The Shanakee

Just what London needs - another Irish pub masquerading as authentic craic. The Shanakee in London's bustling streets initially struck me as yet another establishment riding the endless wave of Celtic nostalgia. You know the type: shamrocks plastered everywhere, "Kiss Me I'm Irish" merchandise gathering dust, and Guinness-themed everything. But damn it all if this place hasn't wormed its way into my cynical heart.

Let's address the elephant in the room - The Shanakee's prices are suspiciously reasonable for London. In a city where a pint can cost as much as a small car payment, finding properly priced drinks feels about as likely as spotting a unicorn doing the tube run to Piccadilly Circus. Yet here we are, with beer prices that won't force you to remortgage your flat.

The Guinness pour here is - and I can't believe I'm writing this - actually legitimate. None of that rushed, amateur-hour nonsense you get at most London pubs where they treat Ireland's finest export like it's just another lager. The staff here actually respect the sacred two-part pour, and they'll give you the evil eye if you try to grab it before it's properly settled. It's the kind of attention to detail that makes me question my commitment to perpetual disappointment.

Live music is another aspect where The Shanakee Could Have Gone Horribly Wrong™ but somehow doesn't. Instead of the usual painful renditions of "Galway Girl" by some gap-year guitarist, they manage to book musicians who actually understand the difference between Irish traditional music and whatever Ed Sheeran thinks it is. The atmosphere hits that sweet spot between lively and deafening - you can still hear yourself think, even if your thoughts are increasingly slurred as the evening progresses.

The clientele is refreshingly diverse for a traditional Irish pub, though watching suited professionals attempt to sing along to The Pogues never stops being entertaining. The bar staff, contrary to the stoic demeanor you might expect, actually seem to enjoy their jobs - a concept so foreign in London hospitality that I had to check if I'd accidentally wandered into an alternate dimension.

Dog-friendly policies are usually a recipe for chaos, but The Shanakee somehow manages to maintain order even with the occasional four-legged patron. I've witnessed more civilized behavior from the dogs than some of the humans during football matches, though that's hardly surprising given London's relationship with Premier League weekends.

Speaking of sports, they show the important matches without letting it dominate the atmosphere - a delicate balance that most pubs butcher more thoroughly than a first-year medical student. The screens are well-placed enough that you can either engage with the game or ignore it entirely, depending on your preference and level of sports-induced trauma.

The physical space itself is a clever mix of traditional pub elements and modern necessities. Yes, there's dark wood paneling and those predictable vintage Guinness posters, but they've also installed enough charging points to support our collective phone addiction. The bathrooms - often the final frontier of pub civilization - are surprisingly well-maintained, which in London pub terms is practically a miracle on par with finding a seat on the Northern Line during rush hour.

Now, I'm contractually obligated as a critic to find something to complain about, so here goes: the pub can get properly packed, especially during prime hours. But honestly, in a city where empty pubs usually signal imminent closure or food poisoning, a crowd is more endorsement than criticism.

Located in a neighborhood that's seen more reinventions than Madonna, The Shanakee has managed to become that rarest of things in London - a pub that actually feels like a proper local. It's the kind of place where you might pop in for a quick pint and emerge four hours later with three new friends and a slightly concerning appreciation for Irish whiskey.

Go ahead, visit The Shanakee. Join the eclectic mix of locals, tourists, and confused City workers who've found their way here. Just don't blame me when you find yourself becoming one of those irritating people who won't shut up about finding "a proper pub in London." Though I suppose, much to my chagrin, you'd actually be right.