The Plough, East Sheen

Another trendy spot in London, The Plough, East Sheen? Because what East Sheen really needed was another pub masquerading as a restaurant, right? Honestly, I rolled my eyes so hard at the thought of this place, nestled somewhere away from the busy streets, hiding like a guilty secret from the West End’s hustle. The last thing I needed was a supposedly “quaint” venue with a name that screams “beer and bangers with a side of pretentiousness.”

But, as much as I fought it, my cynicism began to crumble faster than their dessert (spoiler alert: more on that in a bit). London’s pub scene can be indulgently overrated, yet here I was, reluctantly acknowledging that The Plough, East Sheen earned its buzz. With a respectable 4.4-star rating backed by over 700 reviews (some of them suspiciously enthusiastic but mostly earned), this is a pub that doesn’t just survive by nostalgia or painfully ironic hipster badges—it actually offers a decent, if imperfect, night out.

The turning point? It came disguised in a Sunday roast, naturally. You know the drill: thick slabs of lamb, potatoes that aren’t embarrassingly undercooked, and gravy that tastes like it’s had a real chef’s attention rather than a lucky guess from a packet. Apparently, those who’ve dared to venture here have lauded its Sunday Roast lamb as “delicious” and “reasonably priced,” which—given London’s food inflation—is faint praise turned realistic praise. That roast tenderly punched through my crusty reviewer’s heart with the subtlety of a sledgehammer coated in rosemary.

What really set The Plough apart was the surprisingly warm atmosphere. And not the sinking-into-an-overstuffed-sofa kind of warm, but the genuine, family and pet-friendly vibe that somehow escapes most London pubs preaching 'authenticity.' They’re not just pandering to Instagram influencers or pretentious gastro-pub crawlers; this is a place that makes your dog feel as welcome as your notoriously picky mother-in-law. I even detected a touch of seasonal coziness, one reviewer mentioned it felt like “The Holiday” at Christmas—so take that chain hotel lobby, you’ve got competition.

But wait, before you get out your checkbook and start booking tables, let me ensure I’m not handing out free PR. The dessert experience was a bit of a trainwreck once. A certain crumble was described as rancid, with the staff’s response bordering on blasé. They may have removed the offending dish from the bill but charging full service on top of that? If they want to keep their “warm and welcoming” rep intact, perhaps better apologies are in order. Still, in defense of The Plough, such moments seem rare and possibly isolated; common sense (and the majority of their patrons) suggest this is a hiccup rather than a habit.

The Plough’s outside space is another feather in its cap; the spacious garden area is a rare breed in London where cramped patios and shouting neighbors are the norm. It’s the kind of place you want to nurse a pint quietly while your dog snoozes next to you, safely away from the motorway noise. Their attentive staff, like Mollie (special shout-out), earn genuine marks of praise for doing the often thankless job of managing to keep both drink orders and moods balanced on their trays.

Now, addressing the elephant in the room—price. The Plough, East Sheen charges what one might call a sensible London moderate. You’re not bartering for a mystery meat sandwich at £5, nor are you mortgaging your house for a liver dish. It occupies that uncomfortable middle ground where you expect more than decent pub grub, but you’re also not committing a crime against your wallet slipping a £50 note on the bar. It’s fair. If anything, I’m mildly surprised by the value given the quality, but—as always—I reserved my smug grumbles for other places that promise similar but deliver less.

If you plan to visit, you’ll find The Plough is accommodating beyond the typical stool and tap arrangement. They accept cards, including the modern miracle of NFC payments, for those of you still terrified by the prospect of handling coins. Parking? Free street options are there, if you’re willing to play the patience game that is East Sheen’s local traffic, which, frankly, is a blessing compared to central London chaos. The place is reservable, an essential nugget of info for the indecisive and those who don’t fancy the “walk in and wait forever” roulette.

While The Plough doesn’t claim to dominate London’s breakfast or brunch scene, it does fill in nicely for a solid dinner or casual drink gathering. It serves cocktails and wine alongside their decent beer selection—not revolutionary but enough to keep spirits lifted for an evening out. Families and groups are welcomed with open arms, as is the occasional dog, so you can bring the full entourage without judgment, although I wouldn’t recommend a hyperactive toddler and a nervous chihuahua clash if you want to keep your sanity intact.

Let’s not gloss over the charm of East Sheen itself. This idyllic London suburb, with its leafy streets and quiet charm, provides the perfect stage for The Plough’s unpretentious yet winning appeal. No flashing neon lights, no throngs of tourists—just locals who know what they like, which, in a city that floods in millions of new venues yearly, is a rare and treasured breed. Sure, The Plough might not win the architectural prize or the crown for the most adventurous menu, but it doesn’t try to be the new kid on the block either.

Okay, confession time. After circling around The Plough, East Sheen with a critical eye sharper than a sushi chef’s knife, I have to admit: this place did win me over. You’ll likely spot plenty of familiar faces comfortably mid-week, enjoying a pint or a roast with friends or family. The combination of approachable pricing, genuinely great service (most times), and a vibe that doesn’t make you feel like you stepped into a food museum—it makes this spot worth your hard-earned pound notes.

So stop resisting, book a table, and see for yourself. The Plough, East Sheen isn’t perfect, but it’s pretty damn close for a London pub with a conscience. I fought the charm, but in the end, it won. And sometimes, that’s exactly the kind of defeat worth savoring.