The Princess Alexandra

Just what London needs - another supposedly "authentic" pub clinging desperately to its working-class roots while the neighborhood gentrifies around it. The Princess Alexandra in Canning Town had me rolling my eyes before I even crossed the threshold. But damn it all if this stalwart hasn't managed to do the seemingly impossible: remain genuinely unpretentious in a city that's forgotten what that word means.

Let's address the elephant in the room - this isn't some gastro-pub serving deconstructed fish and chips on slate tiles. The Princess Alexandra is doing exactly what it's done since 1867 (though the current building dates to '67): serving decent pints to decent people without making a fuss about it. And maybe that's exactly what we need more of.

The first thing that hits you is the complete absence of the usual London pub makeover checklist. No Edison bulbs. No chalkboard advertising craft IPAs with punny names. No reclaimed industrial furniture that costs more than your monthly rent. Instead, you get proper bar stools, faux leather banquettes that have seen better days (haven't we all?), and absolutely zero pretense about what this place is or isn't.

The two-bar setup feels like a time machine, though I'm still not entirely sure which is meant to be the public and which the saloon. Both are impeccably clean - a detail that shouldn't be noteworthy but somehow is in this age of carefully curated grime. The left bar sprawls invitingly, while its right-hand sibling offers a more intimate setting. Both serve their purpose without trying to impress anyone.

Speaking of service - here's where my cynical heart began to thaw. The staff actually acknowledge your existence without the forced theatricality of "craft" establishments or the sullen indifference of tourist traps. They pull pints like they mean it, and while the beer selection won't excite your beer-influencer friends (Fosters, Theakston, and other "unfashionable" standards), everything's kept and served properly. The prices won't make you weep into your wallet either - a increasingly rare mercy in modern London.

The clientele is refreshingly genuine - a mix of locals who actually live in the area, not just weekend warriors playing at being "authentic." On any given afternoon, you'll find animated conversations around the bar, the occasional burst of laughter that feels earned rather than performative, and sports on the telly that people are actually watching rather than using as Instagram backdrop.

Outside, a few benches provide fresh air seating without trying to rebrand themselves as a "beer garden experience." The West Ham flags flutter proudly - this is unabashedly a football pub, and thank heaven for that. The soundtrack oscillates between soul classics and whatever the moment demands, never trying too hard to create an "atmosphere" because the place already has one.

Let's be clear - The Princess Alexandra isn't perfect. If you're seeking small-batch ales, artisanal bar snacks, or mixologists who've studied the ancient art of garnish placement, you're in the wrong postcode. But if you want a proper pint in a proper pub where the welcome is genuine and the pretense is zero, you've found your spot.

A ten-minute walk from Canning Town tube station, The Princess Alexandra stands as a testament to what London pubs used to be and what a precious few still are. Dog-friendly, sports-showing, card-accepting (yes, they've made some concessions to modernity), and resolutely itself in a city that increasingly feels like anywhere else.

Go now, before someone decides it needs an "concept." Grab a pint, find a corner, and watch real London life unfold around you. Just don't tell too many people about it - some things in this city deserve to stay exactly as they are.