Roscoe Head

You walk into what feels like someone's Victorian front room that's been serving pints for 150 years. The snug is so small you'll be sharing breathing space with strangers who quickly become mates, while the main bar hums with the kind of conversation that only happens over properly kept cask ale. This is drinking as it should be - no craft beer wankery, no gastro nonsense, just excellent hand-pulled pints and bar snacks that do the job. The regulars treat newcomers like long-lost cousins, and the staff know their beer better than most sommeliers know wine. It's the sort of pub that makes you understand why people bang on about 'real' pubs - because most others are just playing dress-up.