The Old Queens Head

Just what London needs - another historic pub claiming to be the perfect blend of traditional and trendy. The Old Queens Head in Angel had me rolling my eyes before I even crossed the threshold. Victorian bones with a modern pulse? Please. We've all heard that one before, usually right before being served a microwaved pie and warm beer by a bartender who'd rather be anywhere else.

But damn it if this place hasn't wormed its way into my regularly-frequented list. I hate myself a little for admitting this, but The Old Queens Head might actually be the rare London pub that delivers on its promises. The building itself is properly atmospheric - all wooden beams and worn floorboards that have seen more than their fair share of spilled pints. Yet somehow they've managed to update it without destroying its soul, which in London's pub scene is about as common as a reasonable rent price.

The first crack in my cynical armor appeared during a Sunday roast. I'd been dragged there by friends who insisted it was "different." (Eye roll.) Then the lamb arrived. Perfectly pink, properly rested, with gravy that actually tasted like it had seen the inside of a kitchen rather than a Bisto packet. The Yorkshire pudding was the size of a small moon, and for once, that wasn't compensating for lack of quality. The accompanying cauliflower cheese - usually an afterthought - was borderline indecent in its richness.

Let's talk about the drinks because that's where most gastropub pretenders fall apart faster than a soggy bottom on Bake Off. The Old Queens Head's bar staff actually know their stuff, and not in that irritating "let me tell you the life story of this gin" way. The cocktails are proper cocktails, not sad approximations, and they haven't forgotten they're a pub - the beer selection is thoughtfully curated without veering into craft beer snobbery.

What really gets me is the vibe. During the day, it's bright and airy, with enough space to actually find a table (a miracle in Angel). Come evening, it transforms into something livelier without descending into the usual chaos of a London pub night. They've managed to thread that impossible needle between "actually fun" and "won't make you hate humanity."

The music programming deserves special mention - and I can't believe I'm about to praise a pub's entertainment calendar. But between the DJs who apparently own more than just the Spotify Top 40 playlist and live music that won't make your ears bleed, they've created something that feels curated rather than merely booked.

Dogs are welcome, which usually sets off my "trying too hard to be cool" alarm, but even this works here. The four-legged patrons seem as relaxed as their humans, probably because the staff actually seem to like having them around instead of just tolerating them for the 'gram.

Price-wise, it sits in that sweet spot where you're not being robbed blind but you're paying enough to ensure your dinner wasn't defrosted at 3 AM. The Sunday roast hovers around the London average, but the quality justifies every penny. The drinks prices won't make you choke on your pint, which in Zone 1 is practically a public service.

Look, I didn't want to like The Old Queens Head. London has enough pubs claiming to be the perfect local while serving Instagram aesthetics over substance. But this place has managed to be both a proper pub and a genuine gathering spot. The staff actually seem to enjoy their jobs (suspicious, I know, but I've watched carefully and the smiles appear genuine), the food consistently delivers, and the atmosphere hits that elusive sweet spot between lively and overwhelming.

Fine. I'll say it. The Old Queens Head is worth your time. Whether you're after a Sunday roast that'll make your nan proud, a post-work pint that won't require a second mortgage, or a night out that won't leave you questioning your life choices, this Angel institution has somehow managed to be all things to all people without losing its identity. Book ahead for Sunday lunch - those Yorkshire puddings have developed quite the following, and I'm irritated to report they deserve it.