Walk up to this place and you’ll either think “charming pub” or “someone’s eccentric grandparent’s living room.” The exterior is all weathered brick and hanging flower baskets. Inside, it’s like a hug from a dusty history book.
But here’s the kicker: reviews wildly disagree on the vibe. One person says it’s “cozy and romantic.” The next calls it “a fire hazard with sticky floors.” Who do you trust? Honestly? Both.
The food: a culinary rollercoaster with no seatbelt.
Let’s talk grub. Some people claim the Sunday roast is life-changing. Like, they’d name their firstborn after the gravy. The Yorkshire puddings? Pillowy clouds of joy, apparently.
But then you get the other side. “Soggy chips.” “Microwaved veg.” One reviewer actually said their steak “chewed back.” Ouch. It’s like two different restaurants are fighting inside one building.
So, what’s the move? Order the fish and chips. Everyone seems to agree that’s safe. Unless you hate batter. Then you’re on your own, friend.
