The Frankfort Arms

Just what London needs - another pub claiming to be a "local institution." The Frankfort Arms in London's Maida Hill had me rolling my eyes before I even crossed the threshold. Three burly security guards at 4:30 PM on a Monday? Either this place is trouble, or they're wildly overcompensating. Spoiler alert: it's somehow neither.

Let's address the elephant in the room - or rather, the slightly concerning aroma that occasionally wafts through the space. Yes, there's a whiff of something that might make more sensitive patrons wrinkle their nose. But here's the thing: it's oddly fitting, like finding out your favorite uncle's leather jacket hasn't been cleaned since 1982. It's character, darling.

The Irish bartender who served me could teach a masterclass in pub hospitality. In an era where most London bartenders treat you like you've personally insulted their sourdough starter, her warm welcome felt almost suspicious. I ordered a Carling (don't judge - sometimes you have to work with what you've got) for a price that made me double-check my receipt. Three quid and change in London? I half expected to wake up in 1995.

The ceiling height in here is remarkable - cathedral-like, if cathedrals were decorated with slightly askew sports memorabilia and featured karaoke nights that would make American Idol contestants blush. The space manages to be both cavernous and oddly cozy, like someone converted a Victorian assembly hall into your nan's living room.

Speaking of the clientele, The Frankfort Arms serves up a perfect London cocktail of demographics. You've got your local Afro-Caribbean regulars, Irish old-timers who've probably had the same bar stool since the Churchill administration, and a smattering of Peaky Blinders cosplayers who haven't quite figured out that flat caps aren't a personality trait. Somehow, it works.

The entertainment lineup deserves special mention. Live music and karaoke nights transform this unassuming pub into something between a community theater and a family reunion where everyone's had just enough to drink to think they're Freddie Mercury. It's gloriously unpretentious, and I hate how much I love it.

For sports fans, there are screens showing horse racing, though most patrons seem more interested in actual human interaction - a concept so foreign in most London establishments that it probably deserves a plaque. The fact that people are actually talking to each other instead of staring at their phones feels revolutionary in 2024.

Dog owners, rejoice - your four-legged friends are welcome here. Though given the occasional mysterious odors, perhaps your designer poodle might prefer the sterile confines of that overpriced dog café in Notting Hill. This is more suitable for dogs with street cred.

The payment system is refreshingly current - they take everything from cash to contactless, which is more than you can say for some supposedly upmarket spots still clinging to their cash-only policies like it's a badge of honor. The bar service is efficient, though during peak hours you might want to develop a strategic approach to getting served. Consider it a life skill.

Look, The Frankfort Arms in London isn't trying to reinvent the wheel. There's no artisanal gin menu, no small plates inspired by someone's gap year in Southeast Asia, and definitely no Instagram wall. What you get instead is a proper London boozer that serves as a living, breathing community hub. It's rough around the edges in all the right ways, priced like it actually wants you to come back, and staffed by people who seem genuinely pleased to see you.

If you're in Maida Hill and find yourself torn between some overpriced gastropub and The Frankfort Arms, do yourself a favor - push past those security guards, order a reasonably priced pint, and settle in for an evening of authentic London pub culture. Just maybe don't wear your fancy clothes, and definitely don't expect quail with couscous. Sometimes the best nights out are the ones where you leave your pretensions at the door - along with any expectations of craft beer.