The Walrus And The Carpenter

Just what London needs - another pub with a whimsical Lewis Carroll-inspired name. The Walrus And The Carpenter sits there, practically daring you to mock its literary pretensions while serving what I assumed would be another forgettable lineup of lukewarm ales and microwaved pub grub. I was prepared to hate it. I really was.

But damn it all if this place hasn't wormed its way into my cynical heart like a particularly persistent earworm.

Let's address the elephant - or rather, the walrus - in the room: the name could easily have been an exercise in eye-rolling pretentiousness. Instead, they've managed to incorporate just enough Carroll-esque whimsy without turning the whole thing into a tourist trap theme park. The subtle references scattered throughout are actually... clever? Did I just write that? Delete. Delete. No, let it stand.

The first thing that caught me off guard was the staff. In a city where service often swings between apathetic and actively hostile, The Walrus And The Carpenter's team somehow maintains genuine warmth without the artificial cheeriness that makes me want to flee to the nearest exit. Their manager, Jim (yes, I'm naming names), runs the place with the kind of attention to detail that makes you wonder if he's secretly a reformed fine dining refugee.

The beer selection deserves its own paragraph. A carefully curated rotation of local craft brews sits alongside perfectly kept traditional ales, and - miracle of miracles - they actually serve them at the proper temperature. Not the tepid bathwater temperature that seems to be London's default, nor the Arctic chill that Americans inexplicably prefer, but that perfect sweet spot that lets you actually taste what you're drinking.

Now, about those prices. They're squarely in the middle of London's pub spectrum, which usually means mediocrity masquerading as adequacy. But here's where The Walrus And The Carpenter pulls off its most impressive trick - everything's actually worth what you're paying. I know, I'm as shocked as you are.

The space itself manages to thread the needle between traditional pub coziness and modern functionality. There's enough wood paneling to satisfy the heritage crowd, but they've somehow avoided the musty, trapped-in-amber feeling that plagues so many London pubs. The upstairs dining area is particularly well-done, offering views of the bustling street below without making you feel like you're part of a tourist exhibition.

Let's talk about the crowd, because it's a fascinating mix. City workers rub shoulders with literature enthusiasts (you can spot them by their knowing smirks at the Carroll references), while locals actually choose to make this their regular rather than just tolerating it as the nearest option. The fact that it can get packed without devolving into a chaotic mess is testament to some clever space planning.

They're dog-friendly too, which usually sets off my "trying too hard to be trendy" alarm. But somehow, they've managed to make it work without turning the place into a canine social club. The four-legged visitors add character without overwhelming the atmosphere.

The payment system is seamlessly modern - contactless, cards, digital wallets, the works - which shouldn't be noteworthy in 2025 but somehow still is in London's pub scene. No fumbling with cash or dealing with those card readers that seem to run on Windows 95.

For large groups, they've got the space and the system down pat. Bookings are handled efficiently, and they actually honor them - a concept that seems to elude many London establishments. The fact that they can accommodate big parties without the whole place grinding to a halt is nothing short of miraculous.

Look, I didn't want to like The Walrus And The Carpenter. I walked in armed with a quiver full of literary puns and ready to skewer another mediocre London pub. Instead, I found myself returning. Repeatedly. It's infuriating how good they are at what they do.

So fine, you win, The Walrus And The Carpenter. You've earned your place in London's pub landscape. Go ahead and book a table, especially if you're with a group. Just don't tell them I sent you - I have a reputation to maintain.