The Wandle

Just what South London needed - another "local pub" trying to convince us it's somehow different from the thousands of other watering holes dotting the Thames. The Wandle in London has all the predictable trappings: exposed brick walls, carefully curated craft beer selection, and a menu that can't decide if it's gastropub fare or basic pub grub. I rolled my eyes when a friend insisted we give it a try.

And yet... damn it all if this place hasn't wormed its way into my reluctant affections.

Perhaps it was the moment I realized the football matches weren't being shown on tiny screens requiring binoculars, but on actually visible displays both inside and out. Or maybe it was when I noticed the staff weren't just tolerating customers but genuinely seemed to give a damn about whether we were enjoying ourselves. The horror.

The beer garden deserves special mention, if only because it manages to avoid the usual London pub garden pitfalls of being either a sad collection of wobbling picnic tables next to a skip or an overdesigned Instagram trap. Instead, it's actually... pleasant. Spacious enough that you're not sharing your conversation with neighboring tables, with decent coverage for when the British weather inevitably betrays us.

Inside, The Wandle has clearly had a refurb that someone put actual thought into, though I'm contractually obligated as a critic to find fault with at least some aspect of it. The trouble is, they've made it frustratingly difficult. The space flows well, the seating is comfortable (not the usual "designed by someone who hates humans" pub furniture), and the lighting manages to hit that sweet spot between "cave" and "operating theatre" that so many London pubs miss entirely.

Let's talk about the food, shall we? I approached the menu with the skepticism it deserved, ready to unleash my carefully curated collection of culinary put-downs. The smoked salmon flatbread - a dish that usually serves as a sad attempt at appearing sophisticated - was annoyingly good. The Sunday roast (which I ordered purely for research purposes, obviously) arrived with portions that didn't require a magnifying glass to locate on the plate, and - I can't believe I'm writing this - properly crispy roast potatoes.

Now, it's not all roses and sunshine. The service can occasionally move at a pace that suggests they're operating in a different time zone, and you might find yourself playing the "do we order at the bar or wait for table service" game that seems to plague every modernized pub in London. But the staff's genuine friendliness when they do appear makes it harder to maintain my professional cynicism.

The prices sit in that middle ground where they're not quite cheap enough to be a regular haunt for impromptu visits, but not so eye-watering that you need to remortgage for a round of drinks and dinner. It's the kind of place where you can justify the expense because at least you're getting decent quality for your money, unlike some establishments I could (and frequently do) name.

They've managed to strike that elusive balance between being a proper pub where you can watch sports without feeling like you're in a betting shop, and a place where you can actually bring people for a meal without apologizing in advance. The fact that they welcome dogs is either a positive or a negative depending on your stance on four-legged pub critics, but it adds to the genuinely local feel they've somehow managed to cultivate.

Look, I don't enjoy admitting when places exceed my carefully lowered expectations, but The Wandle in London has managed just that. Whether you're after a decent pint, a surprisingly good meal, or just a place to watch the match without having to stand three-deep at the bar, you'll find it here. And if you happen to see a food critic in the corner trying not to look too pleased about their roast dinner, do us both a favor and pretend you didn't notice. We have reputations to maintain, after all.