The Pacific Tavern

Just what London needs - another gastro pub masquerading as a neighborhood tavern. The Pacific Tavern in London's increasingly gentrified landscape initially struck me as yet another pretender to the authentic British pub throne. You know the type: exposed brick walls, craft beer lists longer than War and Peace, and prices that make you wonder if they're charging by the syllable.

But damn them for actually getting it right.

I arrived determined to hate The Pacific Tavern London with the burning passion of a thousand disappointed food critics. The first crack in my cynical armor appeared when I noticed they hadn't completely sanitized the soul out of the place. The furniture has character without trying too hard - no Instagram-bait neon signs or deliberately distressed wooden tables that cost more than my first car.

The outdoor terrace deserves special mention, if only because it manages to be spacious without feeling like an airport terminal. During events like the London Marathon, they set up screens that actually work - a miracle in itself for a London pub. And yes, you can bring your dog, though I'd appreciate if you'd teach little Fido that my shoelaces aren't artisanal chew toys.

Now, about the food. I ordered the Sunday roast with all the skepticism of a cat being offered a vegan diet. The lamb arrived, and I prepared my most scathing adjectives. Instead, I found myself struggling to maintain my professional disappointment. The meat was properly cooked, the vegetables weren't an afterthought (the naturally sweet carrots and parsnips nearly stole the show), and the gravy wasn't the usual brown water masquerading as sauce.

Their Christmas dinner (yes, I've been multiple times - judge me if you must) features a turkey that somehow manages to be moist. I know, I thought it was a myth too. The ribeye could feed a small village, arrives properly medium-rare, and doesn't require the jaw strength of a crocodile to chew. Their cheese board is genuinely generous, not the three sad chunks of cheddar many places try to pass off as a proper selection.

The staff manages that rare balance between attentiveness and hovering. They're knowledgeable without being pretentious, friendly without being cloying. It's almost annoying how good they are at their jobs.

Let's talk about the bar situation because, well, it's a pub. The cocktail list is solid, though I'd recommend skipping the Aperol Spritz if you're sitting outside - they serve it in plastic cups that make the portion look rather sad. The beer selection is extensive without crossing into "craft beer encyclopedia" territory, and they actually know how to store and serve wine properly, which shouldn't be remarkable but somehow is.

For sports enthusiasts (I'm not one, but I'm told this matters), they've got multiple screens and actually know how to use them. The sound levels remain civilized enough that you can still hold a conversation without performing an impromptu mime show.

During festivals and events, it gets busy - very busy. But even then, they maintain some semblance of order, though I'd recommend booking ahead unless you enjoy playing musical chairs with strangers.

The outdoor kitchen adds an interesting dimension, especially during summer months. There's something oddly satisfying about watching your food being prepared in the open air, even if London weather occasionally turns it into an extreme sport.

Fine, I'll admit it. The Pacific Tavern London has earned its place in the city's competitive pub scene. It's managed to thread the needle between traditional pub comfort and modern expectations without falling into the usual traps of either trying too hard or not trying hard enough. Book a table, bring your friends (they actually have space for groups), and prepare to be reluctantly impressed. Just don't tell them I sent you - I have a reputation to maintain.