The Dolphin

Just what London needs - another pub claiming to be a cut above the rest. The Dolphin in London had me rolling my eyes before I even crossed the threshold, mentally preparing myself for yet another mediocre establishment trying desperately to balance traditional pub charm with contemporary expectations. How wrong I was. And how much it pains me to admit that.

Let's address the elephant in the room - or rather, the marine mammal in the building. The Dolphin London isn't trying to reinvent the wheel, and perhaps that's precisely why it works. In a city where every other venue seems determined to assault you with concept-forward pretension, there's something refreshingly honest about this place's approach.

The garden area - usually a sad affair of metal furniture and wilting hanging baskets in most London pubs - is actually worth writing home about. Not that I'd ever do something so earnest. But if I were the type to pen postcards, I might mention how the space manages to be both scenic and relaxing without feeling like it's trying too hard. It's the kind of outdoor seating that makes you forget you're in London, at least until a red bus thunders past and shatters the illusion.

The service, I must grudgingly report, strikes that elusive balance between attentiveness and hovering. Yes, there are occasional busy periods when you might wait longer than ideal for acknowledgment (particularly on unexpectedly packed Monday nights), but the staff - led by a manager named Florin who seems pathologically determined to remember every regular's name - generally hits the mark.

Now, about the food. I approached their pizza menu with the skepticism it deserved - because really, who goes to a London pub for pizza? But their truffle mushroom pizza (which I ordered purely to have something specific to criticize) turned out to be annoyingly good. The Sunday roast, while not quite reaching the heights of your grandmother's legendary cooking (assuming your grandmother was actually a good cook and not just benefiting from childhood nostalgia), holds its own. The chicken could use crispier skin, and the parsnips occasionally emerge from the kitchen looking like they've only briefly glimpsed the inside of an oven, but these are quibbles in what's otherwise a solid offering.

The pricing sits in that sweet spot where you can't quite complain but also aren't entirely convinced you couldn't do better elsewhere. Until you actually try to do better elsewhere, that is, and remember why The Dolphin keeps drawing you back. The drinks selection is comprehensive without being overwhelming, and yes, they take cards - welcome to the 21st century, London pubs.

They're dog-friendly, which depending on your perspective is either a delightful bonus or a reason to check your shoes carefully when leaving. The music playlist somehow manages to not make you want to flee immediately, which in pub terms is practically a miracle. And while they welcome groups, the space never feels like it's been completely surrendered to the post-work crowd's unique brand of progressive volume increase.

The Dolphin London has mastered something that countless other pubs have attempted and failed: creating an atmosphere that feels both current and timeless. The space works as well for a casual pint as it does for a full meal, which is rarer than it should be in London's pub scene. The fact that they've achieved this without plastering the walls with artificial vintage memorabilia or installing unnecessarily elaborate light fixtures deserves recognition.

Look, I didn't want to like The Dolphin. I arrived armed with a notebook full of potential criticisms and a healthy dose of London pub skepticism. But somewhere between the surprisingly competent food, the genuinely pleasant garden, and service that makes you feel like a regular even if it's your first visit, I found my cynicism wavering.

So here's my reluctant recommendation: The Dolphin in London is worth your time. Book a table, especially if you're planning on visiting during peak hours or Sunday lunch. And if you spot a jaded critic in the corner trying very hard not to enjoy themselves, do us both a favor and pretend you don't see me. I have a reputation to maintain, after all.