The Slaughtered Lamb’s expansive main room is centred on a busy bar counter, surrounded by mismatched tables and chairs, and the odd slouchy sofa. It’s a popular place, with punters queuing two deep.
The bar is large enough to accommodate an impressive array of taps (Paulaner, Camden Hells, Red Stripe, Directors, Bombardier, Erdinger, Sleeman Pale Ale); behind it, the fridges are packed with bottles of Pacifico, Brooklyn Lager and others.
The menu sticks to classic crowd-pleasers, as does the compact wine list. Old portraits and maps of Britain complete the decor, while downstairs a somewhat menacing, Masonic-looking red neon pentangle is the backdrop for gigs.