Stepney pubs

Not reviewed yet.

Want to review it? Stepney, the neighbourhood one side of my family came from, isn't all rows of hellish council blocks designed to look like giant concrete shoeboxes. Just up from Limehouse station is a distinctive set of Georgian streets, now officially a conservation area, that somehow managed to avoid the WWII bombing that flattened so much of the area. I've heard rumours that York Square, on the corner of which sits the Queen's Head, was the model for Albert Square in EastEnders, and that the Queen's Head is actually the pub the Queen Vic was based on. True or not, this is a very traditional boozer (apart from its somewhat anachronistic wine rack) boasting little in the way of refurbishment. It has several large rooms, is decorated in a yellowy kind of manner, and boasts a single loo rather than any sort of urinal. Being a Youngs pub (and I can't off-hand think of any others in East London) the choice of bitters is excellent, and it also serves good food and has a wide selection of wines. It can feel a little bit cliquey - everyone seems to know each other, and it's not initially the most welcoming pub in the world, but that wears off after a few pints, and it reveals itself as a charming place to while away an evening. At long last I have finally reviewed this pub. Since moving to the area I have reviewed practically every other pub within a half mile radius but I could never quite bring myself to go here. That's 8 years of walking through the architectural hell that is Watney Market (which is about as attractive as Eric Pickles wearing a thong), passing the pub and seeing men, seemingly clones of Phil Mitchell, posing bare-chested outside the pub with their pints of lager whenever the sun came out. Or walking past on a Friday night to a chorus of boozed-up laydeez massacring Mariah Carey karaoke style. Oddly enough, this put me off a bit. In spite of all this, I still felt it was my duty to pay the place a visit. One day I decided enough was enough and I resolved to overcome the hideous exterior and scary punters. So in I went.

At first, it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. Then it became apparent that I was standing in what can at best be described as a man-made cave with exposed brick walls. The full 1970s horror of the place dawned on me as I noticed brickwork climbing above my head and across an artexed ceiling. Fruit machines twinkled from darkened corners and a collection of troglodytes in various degrees of drunkeness sat in animated conversation whilst drinking away their Jobseekers Allowance. A Calor Gas burner sat in the middle of the pub. Presumably, the heating had broken. In addition to emitting a pitiful amount of heat, the burner leaked gas that smelled like farts. Beyond this, a pool table and table football game occupied the far end of the pub. The bar was on the right and on arriving I thought I was about to be served by a child. Then I realised that the floor behind the bar was bizarrely a foot lower than the rest of the pub and it was actually a woman standing in front of me. Surveying the rubbish selection of beers before me (mass produced lagers or Guinness extra cold), I chose the Guinness and found a seat at the front of the pub where it was a bit lighter. The seat I chose happened to be in one of two bay windows which had latticed panes that had undoubtedly been added to engender some fake Dickensian charm. Rather than looking out on some picture postcard 19th century scene, the window displayed the untidy remains of the market that was being cleared away after the day's trading. The pub slowly filled with an assortment of characters including a Chinese man hawking dodgy DVDs.

In many ways, this pub lived up to my expectations. Yet, as bad as it was, it did have some redeeming features. The staff are friendly, it seems to be racially inclusive, it shows football and the crisps are nice. If you are a connoisseur of 70s architecture then this could be the place for you.

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