The Eagle Farringdon

Just what London needs - another gastropub masquerading as a proper boozer. The Eagle Farringdon sits there in its weathered brick glory, practically daring you to mock its attempts at elevating pub grub to something worth writing home about. I'll admit, I walked in ready to pen a scathing review about yet another mediocre London pub jumping on the foodie bandwagon.

Then they went and complicated things by actually being good. Damn them.

Let's talk about that steak sandwich because apparently, we have to. It's the thing everyone bangs on about at The Eagle Farringdon, and I rolled my eyes so hard at the prospect of another overhyped sandwich that I nearly gave myself a headache. But here's the infuriating truth: it's spectacular. Thinly sliced rump steak, marinated until it practically dissolves on your tongue, served on bread that somehow manages to be both sturdy enough to contain its juicy contents and soft enough to make you question everything you thought you knew about pub bread. At £17, it's not exactly cheap for a sandwich, but it's also not highway robbery for central London, and I hate that I'm already planning when to come back for another.

The kitchen setup is part theater, part controlled chaos - flames leaping behind the bar like some sort of culinary circus act. It should be gimmicky, but instead, it's oddly hypnotic. The chefs work with the focused intensity of people who actually give a damn about what they're serving, which is refreshingly unexpected in an era where many London pubs seem to think microwaving frozen meals counts as cooking.

The rest of the menu changes frequently enough to keep things interesting, though not so often that it feels like they're trying too hard to be trendy. Their approach to fish is particularly noteworthy - they'll serve you things like skate, which most places wouldn't dare put on the menu for fear of frightening the Instagram crowd. And they'll cook it perfectly, the bastards.

The space itself is a study in controlled dishevelment - industrial pillars, vintage wallpaper peeking out above wood-clad ceilings, and an atmosphere that somehow manages to be both rough-around-the-edges and welcoming. It's like someone designed a pub by actually thinking about what makes pubs good, rather than just copying and pasting from the "Modern London Gastropub" template.

Let's address the drinking situation because this is still, ostensibly, a pub. The beer selection is solid without being showy, the wine list is surprisingly decent, and the cocktails are crafted with more care than you'd expect from a place that could probably get away with serving vodka sodas and calling it a day. They've managed to walk that fine line between being a proper pub where you can have a pint and watch the world go by, and a legitimate dining destination.

The crowd is an odd mix of local workers, food enthusiasts who've read about it online, and people who genuinely live in the neighborhood - all somehow coexisting without it feeling like a social experiment gone wrong. The atmosphere gets properly buzzing around 6:30 PM when the kitchen reopens, creating the kind of electric energy that makes you want to elbow your way to the bar for just one more round.

Dog-friendly, group-friendly, and somehow maintaining its soul despite its popularity - it's irritatingly well-rounded. They take reservations (thank god), though you might need to plan ahead unless you enjoy standing around hoping for a miracle during peak hours.

Look, I wanted to hate The Eagle Farringdon. I really did. London has enough gastropubs claiming to reinvent the wheel while serving mediocre food at premium prices. But this place has forced me to eat my words (along with that absurdly good steak sandwich). If you're in this corner of London and in need of serious sustenance paired with proper drinks, you'd be a fool not to give it a shot. Just don't tell them I sent you - I have a reputation to maintain.