My youngest sister, newly 18, likes Lana Del Rey and mojitos and is about to move to Bristol to train as a nurse , though not before she flies off to southern Spain for some sort of all-inclusive holiday. Dear lord. But where to take her in London? A sunny rooftop for cocktails? Scarfes Bar at the Rosewood hotel to educate her as to the importance of a properly made Hemingway daiquiri (the best in town is at Scarfes)? Don’t be silly.
The answer is a classic boozer; somewhere referred to by ironic types as “an old man pub” with a darts board and a diligent selection of refreshing ales. And so off we go to The Barley Mow in Marylebone , one of the most beautiful pubs in London, still independently owned and all the better for it. It was founded in 1791 and today boasts a frontage of a rich and endearing red, with colourful flowers as turrets above gold lettering, the sort to inspire visiting Americans to declare, “Oh look, so cute, it’s like the Victorian times!” They would all enjoy the live music.
Inside, charm abounds. Green banquettes are bookended by tones of dark wood; beer signs cover the walls in neat patterns; high stools line the bar and some of them might be hosting elegantly suited men and fancy ladies and everyone in between. The lights are dim(ish), the glass embellished, the back bar chocka with spirits and everything is curved and angled as stories of more romantic times.
There is a smell that exists only in a proper pub: part- pie with gravy, part-t.