The Fox & Grapes Wimbledon

Just what London needs - another gastropub masquerading as the savior of British cuisine. The Fox & Grapes Wimbledon joins the endless parade of establishments trying to convince us that pub food can be sophisticated. I approached with the same enthusiasm I reserve for dental appointments, yet found myself facing a crisis of cynicism.

Let's address the elephant in the room: The Fox & Grapes Wimbledon actually manages to pull off that elusive balance between proper pub and legitimate restaurant, something that shouldn't work but inexplicably does. Like finding out your ex has genuinely become a better person, it's both irritating and impressive.

The interior could have easily fallen into the tired "pub-meets-Pinterest" trap that plagues so many London venues. Instead, they've maintained enough of the original charm to keep it honest while adding touches that wouldn't make your design-conscious aunt wince. It's refreshingly unpretentious, which pains me to admit.

I arrived determined to find fault with their Sunday roast - that British benchmark that so many places butcher with the precision of a drunk surgeon. Yet here I sat, begrudgingly savoring perfectly cooked meat, Yorkshire puddings that actually rose (unlike my hopes for humanity), and gravy that hadn't emerged from a granulated powder. The vegetables, miraculously, weren't an afterthought boiled into submission.

The menu strikes that sweet spot between ambition and execution that most places miss by miles. It's not trying to reinvent the wheel - thank heaven for small mercies - but instead focuses on doing familiar dishes properly. The chicken dishes, in particular, deserve mention, though I'm loathe to give them too much praise lest it go to their heads. The sea bream, when available, is handled with the kind of respect usually reserved for visiting royalty.

Their wine list won't bankrupt you, which is refreshing for Wimbledon, where some establishments seem to think proximity to the tennis courts justifies Monaco pricing. The beer selection keeps both the real ale enthusiasts and the craft beer crowd happy - a diplomatic achievement worthy of UN recognition.

The service manages to be attentive without hovering like an anxious parent. They actually seem to enjoy their jobs, which is either excellent acting or genuine satisfaction - both equally surprising in the London restaurant scene. They're knowledgeable about the menu without reciting essays about each ingredient's life story.

Breakfast here deserves special mention, if only because finding a decent morning meal in London that doesn't require a second mortgage is becoming as rare as a politician's genuine smile. The Fox & Grapes Wimbledon serves proper coffee (not the burnt offering so many places pass off as acceptable), and their full English breakfast actually includes black pudding that tastes of something other than regret.

They welcome children without turning the place into a nursery, and dogs are allowed in certain areas - a policy that somehow works without the chaos one might expect from such democratic inclusion. The atmosphere manages to be both casual and refined, like a professor who teaches in jeans but still commands respect.

Booking is recommended, especially for Sunday lunch, unless you enjoy the particular British pastime of passive-aggressive queuing. The prices sit in that zone where you can't quite call it a bargain, but you won't need to sell a kidney either. For the quality, it's fair - words I didn't expect to type about a Wimbledon establishment.

Located just off Wimbledon Common, The Fox & Grapes has become annoyingly essential to the area's dining scene. I wanted to dismiss it as just another pretender to the gastropub throne, but it's legitimately good. Go there. Book a table. Enjoy it. Just don't tell them I sent you - I have a reputation for cynicism to maintain, and they've already damaged it enough with their inconvenient excellence.