The Holland Tringham - JD Wetherspoon

Ah yes, The Holland Tringham in London, another JD Wetherspoon's establishment gracing Streatham High Road with its predictably affordable presence. I'll admit, I approached this particular 'Spoons with the same enthusiasm I reserve for dental appointments, but like that one Brexit-voting uncle who surprisingly makes sense after a few pints, it's grown on me.

Let's address the elephant in the room - it's a Wetherspoons. The mere mention typically sends food critics running for the nearest artisanal sourdough bakery. But in a city where a pint can cost more than your monthly Netflix subscription, The Holland Tringham stands as a beacon of fiscal responsibility, albeit one wrapped in questionably patterned carpets.

The space itself defies the usual Wetherspoons stereotype of being a converted cinema/bank/public lavatory. Split across two levels, it actually manages to feel less like a cafeteria and more like somewhere you'd willingly spend time. The upstairs area provides refuge for those seeking elevation from their libations, while the downstairs bar area bustles with the kind of energy that makes you forget you're drinking in a chain pub.

I found myself particularly taken with the beer garden - a rare London commodity that doesn't require elbowing through Instagram influencers to claim your square foot of sunshine. It's compact, yes, but somehow manages to avoid the sardine-tin feel of most London outdoor spaces. The 9:45 PM closure seems unnecessarily prudish, though perhaps it's for the best - nothing good happens in London beer gardens after 10 PM anyway.

The drink selection, I must grudgingly admit, is more than decent. The rotating guest ales provide enough variety to keep even the most discerning beer snob temporarily satisfied, and at prices that make you double-check your bill. When a pint of craft IPA costs less than a London bus fare, you start to question everything you thought you knew about the capital's drinking scene.

The app ordering system - a post-pandemic necessity that's stuck around like that friend who crashes on your couch "just for a week" - actually works seamlessly. No more awkward bar-leaning or trying to catch the eye of staff who've mastered the art of selective blindness. Just tap, pay, and wait for your number to flash up like some sort of alcoholic bingo.

Food-wise, let's be realistic - we're not in Michelin star territory. But for what you're paying, the curry club nights are surprisingly legitimate. The Chicken Tikka Masala won't have you canceling your trips to Brick Lane, but it's several notches above what you'd expect from a pub chain where you can get a pint and a meal for less than a Zone 1 tube fare.

The cleanliness levels deserve a special mention - particularly the toilets, which are maintained with an enthusiasm that suggests the manager's previous career was in operating theater sanitation. In the grand spectrum of London pub bathrooms, where the baseline is often "enter at your own risk," this is no small achievement.

The staff, contrary to what you might expect from a high-volume, budget-conscious establishment, actually seem to give a damn. They're efficient without being robotic, friendly without being artificial, and somehow maintain their composure even during the post-work rush when the place fills up faster than a Northern Line train at Bank station.

Located a short stumble from various bus stops and within walking distance of the train station, The Holland Tringham has positioned itself perfectly for both destination drinking and convenience pinting. In a neighborhood where gentrification creeps ever upward like rising damp, it provides a necessary anchor of accessibility.

So here I am, eating my words along with surprisingly decent pub grub. The Holland Tringham proves that sometimes, just sometimes, the democratic approach to drinking and dining has its place in London's gastronomic landscape. Go for the prices, stay for the surprisingly pleasant atmosphere, and maybe, like me, find yourself reluctantly adding it to your list of "acceptable places to meet friends when everyone's skint." Just don't tell my food critic colleagues - I have a reputation to maintain.