashed potatoes - are something the French actually approve of, which is either a miracle or a sign of the apocalypse.

The calamari could use a bit more crunch in its coating, but that's the kind of nitpicking you resort to when you're desperately trying to maintain your cynicism in the face of overwhelming competence. The slow-cooked meat dishes emerge from that visible kitchen with the kind of tender perfection that makes you wonder if they've got a time machine back there, slowly braising everything since the Victorian era.

Upstairs holds a private room that's actually private, not just a sad corner with a curtain. It's the kind of space that makes you want to invent occasions to celebrate, comfortably hosting everything from wedding receptions to "it's Tuesday and we're alive" gatherings. The staff manages that rare balance of attentiveness without hovering, like ninja hospitality professionals who materialize exactly when needed and vanish when you're deep in conversation.

The drink selection deserves its own grudging slow clap. They've got proper beer - including alcohol-free options that don't taste like sad hop water - and a wine list that won't make your sommelier friends disown you. The cocktails are crafted with the kind of care that makes you forgive them for taking more than 30 seconds to prepare. Even the glassware is appropriate, which shouldn't be noteworthy but somehow still is in London.

Dog-friendly without becoming a canine circus, group-friendly without devolving into chaos, and outdoor seating that doesn't feel like you're dining in a traffic jam - it's as if they actually thought about what people want from a pub rather than just ticking boxes on a trend list. The payment system handles everything from cash to contactless, because apparently they understand it's 2025 and people expect convenience.

Located a stone's throw from Angel station (though why anyone is still throwing stones at transport hubs is beyond me), The Chapel Market Tavern has become that rarest of London creatures - a pub that locals want to keep secret but is too good to stay that way. It's the kind of place that makes you feel simultaneously smug for discovering it and annoyed that you have to share it with others.

Look, I didn't want to like The Chapel Market Tavern. I wanted to write a scathing review about another soulless London pub renovation that stripped away character in favor of Instagram-ability. Instead, I'm sitting here, planning my next visit, wondering if it's too soon to book that private room for my birthday. If you need me, I'll be at the bar, pretending I'm not enjoying myself nearly as much as I am. Just don't tell them I sent you - I still have a reputation to maintain.