Croydon pubs

On first impression this appeared to be a large Georgian pub with lots of people milling around the umbrellas at the front. Once inside, however, it was bizarrely just the size of someone’s living room. At the time of our review it was packed, very lively and was difficult to make ourselves heard over the shouting voices and the banging music. It probably explained why so many people had chosen to drink outside. The four or so barmaids buzzed around the small bar area, quickly taking orders and serving the thirsty crowd. The beer was pretty good: Wadworth 6X and Black Sheep featured among the ales. This pub, noisy though it was, is not bad and is apparently a popular choice for those wishing to get tanked up before heading into the centre of Croydon for a night on the tiles. Not reviewed yet.

Want to review it? Not reviewed yet.

Want to review it? For God's sake, it's a Nando's pub. Is there no escape? Being only familiar with Croydon's brutalist 60's towerblocks, flyovers and 8 lane highways, I was surprised to discover the remnants of the Old Town beyond, with its tramlines and old churches feeling very middle European, and the ramshackle lines of Georgian and Victorian buildings, the occasional carpet shop presiding in something much older, succeeding in conveying a charm that is, well, very un-Croydon. Surrey Street itself has existed since at least the thirteenth century, and there has been a pub on the site for at least seven hundred years. The Dog and Bull shares much in common with Hampstead's Holly Bush, most notably a rather endearingly dilapidated entrance, an interior that hasn't seen much updating in the last three hundred years, and a singleminded devotion to the fine art of beer. Three generously-sized rooms, all unfeigned spit'n'sawdust appeal, with barrels for tables and the occasional knackered leather sofa, are arranged around a central bar area, and there is an attractive outside patio that was almost worth trying out in February's summer-like conditions. One area is set aside for viewing Sky Sports etc, while the other two rooms drift along in a cheerful, pleasingly hazy way, with no music or radio or any other distractions. Full range of Young's beers, plus the usual other nonsense on tap. Calling it the best pub in Croydon barely does it justice; it might well be the best pub south of the river. The dimly lit exterior and the sign saying "Over 18s after 8:30pm" weren’t exactly the most inviting introduction. Stealing ourselves for whatever exotic dancing we might encounter, we pushed the door and entered. It was quickly apparent that there were no dancing girls and this was in fact just a small local pub. We were served quickly and set about drinking our pints of IPA, which incidentally were very nice. The pub was very quiet for a Friday evening, but sadly this is no longer a surprise in these lean economic times. Depending on the way you look at it the pub could be viewed as a retro gem and boasts fake wooden beams and artexed walls. It certainly appeared as if it hadn’t been decorated at any point in the past quarter of a century. The gents hadn’t received much attention recently either and liberal use of the mop is recommended to remove the pungent smell of wee. On the plus side the pub hosts regular events (darts, day trips, karaoke) and is enjoyed by a small group of loyal regulars. As you walk from the station you see the mini Manhattan that is Croydon town centre give way to a neighbourhood that could be practically anywhere in outer London. When you round the last corner and see a sickly green pub sign you know you’ve arrived. Several years ago this place was a run-of-the-mill boozer but has since been stripped back and clad with enough Scandinavian wood to make an Ikea executive jealous. It's a gastropub and drinkers are limited to the small bar at the front. The more foodie types have the much larger area to the side and the rear of the bar to themselves where they can loaf about on large sofas and eat themselves silly. The result is disappointing as the atmosphere more closely resembles a restaurant rather than a pub. The food may be good, but a pub this ain’t. Back in the bar, the good news is that they have the rather splendid Adnam’s Explorer and Harvey’s Best on tap but our enjoyment of these fine ales was marred by the group of sartorially challenged men who stood near us. Let's start off by getting the Croydon thing out of the way. Croydon is not bad. Croydon is good. Croydon is Manhattan as imagined by Le Corbusier, full of alienating, brutalist blocks that will, if we can overcome our hatred of anything from the fifties to the seventies, become national treasures in several decades' time, when we finally begin deriding the Disney architecture of the current age. Leaving my prejudices at East Croydon station, I actually found it a very exciting landscape, with towerblocks rearing up from unexpected places, weird sixties murals erupting from concrete fascia and odd Blackpool lights adding a psychedelic tinge to such classics as the Nestle building. If Croydon is our Manhattan, it is a Manhattan before Giuliani came along and cleaned the whole thing up; slightly seedy, slightly edgy, the last place you'd find Amy Winehouse or Damien Hirst. It is a place screaming out for a properly metropolitan pub, and amidst the sea of tedious clone hangouts and (the horror!) a Nando's pub, in the Green Dragon it's found one. Refitted from some godawful chain pub past, the Dragon is a weird mixture of traditional and modernist: wooden fittings and big traditional tavern windows mix it with exposed aircon pipes, on-sale modern art and more plasma screens than Houston mission control. This is a pub that does the lot: food, a vast array of real ales (four on tap at any one time, plus two kegs behind the bar), mead, pool (two pool tables), games, quizzes and a pretty relaxed atmosphere to boot. Appropriately, it seems to appeal to a very mixed bag of people. Pretty large, with plenty of seating, it sets a pretty high standard both in beer and entertainment for the rest of Croydon's pubs to follow. It's a pretty safe bet if you#re in the town centre to get your fix of the past of London's future. Not reviewed yet.

Want to review it? It always strikes me as odd that Oval, with, y'know, the Oval, doesn't have an Oval Tavern, and yet Croydon, which is distinctively not cricket-related, does. The Oval Tavern is really Oval's loss, and Croydon's gain, being a well-proportioned townhouse-style pub, traditionally decked out with plenty of seating, a large bar area and a pretty funky garden to the rear. Has 4 real ales on tap, supplies tasty food, shows sports and all that blah, and does late night opening with djs and whatever else goes on after I've gone to bed. It's worth the trip into Croydon's plush northern suburbs to find. Not reviewed yet.

Want to review it? I didn't know my youth was still alive. I didn't even know that places like this still existed. Way too cool in its uncoolness for the centre of London, the Ship - with its large array of bitters, trad decor, toilet roll either in the urinal trough or behind the bar, but certainly never in the toilet cubicle - is a Heavy Metal pub. Guitar riffs slam out over the PA, black-clad hordes stand by the bar growing long hair and big tattoos, time swims backwards and I feel like I'm eighteen again. Some people headbang. Others play air guitar. Many simply get very drunk. Most importantly - and this is what I recall from the hazy memories of my yoot, something completely against the media image of Metal - it's warm-hearted, inclusive, extremely social. Make like the devil and get to the Ship - it's not only got the best tunes, it's got the best atmosphere too. Not reviewed yet.

Want to review it? This once well-regarded local has recently been refurbished resulting in a kind of Students' Union-themed pub for adults. It's all bright lights, laminate flooring and rubbish beer. The only ale is London Pride, if you don't like that there is always lager lager lager. The pub is either populated by freaky looking people standing brain dead at fruit machines while they pump in coin after coin. Drooling every so often as the lights flash and an annoying tune is played. Otherwise, at the bar, blokes swill Carling like it is the very elixir of masculinity. The pub is just about bearable for one pint before you feel compelled to leave and seek a different hostelry. Preferably one where the beer isn't a substance that has been recovered from the urinals and chilled before serving.

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