The Prince of Wales

Just what London needs - another pub claiming to serve "authentic" Indian food. The Prince of Wales in London had me rolling my eyes before I even walked through its decidedly unglamorous doors. Between the football matches blaring on multiple screens and the worn carpet that's seen better decades, I was ready to file this under "typical British curry house meets mediocre boozer."

But damn it if this place hasn't wormed its way into my cynical heart.

Let's address the elephant in the room - The Prince of Wales looks exactly how you'd expect a London pub that's been around since God knows when to look. The interior design philosophy appears to be "whatever was here in 1987 is good enough for 2025." And yet, there's something oddly charming about its complete lack of pretension. It's like that friend who still wears cargo shorts and doesn't care what anyone thinks - somehow managing to pull it off through sheer confidence.

The moment my carefully constructed wall of skepticism began to crack was when the mixed grill arrived. I'd ordered it fully expecting to craft a scathing paragraph about dried-out meat and bland seasoning. Instead, I found myself face-to-face with some of the most perfectly spiced lamb chops I've encountered this side of Bradford. The prawns, which in lesser establishments often resemble rubber bands in both texture and flavor, were plump little crescents of oceanic perfection. Even the kebabs, usually the sad afterthought of any mixed grill, demanded attention.

The service, much to my chagrin, refuses to give me anything to complain about. The staff operates with an efficiency that borders on suspicious for a London pub, managing to be both attentive and refreshingly unpretentious. They know their beer selection intimately - and yes, the selection is actually worth knowing about. It's like they're deliberately sabotaging my attempt to write a deliciously scathing review.

Speaking of beer, the tap selection deserves its own grudging paragraph of praise. While your typical London pub-curry house hybrid usually offers the same tired options, The Prince of Wales maintains a surprisingly well-curated selection that pairs beautifully with their food. And yes, I'm as shocked as you are to find myself using the word "curated" in relation to a pub that still has a ceiling fan from the Thatcher era.

The price point sits squarely in the "I can't even complain about this" territory. You're not going to need to remortgage your house for dinner, but you're also not paying suspicious "what exactly is this meat" prices. The portions are generous enough to satisfy even the most demanding value-hunters, though I'm loathe to admit I'm starting to sound like a TripAdvisor enthusiast.

They've managed to nail that elusive sweet spot between proper pub and quality Indian restaurant, which is about as rare as finding a London rental under £1000. The food is legitimate enough to satisfy curry connoisseurs while maintaining its unpretentious pub soul. You can watch the match, enjoy a pint, and feast on Indian food that would make your local takeaway weep with inadequacy.

Yes, it gets noisy when there's football on. Yes, the décor won't win any design awards this millennium. And yes, you might have to queue for a table during peak hours because apparently, I'm not the only one who's discovered this irritatingly excellent establishment. But that's part of its charm, though it pains me to use that word.

The Prince of Wales sits in a London neighborhood that's seen enough gastropub makeovers to last several lifetimes, yet it stubbornly remains exactly what it is - a proper pub serving properly good Indian food. It's the kind of place you end up telling your friends about, even though you initially planned to keep it to yourself out of spite.

Go there. Order the mixed grill. Get an extra portion of lamb chops because you'll want them. Grab a pint of something interesting on tap. Then join me in the reluctant acknowledgment that sometimes, just sometimes, a place can be genuinely good without trying to reinvent the wheel or garnish everything with microgreens. The Prince of Wales in London has made me eat my words, and they were delicious.