Holborn pubs

Not reviewed yet.

Want to review it? A marvelous pub. A salubrious front room with frescoes upon the walls to puzzle over, and a magnificent hall at the back, adapted from some mysterious other life. There is also a downstairs, which feels like a European wine cellar. A pub that has it all (including the most bizarre fire I have ever come across) except for a decent stout. Perched very prettily on a tight corner, this is cramped but enjoyable. The crowd can become a little dominated by suits, and the pub rapidly becomes very full, but it is certainly worth straying from the street to down at least one swift pint. Slightly on the expensive side, but worth its reputation as a quality drinking hole Nice, upon entering. Dark wood, a long stretch of seating, gorgeous afternoon light filtering through the windows. Friendly bar staff. Hideously expensive beer, but so far, not too many problems. Then it fills up, and something strange happens. At first, the clientele appear to be ordinary people, but soon I realise that they are all, in fact, robots. No blemishes. No bad jobs. No raised voices. Nothing extraordinary. Their boats all sail upon calm waters. For the space of a pint, this in itself is curious. Then it simply becomes unendurably hideous. The Stepford Blokes are about to take over Like them or loathe them, some pubs just keep recurring in my life. This one is a case in point. I used to come here when I worked at King's, many years ago now, it being the only pub in the vicinity that wasn't full of either other King's staff or lawyers. Which is pretty much its only selling point. It is, however, full of LSE students (of which I am, at least for a few more weeks, nominally a member). On this particular evening it was full of American frat boys drunk on several halves of lager; all checked shirts, baseball caps and high-pitched shouting. By the millionth repetition of the word 'like' I was ready to ditch the new European spirit of entente cordiale and kill them. It used to take the staff here half an hour to make a coffee, and the standard of service really hasn't improved much. One of the bar staff was working hard and was consequently very stressed about everything, one seemed more interested in hanging out with the frat boys, while the third just floated about serenely, occasionally cleaning the odd glass or changing an ashtray, seemingly oblivious of the desperate ruckus at the bar. The downstairs area is always cramped and noisy, while the upstairs, decorated by someone with whom the words 'harmony' and 'taste' have never been made acquainted, is echoingly empty, tables shivering embarrassedly by the walls and a mostly-redundant pool table sitting in the middle. Food at lunchtimes, sky sports (and, like, American sports too), some decent bitters and lots of rich foreign students. According to myth, Hercules used his legendary strength to break through the mass of rock separating the Atlantic from the Mediterranean. The remaining masses of rock to the north and south of the newly formed channel became known as the Pillars of Hercules. A bust of the mythological Greek character sitting in the bar is the only acknowledgement of the pub's namesake. He is presumably enjoying a well-earned drink after his geological exertions in what is an otherwise traditional English establishment. The pub serves some interesting ales and has a nice variety of seating which is suitable to lone drinkers and groups alike. It makes a great spot for a quiet drink whilst walking from the bustle of Holborn to the more throbbing attractions of Covent Garden. The upstairs room is available for hire. A concrete shoe box of a pub poking out from the base of a nasty looking 60s office block. Once inside you are transported back to the 1980s: there is Artex everywhere and most of the clientele look like extras out of Ashes to Ashes. In spite of the appalling architecture the place is packed with regulars who are served by friendly and efficient bar staff. Sky Sports is shown on various strategically-placed screens. Not bad at all. Lawyers. An attractively traditional exterior leads in to a very cramped downstairs bar, with not much sitting room at all. This doesn't seem to bother anyone as it is usually heaving with a mixture of suits and tourists, all on for that ye olde pub experience. It doesn't seem to disappoint: a mixture of Greene King ales, traditional furnishings, relaxed staff and the lack of diversions (no TV, no music) lead to an amiable atmosphere as the High Holborn traffic charges past outside. Not open weekends, but a worthwhile boozer provided that you don't mind standing. This must be one of the finest examples of a Victorian Gin Palace in London. The walls are covered in wooden panelling which has been inlaid with etched glass and highly decorative tiles. The ceiling, propped up by ornate cast iron columns, is a riot of red and gold. On our visit the place was packed full of people all thronging around the large horseshoe-shaped bar. It was absurdly packed for a Tuesday evening, although the weather outside was particularly nasty. Getting a drink was quite a challenge. All available space at the bar was taken and I was confined to a position behind the main crush of bodies. Fortunately the eagle eyed bar staff spotted me and I was soon asked what I'd like to drink. I spied the familiar names of Brewery Bitter and Ayingerbrau Lager and gladly parted with £1.60 of my hard earned cash in exchange for a pint of their finest bitter. The price was excellent for a pub with such a central location, although not altogether unexpected for a Sam Smiths establishment. There is a room upstairs, which on our visit had been hired out for a book launch. It's good to see a pub doing so well, especially one which is such an enduring example of Victoriana. The stuffed animals in the window might be a bit off-putting to some, but go on inside - it's well worth it. This is a contender for best pub in London. The only problem is that it's a bit small, but then again this adds to its charm. This pub has got everything: good beer, friendly staff and great character. Sadly I had to leave and I had no time to sample the tempting food on offer. A friendly black cat jumps up on the bar and purrs. If you feed it some crisps it may pull you a pint! A wedge-shaped gem of a pub hidden on a narrow lane between Holborn and Lincoln's Inn Fields. It was established in 1549 and for some reason was rebuilt in 1923. It has been the haunt of some famous (and not so famous) historical figures. The name that caught my eye was John Smeaton, the civil engineer for the Eddystone Lighthouse near Plymouth. Nowadays it seems popular with local office workers who have the option of visiting the upstairs bar and restaurant. I preferred to remain downstairs and sample of the two excellent guest ales served by the friendly staff. Not bad. Not reviewed yet.

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