The Gun Spitalfields

Just what London needs - another gastropub in Spitalfields trying to convince us they're reinventing the wheel. The Gun Spitalfields positions itself as the thinking person's watering hole, a notion that initially made me roll my eyes so hard I nearly sprained an optic nerve. But damn them, they might actually be onto something here.

Let's address the elephant in the room - yes, The Gun Spitalfields occupies that sweet spot between "I can afford dinner" and "I'll need to skip tomorrow's lunch to balance the books." The prices won't make you gasp, but they're just high enough to make you question your life choices while scanning the menu. Yet somehow, they've managed to justify every pound they're asking for.

The Sunday roast here has become something of a local legend, though I approached it with the skepticism of a cat being offered a vegan dinner. The lamb shank (hovering around £30) initially seemed like highway robbery until it arrived at the table, looking like it had been styled by a food photographer with OCD. But here's the truly irritating part - it was magnificent. The meat practically levitated off the bone, and the roast potatoes achieved that mythical balance of crackling exterior and cloud-like interior that most pubs can only dream about.

I wanted to hate the atmosphere, I really did. The whole "modern pub with actual taste" aesthetic usually sets my teeth on edge, but The Gun Spitalfields has somehow managed to walk that precarious line between contemporary cool and comfortable authenticity. The space feels considered rather than contrived, which is possibly the most backhanded compliment I've ever given a venue's interior design.

The staff, annoyingly, are actually good at their jobs. They're attentive without hovering like helicopter parents, knowledgeable without being pretentious, and - most irritatingly - genuinely seem to enjoy working there. It's almost suspicious how well-orchestrated the service is, though sometimes they're so efficient you barely have time to contemplate your drink choice before they're back for your order. First world problems, I know.

Their beverage program deserves mention, if only because it made me question my long-held beliefs about pub drinks. The beer selection is thoughtfully curated, with Beavertown making a strong showing alongside other crafty offerings that don't make you feel like you're being punk'd by a hipster's dissertation project. The cocktail list is surprisingly competent, though I still maintain that ordering a carefully crafted mixture in a pub feels somewhat transgressive.

Weekend evenings bring a DJ who, against all odds, manages to create an atmosphere that doesn't make you want to flee immediately. The crowd is a mix of local creative types, curious tourists who've wandered off the Spitalfields Market beaten path, and people who actually know their food - all coexisting in an unlikely harmony that shouldn't work but somehow does.

For those planning ahead (and you should, unless waiting lists are your idea of fun), they take reservations. The booking system actually works, which in London's dining scene is about as rare as a reasonable rent price. They're set up for groups too, though I'd suggest keeping your party size manageable unless you enjoy shouting conversations across tables.

Look, I didn't want to like The Gun Spitalfields. It goes against everything my cynical food critic heart stands for. But in a city where mediocrity often masquerades as excellence, they've managed to create something that's genuinely worth your time and money. It's the kind of place that makes you question your commitment to being perpetually unimpressed.

Fine. I admit defeat. The Gun Spitalfields has earned its stripes in London's competitive dining scene. Book a table, order the roast if it's Sunday, and prepare to be irritatingly satisfied. Just don't tell them I sent you - I have a reputation to maintain.