Bars & Pubs

By Ben McFarland

This is a legendary, or infamous, pub once renowned as much for its vice and grit as it is for its Victorian grandeur. The Clash used to play here, it was once the haunt of bequiffed Teddy Boys, serial killer John Christie, ‘Absolute Beginners’ author Colin MacInnes, Martin Amis and all the colourful characters you’d expect from Ladbroke Grove.

It's located on the corner of Ladbroke Grove and Westbourne Park Road, in a prime position for pootling around Portobello. While there’s only so much new leaseholders Geronimo Inns can change with an 1856 Grade II-listed building, the recent revamp is a remarkable one that rekindles the pub’s past. The vast Victorian frontage, with wonderful windows, has been done up all dapper, the main bar has rediscovered its elegance while the burlesque dining area down one side glows with Churchillian charm, all mellow maroon and elaborately gilded mirrors. The back room is cleaner and creamier with more contemporary touches: big-pattern wallpaper, huge red Anglepoise lamps and a portrait of the Last Supper featuring Elvis, Mick Jagger and Bob Marley.

Fitting for a Victorian gin palace, there are 22 different version of ‘mother’s ruin’ including London-based gins Beefeater, Beefeater 24 and SipSmith. There are local ales, too, with Sambrook from Wandle and Summer Gold from Twickenham. Bitburger and Budvar big it up for lagers while the accessible wine list is divided by style rather than region.

The pub menu is traditional British with a twist, but our dishes were touch and go. Undercooked chips accompanied a basic burger, the pie lacked flavour and the chump of lamb was meagre in size. The kitchen needs to keep up with the top-notch service.

On our visit, the room was packed with dining couples, Notting Hill hipsters, a few well-to-do chinless wonders and a man who claimed he could tell your sexuality by just feeling your fingers. (He couldn’t.) Meanwhile, the entertainment stretches as far as board games. No Boggle, though.

Overheard at the bar: ‘If I owned this pub I’d play classical music. The place would be packed as the Albert Hall. But all I hear in my ears is bit-bib-bob-bub-bub.’

Time Out London Issue 2038: September 10-16 2009