The Devonshire Arms

Just what London needs - another pub claiming to be a proper British drinking establishment. The Devonshire Arms sits there on its corner plot, all proud and proper, like it's doing us a favor by existing in this oversaturated metropolis of mediocre watering holes. And yet...

I hate to admit it, but there's something undeniably charming about this place. Maybe it's the conspicuous absence of blaring televisions (save for major sporting events, when they somehow manifest like magic), or perhaps it's the almost offensive confidence with which they serve what might be one of the better pints of Harvey's Sussex Best in central London. It's as if they know something we don't, and that's incredibly irritating.

The interior feels like what American tourists imagine a London pub should look like, except - and this is the truly annoying part - it's actually authentic. Dark wood, comfortable corners, and none of that tacky themed nonsense that plagues so many central London establishments. The Devonshire Arms manages to maintain its dignity while being mere steps from the consumer chaos of Oxford Street, like a scholarly professor who accidentally moved in next door to a shopping mall.

What really gets under my skin is how they've managed to create that elusive "proper pub atmosphere" without trying too hard. The quiz nights are genuinely entertaining, though I'd rather drink paint than admit how many times I've participated. They've got board games stashed away for those inevitable moments when conversation runs dry, and the staff seems to have mastered that perfect balance between attentive and pleasantly aloof - a very British service style that's becoming increasingly rare.

The drinks selection is frustratingly well-curated. Beyond the aforementioned Harvey's (which yes, is consistently well-kept), there's a rotating selection of craft beers that manages to please both the beard-stroking beer aficionados and normal humans who just want a decent pint. The gin selection is extensive enough to make you wonder if someone on staff has a particular passion, or possibly a problem.

Let's talk about the outdoor seating, shall we? It's limited, yes, but somehow they've turned what could have been a sad handful of tables into prime people-watching real estate. You'd think sitting this close to Oxford Street would be about as pleasant as a root canal, but they've somehow made it work. The front area has become a coveted spot for watching the world go by while pretending you're above all the shopping-bag-laden tourists (even though we all know you hit up Selfridges right before arriving).

Dog-friendly? Check. Live music that doesn't make you want to perforate your eardrums? Sometimes, yes. A crowd that manages to be lively without descending into the kind of chaos that makes you question humanity? Most nights, somehow, they pull it off. Even the younger staff, who might lack the weathered expertise of classic London publicans, manage to keep things running with surprising efficiency, even if they occasionally forget to accompany their service with a smile (which, let's be honest, feels appropriately British).

The clientele is an oddly comfortable mix of local workers, sophisticated shoppers who've escaped the retail madness, and people who actually know their beer. During quiz nights, the place fills with teams of surprisingly competitive regulars, all vying for glory and bar tabs with an intensity that would be concerning if it weren't so entertaining.

For those wondering about accessibility - and this is where they earn genuine, unironic praise - they're surprisingly accommodating. I've witnessed staff rearranging furniture without fuss to accommodate mobility aids, which shouldn't be remarkable but sadly still is in many London venues.

So here's the thing about The Devonshire Arms in London - and I can't believe I'm writing this - it's actually worth your time. Whether you're seeking refuge from Oxford Street's chaos, in need of a proper pint, or (god help you) looking for a pub quiz to test your useless knowledge, you'll find what you're looking for here. Just don't tell them I sent you. I have a reputation for cynicism to maintain, and their quiet excellence is making that increasingly difficult.

Go ahead, visit The Devonshire Arms. Join the quiz night. Pet a dog. Drink the Harvey's. Just don't blame me when you find yourself becoming a regular, defending its honor to other jaded Londoners like myself. Some traditions, it turns out, are worth preserving, even if admitting it pains me deeply.