The Devonshire

Just what London needs - another gastropub masquerading as the savior of British drinking culture. The Devonshire in London had me rolling my eyes before I even crossed the threshold, preparing myself for yet another establishment riding the wave of craft beer pretension and overpriced scotch eggs. But damn them for making me eat my words along with some surprisingly excellent food.

Let's address the elephant in the beer garden - and speaking of which, their outdoor space is irritatingly pleasant, especially when London decides to grace us with its three annual days of sunshine. The Devonshire has managed to create that elusive sweet spot between "actually-trying" and "trying-too-hard" that so many London pubs spectacularly fail to achieve.

I wanted to hate the place, I really did. But somewhere between the perfectly pulled pint of Estrella (yes, I'm basic, fight me) and what turned out to be a legitimately impressive schnitzel, my carefully cultivated cynicism began to crack. The chicken was tender enough to cut with a stern look, and the crumb coating showed the kind of attention to detail that makes you wonder if the chef has some sort of obsessive-compulsive disorder. For which we should all be grateful, apparently.

The fish and chips deserve their own paragraph, if only because they've somehow managed to elevate this most basic of pub staples into something that doesn't immediately remind you of every regrettable late-night chippy run you've ever made. The batter actually maintains its crunch for more than thirty seconds - a miracle on par with finding a seat on the Central Line during rush hour.

What's particularly infuriating is how they've nailed the atmosphere. The Devonshire London has that lived-in feel that usually takes decades to achieve, yet somehow doesn't feel like it's trying to cosplay as a Victorian-era drinking establishment. The staff actually seem to enjoy their jobs, which is either excellent acting or some sort of mass delusion I'm not qualified to diagnose.

They take cards, do table service, and - brace yourselves - the toilets don't make you question your life choices. I know, I was shocked too. The prices sit in that sweet spot where you can't quite complain but still feel obligated to make a face when the bill arrives. It's like they're deliberately making it difficult to maintain my professional pessimism.

Dogs are welcome, which means you'll occasionally have to share space with some four-legged patron who's better behaved than half the human clientele. They've got a decent selection of wines for those who've evolved beyond pints, and the cocktails are surprisingly competent for a place that still calls itself a pub.

The outdoor seating area is a particular triumph, managing to avoid both the "pavement furniture obstacle course" and "beer garden that's actually just a car park with fairy lights" pitfalls that plague so many London establishments. Yes, you'll have to clear out by 10 PM because apparently the neighbors need their beauty sleep, but until then, it's rather lovely. I hate that I just used the word "lovely."

For sports fans, they've got screens that show the matches without turning the place into a generic sports bar. It's a delicate balance that The Devonshire London has somehow mastered, much to my continuing irritation.

Look, I'm as surprised as anyone to be writing this, but The Devonshire has earned its place in London's pub landscape. Whether you're after a proper pint, a meal that won't make you question your life choices, or just a place to while away a Sunday afternoon, you'll find what you're looking for here. And yes, you can make reservations, because they're civilized like that. Just don't blame me when you find yourself becoming a regular despite your best intentions. I certainly did.