The Ship

Just what London needs - another pub claiming to be a cut above the local boozer. The Ship in London had me rolling my eyes before I'd even crossed the threshold, expecting the usual suspects: mediocre ales, microwaved pub grub, and that peculiarly British ability to charge moderate prices for decidedly immoderate disappointment.

I'll admit, grudgingly, that the first crack in my cynicism appeared when I pushed open that weathered door. The interior actually manages to thread the needle between "cozy traditional pub" and "we've actually decorated since the Thatcher administration." There's something almost annoyingly authentic about the place - worn wooden floors that have absorbed decades of spilled pints, corners dark enough to hide secrets, and log fires that don't feel like they were installed last week by a gastropub consultant.

Let's talk about the beer selection, shall we? I arrived fully prepared to mock whatever sad lineup of predictable pours they'd assembled. Instead, I found myself confronted with a genuinely thoughtful rotation of ales that suggested someone behind the bar actually gives a damn. It's the kind of place where you can order something other than the usual suspects without getting that look from the bartender - you know the one.

The food menu had me suspicious at first glance. Any London pub that offers both a proper Sunday roast and a Goan fish curry is usually setting itself up for failure at both. But here's where The Ship really forced me to eat my words (along with, I might add, some surprisingly well-executed dishes). The curry actually tastes like someone's grandmother had a hand in the recipe rather than a corporate cookbook, and the prawns weren't reduced to rubber bands - a miracle in itself for pub seafood.

The service manages to hit that sweet spot between attentive and overbearing, which is harder than it sounds. There's a particular server named Sarah who somehow makes you feel like you're a regular even if it's your first visit - and I'm generally allergic to that kind of forced familiarity. Yet here I am, admitting it actually works.

Don't get me started on the beer garden. Just when you think you've seen every possible variation of "three picnic tables next to a bin," The Ship goes and provides an actually pleasant outdoor space. It's the kind of setup that makes you forgive London's weather, or at least forget about it after a pint or two.

They do quiz nights, which I normally avoid like a warm lager, but something about the atmosphere here makes even that bearable. Perhaps it's the way they manage to make it challenging without veering into pub quiz master smugness. Or maybe it's just that the drinks are good enough to make you not care if you're losing.

The pricing sits in that dangerous middle ground where it could go either way - worthy investment or daylight robbery. But I have to concede (through gritted teeth) that you generally get what you pay for here. The portions are proper, the quality is consistent, and you won't need to remortgage for a round of drinks.

Here's what you need to know: they take reservations (use them - the main dining room is infinitely preferable to the overflow area), they're dog-friendly (and actually mean it, rather than just tolerating your four-legged friend with barely concealed disdain), and they've got those little touches - like proper log fires in winter - that make you forget you're in 21st century London for a moment.

Look, I don't enjoy admitting when I'm wrong. But The Ship in London has managed to become one of those rare establishments that makes me question my professional cynicism. Whether you're after a proper pint, a surprisingly good curry, or just a corner of London where you can pretend the outside world doesn't exist for a few hours, you'll find it here. Just don't tell them I sent you - I've got a reputation to maintain.