The Lucky Saint

Just what London needed - another pub claiming to reinvent the wheel. The Lucky Saint in London's Fitzrovia district initially struck me as yet another attempt to cash in on the craft beer revolution. Tucked away at the intersection of Hallam and Devonshire streets, it has all the hallmarks of trying too hard: minimalist décor, carefully curated beer list, and that insufferably knowing attitude that seems to pervade every new London watering hole.

And yet... damn it all if The Lucky Saint hasn't wormed its way into my cynical heart.

Perhaps it's the way they've managed to thread the needle between trendy and traditional. While most London pubs these days seem intent on stripping away every last vestige of character in favor of Instagram-worthy industrial chic, The Lucky Saint has maintained just enough old-school charm to feel authentic. The dartboard isn't there as an ironic statement - it's there because sometimes you actually want to throw pointy objects after a long day at the office.

What truly sets this place apart - and I can't believe I'm saying this - is their approach to non-alcoholic options. Usually, I'd rather drink tap water than suffer through the sad parade of alcohol-free alternatives that taste like bitter memories of better drinks. But The Lucky Saint's namesake 0.5% beer is something of a minor miracle. It actually tastes like... well, beer. Real beer. The kind you'd choose to drink even if you weren't playing designated driver or nursing last night's questionable decisions.

The space itself deserves reluctant praise. It's small enough to feel intimate but not so cramped that you're forced to become uncomfortably familiar with your neighbor's conversation about their recent juice cleanse. The upstairs area is particularly well-conceived, offering a retreat from the ground floor's more lively atmosphere. It's the kind of space where you could actually hear yourself think - a rapidly disappearing luxury in London's pub scene.

The staff, against all odds, manage to strike that elusive balance between attentive and overbearing. They know their products inside and out, yet somehow resist the urge to lecture you about hop profiles or barrel-aging processes unless specifically asked. In today's world of craft beer evangelists, this restraint feels almost revolutionary.

Outside seating is available for those brave souls willing to wage war with London's weather and passing traffic, though its position just off Great Portland Street means it's slightly more peaceful than most central London outdoor spots. Inside, the atmosphere manages to be both contemporary and comfortable - no small feat in a city where "modern pub design" often translates to "uncomfortable stools and excessive Edison bulbs."

The food menu, while limited to cold options, is mercifully free of pretense. They're not trying to be a gastropub (thank heaven), but what they do offer is well-executed and sensibly priced. The selection of both alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages is impressive without being overwhelming - a curated list that suggests confidence rather than confusion about their identity.

For those keeping score, The Lucky Saint accepts all major forms of payment (including contactless), welcomes four-legged friends, and offers enough space for small groups without becoming a dreaded party venue. The bathrooms are clean - a detail that shouldn't be noteworthy but sadly is in many London establishments.

Look, I didn't want to like The Lucky Saint. London has enough pubs trying to be all things to all people. But there's something genuinely special about this place, something that transcends its clever concept and carefully considered execution. It's managed to create that rarest of things in modern London - a pub that feels both current and timeless, where you can have a proper drink (alcoholic or otherwise) without feeling like you're participating in someone's social media content strategy.

If you find yourself in Fitzrovia and in need of a drink - any kind of drink - The Lucky Saint deserves your attention. Just don't tell them I sent you. I have a reputation to maintain, and admitting they've won me over is already more vulnerability than I'm comfortable with.