The Red Lion And Sun Reviews
So, you’ve stumbled across The Red Lion And Sun. Or maybe a friend won’t stop talking about it. Either way, you’re here for the tea—and I don’t just mean the hot kind. Let’s g...
So, you’ve stumbled across The Red Lion And Sun. Or maybe a friend won’t stop talking about it. Either way, you’re here for the tea—and I don’t just mean the hot kind. Let’s grab a virtual coffee and dish.
First impressions? It’s a real mixed bag.
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.
The staff: saints or snobs?
Here’s where it gets personal. Some reviews gush about “the friendliest bartender in London.” They’ll remember your name, your order, your dog’s birthday. It’s adorable.
Other reviews describe a “staring contest with the barman” just to get a pint. Apparently, customer service here is like a potluck—you never know what you’ll get. Pro tip: Smile big and tip small at first. See how they react.
I read one review that said the waiter “sighed deeply” when they asked for a menu. Dramatic much? But then again, maybe they’d just dealt with a rowdy crowd. We’ve all been there.
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The crowd: locals vs. tourists (aka the eternal battle).
The Red Lion And Sun seems to sit on a weird border. One night it’s full of regulars arguing about football. The next, it’s tourists snapping photos of the fireplace.
Reviews mention “a proper pub atmosphere” until a hen party shows up. Then it’s chaos. High heels on sticky floors, lads. Honestly, it sounds like a reality show I’d watch.
If you want quiet, go on a Tuesday at 3pm. If you want drama? Show up on a Friday. You’ll either make friends or witness a minor argument over the last pork pie.
The drinks: you’ll either find your new favorite or question your life choices.
The beer list gets rave reviews from ale nerds. They talk about “rotating taps” and “obscure local brews” like it’s a secret club. Craft beer lovers, this is your jam.
But the wine? Yikes. One reviewer said it tasted “like regret and vinegar.” Another said the gin selection is “sad.” So stick to the ale, unless you’re feeling reckless.
And the cocktails? They exist. That’s the nicest thing I can say. “Slightly above service station quality” is a direct quote. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
The Red Lion & Sun, London - Restaurant Review, Menu, Opening Times
The toilets: a sacred topic in every pub review.
Okay, you have to know. The loo situation. Some say “spotless and quaint.” Others claim “biohazard.” There’s no middle ground.
I read one review that said the gents’ room had “a hand dryer that sounds like a dying wasp.” That’s oddly specific. And frankly, kind of poetic. Bravo, reviewer.
If you’re squeamish, use the facilities before you arrive. Or just cross your legs and power through. You’re stronger than a dodgy pub toilet.
So, should you go?
Here’s the honest truth: The Red Lion And Sun is not for everyone. It’s chaotic. It’s unpredictable. It’s a pub that lives its life like a soap opera.
If you’re the type who needs a perfect experience? Maybe skip it. But if you want stories to tell your mates? This is gold. You might get the best chips of your life or a passive-aggressive note on your bill. Either way, you’ll have something to talk about.
My advice? Go with a group of friends. Lower your expectations. And if the gravy is life-changing, send me a postcard. I’ll be waiting.