The Elgin

Just what London needs - another gastropub claiming to be the perfect blend of traditional boozer and modern eatery. The Elgin in London's Notting Hill sits there on the corner of Ladbroke Grove, wearing its Victorian heritage like a badge of honor while trying desperately to convince us it's not just another victim of gentrification. Spoiler alert: I hate that they're actually pulling it off.

I walked in prepared to mock the inevitable Edison bulbs and exposed brick walls, armed with enough cynicism to fell a hipster sommelier. But The Elgin, curse its expertly restored wooden floors, has a way of disarming even the most jaded critic. The space manages to feel both grand and intimate, like your wealthy great-aunt's drawing room, if your great-aunt had impeccable taste in craft beers and knew how to curate a wine list that doesn't make you wince.

Let's talk about that drinks selection, shall we? In a city where most pubs either serve lukewarm ale that tastes like it was filtered through a Victorian chimney sweep's hat or pretentious cocktails priced like rare diamonds, The Elgin somehow threads the needle. Their rotating craft beer selection shows actual thought rather than just ticking trendy boxes, and the cocktails are mixed with precision instead of pretension. It's irritatingly competent.

The food menu is where they really start showing off, though. Not content with serving standard pub grub with a fancy description, they've actually gone and hired people who know how to cook. The audacity. Their take on British classics manages to be both familiar and innovative - think comfort food that went to finishing school. The Sunday roast (because of course they do a Sunday roast) arrives looking like it should be photographed for a magazine, but tastes like it was made by someone's grandmother who studied at Le Cordon Bleu.

What's particularly vexing is how they've maintained the building's character while updating it for modern sensibilities. The Victorian architectural details remain intact, but they've somehow avoided the mustiness that usually comes with London's historic pubs. The lighting is actually good enough to read the menu without using your phone as a torch - revolutionary concept, I know.

The outdoor seating area is another reluctant triumph. Usually, London pub gardens are either sad little smoking corners or cramped patios where you can enjoy your pint while inhaling bus fumes. The Elgin's outdoor space actually makes you want to linger, with proper heating for those nine months of the year when London weather is determined to make us miserable.

They've even managed to get the service right, which in London is about as rare as an affordable flat. The staff somehow balance being knowledgeable without being condescending, attentive without hovering, and - brace yourself - actually seem to enjoy their jobs. It's unsettling.

The pricing is what you'd expect for the area - which is to say, not cheap, but not quite requiring a second mortgage. You're paying for quality, atmosphere, and location, and while my inner critic wants to complain about it, I can't actually fault the value proposition. Main courses hover around the "well, I suppose that's fair for London" mark, while the drinks prices won't make you choke on your gastropub-approved sourdough.

The clientele is a fascinating mix of local residents, tourists who've wandered off the Portobello Road beaten path, and people who actually know their food and drink. Somehow, they all seem to coexist without the usual London pub territorial disputes. It's like watching a small miracle unfold over craft beer and perfectly cooked steaks.

Look, I didn't want to like The Elgin. I really didn't. London has enough pubs that think they're special because they serve artisanal gin and know what burrata is. But this place has forced me to admit that sometimes - just sometimes - the hype is justified. They've created something that actually works: a proper London pub that's evolved without losing its soul.

If you must insist on visiting Notting Hill (and apparently people still do), you might as well do it properly. The Elgin stands as proof that sometimes innovation and tradition can coexist without causing a temporal paradox. Book a table, order something from their irritatingly well-curated menu, and prepare to join me in reluctant admiration. Just don't tell them I sent you - I have a reputation to maintain.