The Hercules, Lambeth

Ah yes, The Hercules in Lambeth, London - another historic pub trying desperately to convince us it's more than just another tourist trap near the Imperial War Museum. Dating back to 1805, it's got that whole "we're older than your great-great-grandparents" charm that London loves to peddle to visitors. But hold onto your skepticism for just a moment, because this place has somehow managed to do something rather annoying: become legitimately worth visiting.

I wanted to hate it, I really did. The exterior screams "traditional London pub" so loudly it's almost painful, with its Victorian architecture and hanging baskets that look like they were arranged by someone who watched exactly one episode of Gardeners' World. Yet stepping inside The Hercules, you're hit with something unexpectedly... pleasant. The space manages that rare balancing act between historic charm and modern comfort, without falling into the usual trap of looking like a Pinterest board gone wrong.

Let's talk about the beer selection, because that's what originally dragged me through the door. The rotating craft options are surprisingly well-curated, and yes, I'm as shocked as you are to be using the word "curated" in reference to a Lambeth pub. The staff actually know their stuff, which is refreshing in an era where many bartenders think IPA is a new social media platform.

Now, about the food. I approached it with the sort of trepidation usually reserved for blind dates and budget airlines, but The Hercules managed to surprise me here too. The menu walks that fine line between pub classics and modern British cuisine, though don't expect any molecular gastronomy nonsense - thank heavens. Their fish and chips (because of course I had to try it) arrives mercifully free of pretentious plating, and the fish actually tastes of fish rather than batter. The chips - sorry, "hand-cut fries" as they insist on calling them - are properly crispy, though they could be more generous with the portion size.

The burger situation deserves its own paragraph, if only because it's become such a contentious topic among regulars. Yes, it's pricier than your local chicken shop, and yes, some days it arrives looking like it's been assembled by someone wearing boxing gloves. But when they get it right - which is more often than not - it's a proper handful of happiness. The meat is actually seasoned (revolutionary concept, I know), and the bun doesn't disintegrate into a soggy mess halfway through.

They do brunch too, because apparently every establishment in London now needs to serve avocado toast or risk losing its license. But here's the thing - their breakfast offerings are actually decent. The full English doesn't look like it's been sitting under a heat lamp since the pub's 1805 founding, and the vegetarian options aren't just mushrooms on toast with a guilty expression.

The space works for both casual pints and proper meals, with that essential London pub quality of making you feel like you could stay for hours without anyone batting an eye. The outdoor seating area is particularly pleasant when London's weather decides to cooperate (approximately 3.5 days per year). They're dog-friendly too, which means you'll occasionally have to share space with someone's precious fur baby named Fitzgerald or Winston.

What really gets me though - and I'm annoyed at having to admit this - is the atmosphere. The Hercules has somehow managed to maintain that elusive proper pub feel while serving food that doesn't make you question your life choices. The staff strike that perfect London balance of being friendly without making you uncomfortable with excessive cheeriness.

For context, you'll find The Hercules nestled in Lambeth, a stone's throw from the Imperial War Museum. It's become something of a local institution, serving everyone from museum-goers to local office workers to residents who've probably been coming here since before the current staff were born. And despite my best efforts to maintain my professional cynicism, I find myself recommending it more often than I'd like to admit.

Look, if you're going to insist on visiting a London pub that serves actual edible food, you might as well make it this one. Book ahead for Sunday roast - yes, it's that kind of place now - and prepare yourself for the peculiar experience of paying Zone 1 London prices while actually getting your money's worth. The Hercules has earned its stripes, and I'm only slightly bitter about having to acknowledge that fact.