The Sekforde

Just what London needs - another pub claiming to be a hidden gem in Clerkenwell. The Sekforde sits there, all smugly tucked away on its namesake street, practically daring you not to fall for its charms. And wouldn't you know it? Like the reluctant protagonist in a romantic comedy, I found myself gradually, irritatingly, won over.

Let's be clear - I approached The Sekforde in London with the weary skepticism of someone who's suffered through enough gastropub mediocrity to last several lifetimes. The building itself, with its handsome Georgian facade, seemed to be trying a bit too hard to be photogenic. "Oh look," I thought, "another historic London pub that's probably been stripped of its soul and filled with exposed Edison bulbs and craft beer pretension."

But then something unexpected happened. I stepped inside, and instead of the usual carefully curated "authentic pub experience" (an oxymoron if I've ever heard one), The Sekforde offered something rather... genuine. The space manages to thread that impossibly fine needle between preserved character and thoughtful updating. The original features haven't been preserved with museum-like sterility, nor have they been obliterated in favor of industrial-chic clichés.

The Sunday roast here deserves special mention, if only because it forced me to eat my words along with my Yorkshire pudding. While the vegetables might not arrive at thermonuclear temperatures (a point of contention for some), they're actually cooked by someone who apparently understands that 'al dente' isn't just fancy Italian for 'we forgot about these in the prep drawer.' The meat - and I say this through gritted teeth - is consistently excellent. The gravy doesn't taste like it came from a granule, which in today's London pub scene is practically worthy of a Michelin star.

The prices sit in that sweet spot where you can't quite complain but aren't exactly doing cartwheels of joy either. You'll pay London pub prices because, shock horror, you're in a London pub. But at least here you won't feel like you've been mugged by a menu.

The beer selection rotates with enough frequency to keep the craft beer enthusiasts happy without alienating those who just want a decent pint. The wine list is surprisingly thoughtful for a pub, and the cocktails don't feel like an afterthought - though if you order a Manhattan expecting some mixology masterpiece, you might want to check your GPS and remember you're in a pub in EC1.

What's particularly irksome is how they've managed to maintain a proper pub atmosphere while still being the kind of place you could bring your parents or a first date. The outdoor seating area, while not exactly the Gardens of Versailles, provides a pleasant enough spot for a pint when London's weather decides to cooperate (approximately 3.5 days per year).

Dog-friendly without becoming a canine social club, group-friendly without devolving into a rugby scrum, The Sekforde has somehow achieved that elusive balance that makes a pub actually, well, pubby. The staff maintain that increasingly rare combination of being both competent and genuine - they might even crack a smile that doesn't look like it was learned in customer service training.

Here's the truly infuriating part: despite my best efforts to maintain professional cynicism, I've found myself recommending The Sekforde to friends. "You know that pub in Clerkenwell I mentioned?" I'll say, trying to sound casual. "The one I said was probably just another gentrified disaster? Well, actually..."

If you're in the area - and even if you're not - The Sekforde is worth seeking out. Book ahead for Sunday roast unless you enjoy disappointment. Accept that the vegetables won't burn your tongue. Embrace the fact that sometimes, just sometimes, a London pub can surprise you. Just don't tell them I sent you - I have a reputation to maintain.