Well & Bucket

Just what London needs - another "atmospheric" pub trying to convince us that exposed brick and deliberately missing tiles constitute character. The Well & Bucket in London's eternally hip East End initially struck me as yet another victim of the great gastropub epidemic that's been sweeping through the city like a particularly pretentious plague.

I wanted to hate it. Really, I did. The building's Victorian facade practically screams "We were here before it was cool," which normally sends me running faster than a tourist spotting the price of a pint in Covent Garden. But damn it all if this place hasn't wormed its way into my reluctantly enthusiastic good graces.

Let's talk about what should have been ridiculous but somehow isn't. The Well & Bucket's interior looks like someone let a modernist art collector loose in a traditional East End boozer - and forgot to stop them. Massive eclectic portraits stare down at you while you drink, creating an atmosphere that walks the line between engaging and unnerving. It's the kind of place where you can't quite tell if the missing tiles are authentic battle scars or carefully curated shabby chic. The frustrating part? It actually works.

The food menu is where they really start showing off. Oysters in a pub? Usually a red flag that screams "we're trying too hard," but here they pull it off with an understated confidence that's annoyingly compelling. The seafood selection feels less like a pretentious addition and more like a natural evolution of East London's maritime history. Their moules frites are good enough to make you temporarily forget you're not in Brussels, and the cod with white beans is the kind of dish that makes you want to hug the chef while simultaneously resenting them for being so talented.

Downstairs, there's a cocktail bar that should feel out of place but doesn't. It's like finding out your straight-laced accountant uncle has a secret life as a jazz musician - unexpected but somehow fitting. The drink selection upstairs is solid too, though cask ale enthusiasts might need to temper their expectations. The keg options are extensive enough to keep most hop-heads happy, even if they're quietly mourning the absence of hand-pulled pints.

The outdoor space deserves mention, if only because finding decent al fresco drinking in London can feel like hunting for authentic cockney rhyming slang in Mayfair. The garden area and pavement seating manage to provide that rarest of London commodities - a place to drink outside that doesn't involve standing awkwardly on a corner or shouting over traffic.

Service walks that perfect line between attentive and leaving you alone - a balance that seems to elude so many London establishments where you're either fending off hovering staff or contemplating sending up a flare to get another round. The prices are what you'd expect for this part of London - which is to say, they'll make you wince but won't require a call to your bank manager.

The Sunday roast deserves its own paragraph, if only because it's become something of a local legend. The Chef's Roast is a celebration of excess that somehow avoids crossing into vulgarity. Yes, £25 might seem steep for a Sunday lunch, but when it arrives looking like a meat lover's fever dream with all the trimmings, you'll find yourself reluctantly nodding in appreciation.

What really gets me about the Well & Bucket is how it manages to be several things at once without suffering from an identity crisis. It's a proper London pub that serves oysters. A traditional boozer with contemporary art. A place where you can get a craft beer and a cocktail without either feeling out of place. It's the kind of establishment that makes you question your cynicism about London's evolving pub scene.

So here I am, eating my words along with some remarkably good seafood. The Well & Bucket in London has managed to do what I thought impossible - create a modern interpretation of a London pub that doesn't make me want to bore everyone with stories about how much better things were "back in the day." Book a table, especially for Sunday lunch. Just don't tell them I sent you - I have a reputation as a curmudgeon to maintain.