The Windsor Castle, Kensington

An old lady friend of mine has undergone cosmetic surgery. Tonight, I'm visiting The Windsor Castle again now the bandages are off. A listed atmospheric charmer, in its current guise, it has been serving genteel Kensington folk since 1835 - but there's been a tavern on the site since Shakespeare was a boy. Had the new dining room been around in his day,  dinner within might have been the inspiration for the bard's work. The Merry Wives of Windsor? A Comedy Of Errors, more like, performed by waiters whose roustabout routine lapses into farce at times. "Does anyone have a torch? I've dropped a £1 coin on the floor," pleads one. Having taken it barely seconds before, another waiter is back to ask what we ordered as "the ticket got lost between here and the kitchen." "You wanted rosé. This is red wine," beams same bright spark later, before exiting stage left. Behind us, a table of angry 'regulars'  pointedly deducts the 'service' charge. Another exasperated patron reckons Basil Fawlty must be in charge and, on and on it goes, like Hamlet, a tragedy in five acts. On a balmy evening, with a warm breeze blowing in from the busy, NOISY garden, our food is no Midsummer Night's Dream either.  On an ambitiously priced menu, quality ales are suggested to match each of 8 starters and six mains - Curious Brew an apposite choice for a most curious over-sweet/ under-seasoned pea soup that's poured from its serving jug, carelessly sloshed over (courtesy of that waiter again) a pointless 'soft-boiled' egg placed at its centre. The eye-bothering result is green gloop that brings back childhood memories of my father clearing frog spawn from his garden's unappetising soupy pond. My date's ham hock terrine is bland, its piccalilli insipid, seasonal leaves savagely a-salted by a thuggish dressing. Better, as it ought to be at £19, is attractively presented individual rabbit and crayfish puff pastry pie. Decent mash and al dente green beans, too. Pedestrian chips and astringent house relish accompany a ribeye bone marrow, Celtic Promise cheese and bacon burger.  How would you like it cooked?" "Medium rare please," says date, only to be informed several minutes later that the burger can only be cooked the way chef - "he's French, I think, and very particular", offers our waiter, sunnily - likes it (i.e medium to well). So  not As You Like It, dear diner. Either way, it would be a disappointing, sloppy assembly at half its £18 cost. My date is getting tetchy... and we all know what happened to Romeo when Juliet  went off the rails. We pass on English puds (from £6 ) and coffee so as to All's Well That Ends Well, who knows? 
114 Campden Hill Road W8 7AR 7243 8797 http://www.thewindsorcastlekensington.co.uk

Adapted from my review for www.squaremeal.co.uk

Fire Your Imagination: London's best winter pubs

Are the short days and cold evenings of winter reasons to be depressed? On the contrary, says Keith Barker-Main, as he sups cask-conditioned real ales in front of roaring fires. Check out his brilliant baker’s dozen.

The Bull and Last

Next to Hampstead Heath, this deservedly popular pub and kitchen (pictured, top right) punts a more modern take on trad. Giles Coren is a fan and you’ll likely spot other familiar TV faces, too. Isn’t that Miquita Oliver in the corner? Hog the fire, drink Mad Goose and Black Sheep Ale, and order bar snacks or lunch. More Dazed & Confused than Daily Mirror readers, this is not for the cloth-cap fraternity… unless Burberry or Margiela happen to be selling them this season.

The Bricklayer’s Arms

For beer bellies, this old survivor is not a good pub; it’s a great pub that’s akin to a permanent beer festival. Head here from Putney Bridge, after a stroll along the Thames towpath, for Skinner’s Cornish Knocker, Stonehenge Great Bustard, Goddards Fuggle-Dee-Dum, Phoenix Thirsty Moon, Salopian Peccadillo and other intriguing stuff you’ve likely never heard of. A horseshoe bar, two open fires and pleasant staff help cement the Brickie’s reputation.

The Crown

Just off N1’s main drag lies this cute, friendly corner boozer for locals – which in 21st-century Islington means Guardian journalists, authors, TV comedians and Labour policy wonks. Order modern Brit pub grub, Fuller’s ales and guest beers such as ESB, Red Fox or Gales Seafarers ale. Stare into the embers as you plan your next novel, gag or initiative to wrong-foot Mr Cameron.

The Dove

For riverside romance, olde Hammersmythe is hard to beat. Lovers Nell Gwynne and Charles II, as well as Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor, were drawn to the Wendy house-proportioned, oak-beamed Dove. Other past patrons include Graham Greene, Ingrid Bergman, Ernest Hemingway and Boris Karloff. Check out the smallest snug in England, a tight squeeze that redefines the word ‘cosy’. Local boys Fuller’s provide the pints, and roasts are big on Sundays. A sign of the times, perhaps, but aren’t gas-powered ‘coal’ fires a tad disappointing?

The Grapes

Dating back to 1720, in its time it has served pirates, highwaymen and politicians – spot the difference! American artist and past patron James Whistler, who lived in the East End in the 1850s, would instantly recognise it in all its preserved dark, woody glory and we hope new owner, Sir Ian McKellen, won’t change a thing. Landlord and Marston’s Pedigree lead the draughts, while any draught coming in from the river outside won’t bother those near the fire. Good for a shoal of fish dishes, it prides itself on being a pub for grown-ups. No chance of a latter-day Dickens singing from a tabletop as the novelist did here as a child.

The Gun

It’s well worth negotiating the confusing Docklands sprawl for The Gun (pictured, left; free taxis are laid on from Canary Wharf). Once Admiral Lord Nelson’s local tavern – his house was next door – Tom and Ed Martin’s baby is now home to modern British pub grub at its best. Pop in for a pint of Adnams bitter or Dark Star Partridge by the log fire and you’ll inevitably end up begging for a table for lunch or dinner.

The Holly Bush

Does NW3’s altitude account for the number of great pubs with open fires in this postcode? Perhaps it’s always several degrees colder up north. Order Seafarers, Butcombe Bitter, Harvey’s Sussex or London Pride at the pride of Hampstead village, a cluttered, wood-beamed charmer that was once stables, according to the old boy on the next table. There’s a good range of pub staples and prices that won’t frighten the horses.

The Southampton Arms

Stripped back to something resembling its original low-rent, Victorian interior, this fab, no-frills ale and cider house proposes a dozen-and-a-half hand pulls served in dimple pots. Expect amber nectar from Tottenham microbrewery Redemption and Sambrooks of Battersea, and it’s good to find ale from indie breweries further afield, too. Try deep-filled baps, Scotch eggs and pork pies. Crackling? That’ll be the fire.

The Jerusalem Tavern

Have the band strike up ‘Jerusalem’ in celebration of this rickety, quaint tavern straight out of Harry Potter (see right). Don’t tell your tourist chum that it’s only been a pub since the 1990s. Its pared, faux-Georgian interior looks and feels more authentic than many genuinely old pubs and the ex-shop frontage, at least, dates back to 1810. It’s owned by Suffolk brewer St Peter’s, whose Golden Ale is the thing to drink while you enjoy bangers by the Bob Cratchit-style fire.

The Spaniards Inn

Dating from the 15th century, this spooky, rambling pile (pictured, left) is steeped in history: Keats, Byron and Shelley were regulars; Dick Turpin is said to have lived here; and it appears in The Pickwick Papers. What the Dickens are you waiting for? After a bracing winter walk on Hampstead Heath warm yourself in front of a log fire with a pint of Landlord while they clean up your pooch in London’s only doggy wash.

The Star Tavern

You’ll find no music, TV or the annoying ‘yah, yah, yahs’ of the Made in Chelsea set here. This Belgravia belter is good for quiet chat, a pint of Pride and an open fire. The cosy, conspiratorial vibe is perhaps why, in 1963, the pub’s upstairs dining room – still in use today – was allegedly chosen by a bunch of villains planning the Great Train Robbery. Current patrons are more likely to have made their fortune flogging posh handbags (Anya Hindmarch is a fan).

Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese

Whisper the word ‘fire’ here, for this authentically olde shambles was rebuilt in 1667 after being destroyed in the Great Fire of London. Once favoured by Mark Twain, Lord Alfred Tennyson and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the writers would be stumped for words to behold ladies – traditionally barred – supping by the hearth today. Samuel Smith’s ales may not be everyone’s choice, but if it’s dark, dingy, Dickensian atmosphere you’re after, Sweeney Todd’s local has it by the (blood) bucket-load.

This feature was published in the autumn 2011 edition of Square Meal Lifestyle.