The Scotsman

Just what London needs - another pub with delusions of grandeur masquerading as a culinary destination. The Scotsman sits there in its corner of the city, practically daring you to be impressed with its hybrid British-Indian concept. I'll admit, I walked in with my critic's notebook ready to eviscerate yet another mediocre attempt at cultural fusion. But damn it all if this place hasn't made me eat my words along with some of the best seekh kebabs I've had this side of Birmingham's Balti Triangle.

Let's address the elephant in the room - The Scotsman in London isn't winning any beauty pageants. The exterior has all the charm of your uncle's garage, and the interior falls somewhere between "lovably worn" and "needs a good decorator." But like that one friend who never quite learned to dress properly yet somehow always has the best stories at parties, this place has personality in spades.

The first crack in my cynical armor appeared when the bartender actually knew how to pour a proper pint - a surprisingly rare skill in London these days. Then came the food menu, which I initially dismissed as another half-hearted attempt at pub grub with a dash of curry thrown in for good measure. I've never been happier to be wrong.

Here's the thing about The Scotsman that keeps drawing me back, despite my professional obligation to maintain a properly jaded outlook: they've managed to nail that elusive sweet spot between proper pub and serious Indian kitchen. The mixed grill arrives with the kind of dramatic flair usually reserved for much pricier establishments, and the naan breads are so generous they practically need their own postal code. The seekh kebabs deserve special mention - they're the kind that make you close your eyes involuntarily at first bite, all perfectly spiced and properly karara, as they should be.

The price point sits squarely in the "won't break the bank but won't feel cheap" category, which is refreshing in a city where mediocre venues often charge luxury prices. You can actually have a proper night out here - several rounds, a feast of Indian fare, and still have enough left over for a cab home. Though speaking of getting home, the parking situation is about as organized as a toddler's birthday party. Take public transport if you value your sanity.

The entertainment offering is decidedly old school - pool table, sports on the telly, occasional live music that won't win any awards but gets the job done. There's something oddly charming about watching a cricket match while nursing a pint and demolishing a curry that would make your local takeaway blush with shame. And yes, there's a Royal Enfield motorcycle displayed inside, because why not add a touch of subcontinental motorcycle culture to this already gloriously confused venue?

Service manages to combine British pub efficiency with Indian hospitality - meaning you'll get your drinks quickly and your food whenever the kitchen damn well pleases, but always with a smile that makes it hard to complain. The outdoor seating area exists in that peculiarly British way - technically present but only recommended for smokers and the pathologically optimistic about London weather.

For groups, The Scotsman is a godsend. The portions are generous enough to feed a small army, and the varied menu means even your pickiest friends will find something to eat. They take reservations too, which in London's pub scene is about as rare as a reasonable rent price.

Look, I didn't want to like The Scotsman. It goes against everything my cynical food critic soul stands for - it's unpretentious, genuinely good value, and manages to do fusion cuisine without making me want to write a scathing think piece about cultural appropriation. But here we are. If you're in London and fancy a proper curry in a proper pub with proper pints, you could do far worse than this oddly appealing hybrid. Just don't tell them I sent you - I have a reputation to maintain.