The Hunter's Moon

Just what London needs - another gastropub with delusions of grandeur. The Hunter's Moon in South Ken wants desperately to be both your cozy local and your special occasion destination, which usually means failing spectacularly at both. And yet, against my better judgment and years of professional cynicism, I find myself reluctantly impressed.

Let's address the elephant in the room - The Hunter's Moon is trying very hard to be posh. The interior walks that precarious line between "thoughtfully curated" and "interior designer gone wild after a Pinterest binge." But somehow, improbably, it works. The space manages to feel both special and welcoming, like that friend who always dresses impeccably but never makes you feel underdressed.

I arrived determined to hate it. Another London pub serving small portions of familiar dishes at eye-watering prices? Please. But then the food started arriving, and my carefully constructed wall of skepticism began to crumble.

The Sunday roast (because of course I had to try their Sunday roast - it's practically mandatory for any London pub with aspirations) was, I'm pained to admit, exceptional. The beef was cooked with the kind of precision that makes you wonder if they've got a quantum physicist manning the kitchen. The Yorkshire pudding - that greatest of British litmus tests - rose to magnificent heights both literally and metaphorically. Even the vegetables, usually an afterthought, showed evidence of actual culinary consideration.

Their starters deserve special mention, if only because they've managed to make me care about starters again. The squid, which I ordered fully expecting to pen a scathing paragraph about rubber bands masquerading as seafood, was tender enough to cut with a stern look. The croquettes achieved that mythical balance between crispy exterior and creamy interior that has eluded lesser establishments for centuries.

What's particularly infuriating is how they've managed to nail the service style. The staff strike that perfect note between attentive and overbearing, appearing exactly when you need them like some sort of hospitality ninjas. They know the menu inside out, make intelligent wine suggestions, and - most annoyingly - seem genuinely enthusiastic about working there.

The drinks program deserves its own paragraph, if only because I spent considerable time trying to find fault with it. The wine list is thoughtful without being pretentious, the cocktails are crafted with precision rather than showmanship, and they haven't forgotten they're a pub - the beer selection would make any self-respecting ale enthusiast nod in approval.

Let's talk about the ambiance, shall we? The Hunter's Moon has somehow managed to create distinct spaces that flow seamlessly into each other. The bar area maintains its pubby soul while the dining room offers enough refinement to justify bringing your fussy aunt for her birthday dinner. It's frustratingly well-thought-out.

For those keeping score at home: yes, they take reservations (and you'll need them), the bathrooms are immaculate (I checked, thoroughly), and they've managed to make Sunday lunch feel special without crossing into stuffy territory. They serve lunch and dinner throughout the week, and their brunch offering is causing quite a stir among the local crowd.

The Hunter's Moon sits in that sweet spot between casual and special occasion dining that so many London establishments aim for and miss. It's the kind of place where you could pop in for a quick drink and end up staying for dinner, or deliberately plan a celebration months in advance. Both scenarios would feel equally appropriate.

So here I am, eating my words along with some of the best comfort food in London. The Hunter's Moon has managed to be everything it claims to be, and I find myself planning return visits despite my professional obligation to remain aloof and critical. Book a table. Go for the Sunday roast. Try the squid. Just don't tell them I sent you - I have a reputation to maintain.