With ‘not a straight floor, and hardly a straight line’ in its whole constitution (as Dickens put it in Our Mutual Friend), The Grapes has ‘olde-worlde’ charm in spades (as Dickens didn’t put it). It’s a real pleasure to introduce friends and out-of-town visitors to this diminutive and refreshingly child- and telly-free riverside boozer – a matchless, vintage ‘London’ setting for a pint (Adnams Bitter, Landlord or London Glory, say) or a glass of wine and a lunchtime sarnie.
Bar meals of devilled whitebait, curry or prawn salad are served downstairs, with classic grills and old-school seafood dishes on the menu in the petite fish restaurant upstairs (think dressed crab, potted shrimps, whole plaice and so on). One for the traditionalists.