The Grumpy Mole - Cheam

Just what south London needed - another gastropub with a quirky name. The Grumpy Mole in Cheam appears to be yet another establishment trying desperately to convince us that pub grub can be elevated beyond microwaved shepherd's pie. I approached with the enthusiasm of a tax audit, ready to confirm my worst suspicions.

But damn it all if this place hasn't wormed its way into my reluctant affections, much like its namesake might burrow through a pristinely maintained garden. The Grumpy Mole Cheam sits there, smugly defying my predetermined skepticism with actually competent cooking and service that manages to be attentive without hovering like an anxious parent at a school play.

Let's talk about their Sunday roast, shall we? In a city where mediocre roasts are as common as rain, they've somehow managed to create something worth crossing borough lines for. The Yorkshire puddings rise with architectural ambition, and the roast potatoes actually crack satisfyingly under your fork instead of surrendering like wet cardboard. Though I'm contractually obligated as a food critic to find something to complain about, I'm struggling here - perhaps the cauliflower cheese could use a touch more... no, actually, even that's spot on.

Their pie game deserves particular mention. In an age where many establishments consider a sad disc of puff pastry floating atop a bowl of stew to be a "pie," The Grumpy Mole serves proper, fully-encased specimens that would make your grandmother nod in approval. The pastry achieves that mythical balance between flaky and sturdy, while the fillings suggest someone in the kitchen actually understands the concept of seasoning.

The bar area, which I fully expected to be a cramped afterthought, manages to be both functional and inviting. Yes, it can get busy - shocking that other people have also discovered this place - but the staff orchestrate the flow of bodies with surprising grace. The wine list won't win awards, but it's perfectly serviceable, and the beer selection shows someone actually put thought into it rather than just ordering whatever the distributor was pushing that week.

They've done that infuriating thing of making the outdoor seating actually pleasant, with proper heating and coverage that means you won't feel like you're dining in a wind tunnel. Even more annoyingly, they manage to maintain service standards outside, proving that being relegated to the garden doesn't automatically make you a second-class citizen.

The pricing sits in that sweet spot where you can't quite complain but aren't exactly doing cartwheels of joy either. Main courses hover in the teens, which for London in 2025 is practically charitable. Yes, you could find cheaper, but then you'd be eating at places where the microwave is considered the primary piece of kitchen equipment.

The whole operation runs with the kind of efficiency that makes you wonder if they've signed a deal with the devil, or at least hired someone who actually understands how restaurants should work. Reservations are handled competently, the staff actually seem to know what's in the dishes they're serving, and food arrives at your table while it's still hot - revolutionary concepts, I know.

Look, I didn't want to like The Grumpy Mole Cheam. I really didn't. But like finding out that person you initially couldn't stand is actually rather charming, I've had to adjust my position. It's not revolutionizing cuisine or pushing gastronomic boundaries, but it's doing something arguably more important - delivering consistently good food in an environment where you actually want to spend time.

If you must know - and I can't believe I'm saying this - yes, you should book a table at The Grumpy Mole. Just don't tell them I sent you. I have a reputation to maintain, and being caught recommending a suburban London pub might ruin my carefully cultivated image of cynical disdain.