The Derby

Just what London needs - another pub claiming to be a "local gem" near the Oval. The Derby sits there, smugly traditional, practically daring you to find fault with its worn wooden floors and suspiciously well-maintained brass fixtures. I wanted to hate it. I really did.

But damn it all if The Derby hasn't wormed its way into my cynical heart like some sort of parasitic hospitality tapeworm. It's the kind of place that makes you question your carefully cultivated disdain for conventional London boozers. You know the type - those establishments that somehow manage to be both utterly ordinary and irritatingly charming at the same time.

Let's talk about that triple-patty monstrosity they call the Hattrick Burger. In theory, it should be a tragic attempt at American-style excess. In practice? It's a juicy middle finger to every overcomplicated £25 burger in Shoreditch. The fact that it doesn't require a second mortgage to enjoy makes it taste even better, though I'm loathe to admit it.

The interior does that infuriating thing where it's neither trying too hard nor falling into disrepair. The Irish memorabilia scattered about could easily veer into theme-pub territory, but somehow stays just on the right side of authentic. It's like they accidentally achieved the perfect balance between "actual pub" and "pub that knows it's a pub."

Their beer selection isn't going to win any craft brewing awards, but that's rather the point, isn't it? The Guinness is properly poured (a rare feat in London these days), and at £5.50 a pint, it's practically charitable by current standards. The limited ale options might disappoint the beard-stroking crowd, but what they do have, they keep well.

Speaking of keeping things well, the staff has mastered that elusive art of being attentive without hovering like anxious helicopters. They remember faces, which is either charming or mildly unsettling, depending on how often you find yourself darkening their door. And trust me, you'll be back more often than you'd care to admit.

The Friday night live music could be a disaster. It should be a disaster. Yet somehow, The Derby manages to host local talent that doesn't make you want to stuff napkins in your ears. The Monday quiz night is similarly bearable, which is the highest praise I'm willing to give any pub quiz in London.

Let's address the food beyond that absurdly good burger. The jerk chicken manages to be both authentic enough to respect its Caribbean roots and accessible enough for the after-work crowd. The lemon pepper wings achieve that perfect balance between zesty and spicy that makes you forget you're eating in a pub and not a proper wing joint.

They're dog-friendly, which means you'll occasionally have to share space with someone's precious fur baby, but even that manages to add to the charm rather than detract from it. The outdoor seating situation is... well, it exists, in that very London way of making the most of minimal space.

For those keeping score at home, yes, they take cards (including that contactless tap-to-pay business), do takeout and delivery (though why you'd want pub food delivered is beyond me), and even take reservations - a concept foreign to many London pubs that seem to operate on a survival-of-the-fittest basis during peak hours.

The Derby sits in that sweet spot between "affordable enough for a casual pint" and "nice enough for a proper evening out." It's the kind of place that makes you question your life choices - specifically, why you spent years searching for the perfect London pub when it was hiding in plain sight near the Oval tube station all along.

Go on then. Visit The Derby. Watch as it systematically dismantles your carefully constructed cynicism about London pubs. Just don't blame me when you find yourself becoming one of those irritating regulars who actually looks forward to quiz night. I tried to maintain my professional distance, but like you will, I failed miserably.