The Mitre Lancaster Gate

Just what London needs - another "traditional" pub trying to convince tourists they're getting an authentic British experience. The Mitre Lancaster Gate sits there smugly near Hyde Park, practically daring you to find fault with its admittedly handsome Victorian facade. I approached with the kind of skepticism reserved for street performers in Covent Garden, fully prepared to pen another scathing review about overpriced mediocrity in W2.

But damn it all if The Mitre Lancaster Gate didn't make me eat my words along with some surprisingly good fish and chips.

Let's address the elephant in the wood-paneled room - yes, it's bigger than your typical corner pub. Those seeking a cramped, authentically grimy London boozer where you have to shuffle sideways to reach the bar might be disappointed. Instead, The Mitre sprawls across multiple rooms like a Victorian gentleman who's had a bit too much port, complete with roaring fireplaces that actually work (a miracle in modern London) and enough nooks and crannies to hide from that colleague who won't stop talking about crypto.

The beer selection would make a CAMRA member grudgingly nod in approval, though they'd never admit it publicly. They've managed to maintain proper cellar temperatures - something that shouldn't be noteworthy but sadly is in this age of Instagram-first, proper-pint-second establishments. And while the prices won't make you spill your drink in shock, they're reasonable enough for the area that you won't need to remortgage your flat for a round.

What really forced me to reconsider my initial disdain was the food. The kitchen here clearly didn't get the memo about pub grub being an afterthought. Their fish and chips - that tired old tourist trap of a dish - emerges from the kitchen looking like it actually wants to be eaten rather than photographed. The batter shatters satisfyingly, revealing flaky white fish that tastes of the sea rather than the freezer. Yes, it's a touch salty, but so am I, and it works.

The real revelation, though, is the shallot tatin. It's the kind of dish that makes you wonder if they've accidentally hired a chef with Michelin aspirations who's trying to hide out in a pub kitchen. Sweet, savory, and sophisticated without being pretentious - much like The Mitre itself, though it pains me to make the comparison.

The service manages to strike that elusive balance between attentive and overbearing, and the staff actually seem to know their stuff about the drinks they're serving. It's almost as if they've been trained properly - a revolutionary concept in modern hospitality, I know.

Dog owners, rejoice - your four-legged friends are welcome here, though do try to keep them from hogging the prime spots by the fire. The outdoor seating area proves useful when London remembers it has a summer, and they've sensibly invested in heat lamps for the other 364 days of the year.

The payment system is modernized enough to handle everything from contactless to credit cards, though there's something slightly irksome about having to settle up for each round separately. But perhaps that's just my jaded expectation of running a tab everywhere speaking.

Positioned perfectly for an after-park pint or pre-dinner drinks, The Mitre Lancaster Gate has carved out its own identity in an area that could easily sustain yet another soulless chain pub. The building's historic charm has been preserved without becoming a parody of itself, and the atmosphere manages to welcome both locals and tourists without alienating either - no small feat in this part of London.

So, fine. I admit defeat. The Mitre Lancaster Gate is worth your time and money. Book a table if you're planning to eat - the secret's unfortunately out about the quality of the food. And if you see a food critic in the corner trying not to look too pleased while savoring a perfectly pulled pint and that damnable shallot tatin, do me a favor and pretend you don't recognize me. I have a reputation to maintain.