The Lamb

Just what London needs - another pub named The Lamb. How terribly original. I approached this Holborn stalwart with the weary resignation of someone who's endured one too many mediocre Sunday roasts in venues trading solely on their historic charm. But damn it all if The Lamb didn't manage to prove me wrong.

Let's address the elephant in the room - or rather, the sheep. Yes, they serve lamb. Yes, it's actually good. The kitchen seems to take perverse pleasure in defying my predetermined cynicism by consistently turning out perfectly pink cuts that would make even the most jaded food critic (ahem) grudgingly reach for another bite. The wine gravy doesn't taste like it came from a packet either, which in London's pub scene is apparently worthy of a bloody medal.

The space itself is quintessentially London pub - all dark wood, brass fixtures, and etched glass - but somehow manages to avoid feeling like a tourist trap designed by committee. The Victorian-era "snob screens" (those swiveling glass panels above the bar) are actually original, not some manufactured attempt at authenticity. I hate that I'm impressed by this.

The rotating selection of real ales would satisfy even the most pontificating beer bore, though watching the staff expertly navigate the ancient beer engines while simultaneously managing the surprisingly sophisticated wine list is something of a minor miracle. Speaking of staff, they've mastered that rare art of being attentive without hovering - a concept apparently foreign to most London establishments.

Their Sunday roast deserves its own paragraph, if only because it's responsible for destroying my carefully cultivated skepticism. The Yorkshire puddings arrive like golden hot air balloons, achieving that perfect balance between crispy exterior and soft, slightly chewy interior. The seasonal vegetables (yes, actual seasonal vegetables, not just whatever was cheapest at the wholesale market) are treated with unexpected respect. Even the cauliflower cheese - that classic British attempt to make vegetables more unhealthy - manages to be both decadent and properly seasoned.

During the week, the menu strikes an admirable balance between pub classics and more ambitious fare. The fish and chips won't revolutionize the genre, but the batter shatters satisfyingly and the chips actually taste of potato rather than frying oil. Their calamari can be hit or miss, but when they hit, it's with surprising finesse.

The prices sit squarely in the "reasonable for London" category - which is to say, they'll make visitors from up north choke on their pints but won't require a second mortgage. The Sunday roast hovers around the standard London markup for sliced meat and vegetables, but at least here you're paying for quality rather than location.

What's particularly infuriating is how they've managed to maintain a proper pub atmosphere while serving food that transcends typical pub grub expectations. The place gets busy - because of course it does - but even at peak times, you can usually find a corner to colonize. They take reservations too, which in London's pub scene is increasingly rare and increasingly necessary.

Dog-friendly, group-friendly, and equipped with both card payments and curbside pickup for those still living in their pandemic bubbles - The Lamb has adapted to modern demands without sacrificing its soul. There's even decent paid parking nearby, though anyone driving to a pub in central London deserves whatever circle of hell they end up in.

Look, I didn't want to like The Lamb. London has enough gastropubs pretending to reinvent the wheel while serving identical menus at identical prices. But this Holborn gem has managed to do something truly remarkable - deliver on its promises without making a fuss about it. Go for the roast, stay for the atmosphere, and join me in reluctantly admitting that sometimes, just sometimes, London's pub scene can still surprise us. Book ahead for Sunday lunch though - even I've had to learn that lesson the hard way.