The Greyhound Kew

Just what London needs - another gastropub trying to convince us it's reinvented the wheel. The Greyhound Kew sits there on its corner, all smug and pristine, practically daring you to find fault with its carefully curated charm. And trust me, I walked in ready to do exactly that.

Look, I've seen enough "elevated pub fare" in London to last several lifetimes. But somewhere between rolling my eyes at the exposed brick walls and preparing my most withering critiques, something annoying happened. The Greyhound Kew started to win me over, and I'm still not entirely happy about it.

Perhaps it was the way sunlight floods through those absurdly large windows, making even the most amateur Instagram photographer look competent. Or maybe it was watching the staff actually seem to enjoy their jobs - a rare sight in London's hospitality scene these days. Whatever cosmic alignment occurred, I found myself reluctantly reaching for my phone to book a return visit before I'd even finished my first meal.

The menu walks that precarious line between pub classics and modern British cuisine without falling into the usual pretentious traps. Their Sunday roast (because of course I had to try it) arrives looking like it's ready for its close-up, but - and this is the important bit - actually tastes like someone's grandmother made it. If their grandmother happened to be an exceptionally talented chef who's secretly been perfecting roast potatoes for decades.

The Italian influences scattered throughout the menu initially seemed like yet another identity crisis, until I tasted the arancini. Whoever had the audacity to make proper Italian arancini work alongside scotch eggs deserves some kind of culinary peace prize. It shouldn't work. It does. I'm still slightly upset about how well it does.

They've managed to maintain that delicate balance between "proper pub" and "place you'd actually want to eat." The bar area welcomes both the post-Kew Gardens tourists and locals who've been coming here since before it was cool, while the dining space manages to feel special without trying too hard. Yes, you can bring your dog, and yes, they'll probably get more attention from the staff than you will. Somehow, you won't mind.

The breakfast service (because apparently they're determined to do everything) manages to be worth getting up for, which is saying something. Their coffee is actually good - not "good for a pub" but properly good, which feels almost like showing off at this point.

Let's talk about the pricing because I know you're wondering. It sits comfortably in that sweet spot where you can't quite complain but still feel compelled to check your bank balance the next day. The set lunch menu is suspiciously good value, making you wonder if there's a catch. (There isn't. I looked. Thoroughly.)

The outdoor seating area becomes prime real estate during anything resembling decent weather, and yes, you should book ahead. Actually, book ahead regardless. The place has developed an annoying habit of being perpetually busy, which is entirely their own fault for being consistently good.

For families wondering - and I can't believe I'm saying this - but it's actually properly child-friendly rather than just claiming to be. They have a real children's menu, not just smaller portions of adult meals at slightly offensive prices.

The Greyhound Kew has planted itself firmly in that most irritating of categories: places I can't legitimately criticize despite my best efforts. It's walking distance from Kew Gardens, which means you'll have to battle tourists, but even that feels like a minor quibble given the quality of what's on offer.

Fine. I admit it. The Greyhound Kew deserves its success. Book a table, try the roast, have the arancini, and join the rest of us in reluctantly adding it to your list of go-to London spots. Just don't expect me to be happy about having one less thing to complain about in the London dining scene.