The Sun Pub

Just what London needs - another pub with "Sun" in its name. The Sun Pub in London's bustling theatre district initially struck me as yet another formulaic watering hole catering to tourists who wouldn't know their ales from their elbows. But like a stubborn hangover that eventually gives way to clarity, this place has a way of wearing down your cynicism.

Let's address the elephant in the room - yes, it's primarily a pie and mash joint masquerading as a proper pub. In today's gastropub-obsessed London, where every establishment seems desperate to reinvent the wheel with deconstructed shepherd's pie served on slate tiles, there's something almost refreshing about The Sun Pub's straightforward approach. Almost.

The beer selection, I grudgingly admit, is actually rather decent. They've managed to strike that elusive balance between craft offerings for the beard-stroking contingent and reliable standards for those who just want a proper pint. The Madri on tap, while not exactly breaking new ground, comes perfectly poured with a head you could set your watch to. At £6.95 a pint, it's London pricing doing what London pricing does best - making you question your life choices while reaching for your wallet anyway.

But here's where things get interesting, and by interesting, I mean surprisingly not terrible. The pies. Oh, the pies. While every other pub in London seems hell-bent on becoming the next molecular gastronomy hotspot, The Sun Pub has doubled down on doing one thing properly. Their steak and ale pie (£15) arrives looking like it was lifted straight from a Victorian cookbook - all golden-brown crust and proper gravy that hasn't been anywhere near a reduction or an infusion. The mash is cloudlike, buttery, and generous enough to make you forget you're paying Zone 1 prices.

The space itself manages to be both cozy and functional, with window seats for the solo drinkers pretending to read books while people-watching (guilty as charged) and an upstairs area that's perfect for when the after-work crowd transforms the ground floor into a scene from a Dickens novel. The wood paneling has that perfectly worn patina that comes from years of elbow polish, not some designer's "distressed" finishing technique.

What's particularly irksome is how genuinely friendly the staff are. In a city where bartender indifference has been elevated to an art form, The Sun Pub's team seems determined to upgrade London's hospitality reputation, one pint at a time. They're knowledgeable without being pretentious, attentive without hovering, and - most annoyingly - actually seem to enjoy their jobs.

Dog-friendly without being a canine circus, outdoor seating that doesn't require sharing your personal space with three buses and a taxi, and payment options that acknowledge we're living in the 21st century - it's all frustratingly well-thought-out. The place even manages to transition smoothly from quiet afternoon pit stop to buzzing evening venue without developing that desperate "everyone look how much fun we're having" atmosphere that plagues so many London pubs.

Location-wise, it's practically perfect, which is incredibly irritating for someone trying to maintain a healthy level of skepticism. A stone's throw from the Shaftesbury Theatre, it provides an ideal pre-show pit stop or post-performance wind-down. The surrounding area has enough foot traffic to keep the place lively without turning it into a tourist trap, and the regular crowd suggests that locals have, annoyingly, figured out what a gem they have on their hands.

Here's the real kicker - The Sun Pub is that rarest of London establishments: a place that delivers exactly what it promises, no more, no less. In a city where every venue seems desperate to be the next big thing, there's something almost revolutionary about a pub that's content just being a really good pub. And despite my best efforts to find fault, I keep finding myself back at their bar, ordering another pint and pie, and wondering when exactly I became such a convert.

If you must (and increasingly, I find that you must) visit The Sun Pub in London, go during that golden hour when the afternoon crowd is thinning and the evening revelers haven't yet arrived. Grab a window seat, order a pie, and prepare to join the ranks of the reluctantly convinced. Just don't tell them I sent you - I have a reputation to maintain.