Three Crowns, Stoke Newington

Just what Stoke Newington needed - another gastropub with delusions of grandeur. The Three Crowns in London's increasingly precious N16 postcode sits there like some Victorian time capsule, all exposed brick and towering windows, practically begging you to notice its carefully curated "authentic pub" aesthetic. I wanted to hate it. I really did.

But damn it all if this place hasn't wormed its way into my reluctant affections. It's the kind of establishment that makes you question your own cynicism, which is frankly annoying. The Three Crowns has been holding court on the corner of Stoke Newington Church Street since before the area became a haven for media types and their designer prams, and somehow it's managed to maintain its soul while still serving food that doesn't make you want to immediately seek out the nearest kebab shop.

Let's talk about that Sunday roast, shall we? The Yorkshire puddings are the size of small hot air balloons - a detail that would normally set off my pretension alarm, except they're actually properly made. Crisp edges, pillowy centers, and none of that sad deflated soufflé nonsense you get at other places. The roast beef (when they get it right) comes properly pink, though you might need to be quite specific about your preferences to avoid any well-done disasters.

The space itself is irritatingly pleasant. High ceilings that make you feel like you're in some grand Victorian parlor, without crossing into theatrical territory. There's a pool table that somehow doesn't feel out of place among the original features and modern touches. During Saturday afternoons, they host jazz sessions that manage to be genuinely enjoyable rather than the usual painful pub background noise.

Here's where it gets complicated: the prices sit squarely in the "reasonable for London, outrageous for anywhere else" category. You're not being completely fleeced, but you're definitely paying for the privilege of eating in a postcode where estate agents use words like "vibrant" and "up-and-coming" despite the area having arrived about a decade ago.

The bar staff actually know their stuff, which is refreshingly uncommon. The beer selection rotates regularly, and they serve proper measures of spirits instead of those stingy portions that make you wonder if the optics are running on batteries. The wine list won't win any awards, but it won't make you wince either - much like the pub itself, it's surprisingly decent without showing off about it.

Families descend en masse during weekend afternoons, which depending on your perspective is either charming or horrifying. The Three Crowns handles this potential chaos better than most, maintaining that delicate balance between "family-friendly" and "accidentally wandered into a nursery." The fact that they're dog-friendly too somehow adds to the charm rather than the chaos.

The real surprise is how they've managed to maintain a proper pub atmosphere while serving food that's actually worth eating. The menu isn't trying to reinvent the wheel - it's pub classics done well enough to make you forget your initial skepticism. Yes, there's a burger, and no, it's not trying to be an "artisanal hand-crafted beef experience." It's just a good burger, served without pretense, which in today's London feels almost revolutionary.

Let's be clear - The Three Crowns isn't perfect. Service can be hit-or-miss during peak times, some of the side dishes occasionally seem like afterthoughts, and yes, you might have to dodge a toddler or two on your way to the bar. But there's something undeniably appealing about a place that manages to be both a proper pub and a decent restaurant without disappearing up its own craft beer selection.

For those seeking directions: you'll find The Three Crowns in Stoke Newington holding court where Church Street meets Stoke Newington Road. And despite my best efforts to maintain my professional cynicism, I have to admit - it's worth seeking out. Book ahead for Sunday roast, bring your tolerance for the occasional child-based chaos, and prepare to be annoyingly impressed. Just don't tell them I sent you. I have a reputation to maintain.