The Pride of Spitalfields London

Just what London needs - another supposedly "authentic" pub claiming to be the last bastion of proper East End culture. The Pride of Spitalfields London sits there, smugly wearing its traditional facade like a badge of honor, practically daring you to find fault with its well-worn carpets and perfectly preserved 1970s atmosphere. And yet...

I hate to admit it, but there's something undeniably magnetic about this place. Maybe it's the way it steadfastly refuses to cave to the sleek minimalism that's infected every other drinking establishment within a five-mile radius. Or perhaps it's how it manages to serve a pint of London Pride that's so consistently perfect, it makes you question whether you've been drinking glorified dishwater everywhere else.

The pub's interior looks like your granddad's living room had a passionate affair with a Victorian drinking den. It shouldn't work. It really shouldn't. But somehow, against all odds and my better judgment, it does. The worn wooden bar, which has probably witnessed more East End stories than a Barbara Windsor autobiography, gleams with the kind of patina you can't fake - believe me, plenty have tried.

Let's talk about the prices because I'm still struggling to process them. In a city where paying for a pint often requires a small bank loan, The Pride of Spitalfields London maintains the kind of pricing structure that makes you double-check your receipt. £5.50 for a perfectly poured ESB? In 2025? In London? I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never did.

The regulars - and there are plenty - treat the place like their second home, which would be annoying if they weren't so disgustingly welcoming. They've mastered that rare art of making you feel like you've been coming here for years, even if it's your first visit. It's the kind of authentic local atmosphere that corporate pub chains spend millions trying to replicate, only to end up with all the charm of an airport departure lounge.

And then there's the pub dog. Because of course there's a pub dog. Just when you think you're maintaining your critical distance, this four-legged PR manager comes padding over, and suddenly you're that person taking photos for their Instagram story. It's manipulative, really. Brilliant, but manipulative.

The live music nights are another surprise. Monday's proper music session and Tuesday's piano sing-along should be tragic - the kind of entertainment that makes you want to fake a family emergency to escape. Instead, they're genuinely enjoyable affairs that remind you why people used to socialize without staring at their phones all evening.

What really gets me is how they've maintained their standards without succumbing to the usual London pub pitfalls. No craft beer menu that reads like a pretentious novella. No small plates of deconstructed cockney classics. No Instagram wall. Just proper drinks, served properly, in a proper pub. The audacity of it all.

The location, tucked away just off Commercial Street, feels like a deliberate act of defiance against the Shoreditch-ification of the East End. It's like finding a Bowl of Noodles stand in Mayfair - it shouldn't exist, but thank god it does.

Is it perfect? No. The facilities are... functional at best. The carpet has seen things that would make a therapist weep. And if you're looking for a gastropub experience, you'd better keep walking. But that's entirely the point. In a city increasingly dominated by identikit bars and pop-up everything, The Pride of Spitalfields London stands as a testament to the simple art of running a proper boozer.

Look, I didn't want to like it. I really didn't. But if you're seeking an authentic London pub experience that hasn't been focus-grouped to within an inch of its life, you'll find it here. Just don't all rush at once - some of us critics need somewhere genuine to drink when we're not being forced to review whatever hot new concept bar has just opened in Shoreditch. And if you see me there, pretend you don't recognize me. I have a reputation to maintain.