The Clachan

Cozy Charm and Stellar Service Shine

If the Clachan in Soho were a person, it could very well be the cousin who rocks up to every gathering immaculately dressed and slightly too chatty but manages to leave with everyone’s affection nonetheless. During my recent visit, I waded through the tide of West End shoppers and tourists to discover what all the fuss was about—a wonderfully classic British pub tucked amidst the hustle and deser to participate in age-old practices: enjoying a perfectly chilled pint while relishing a plate of shamefully good fish and chips. Its Victorian charm and character haven't entirely escaped the clutches of its congenial patrons, lending an appropriately bustling yet welcoming feel that echoes the convivial chaos of yesteryears—a touch unpolished, delightfully loud, but wholly true to its form.

Upstairs presents a quieter retreat, where diners' conversational tones meditate over the contenders of comfort food cuisine—the shepherd's pie requests a respectful acknowledgment of its kindness, though the crispy, expertly seasoned fish evidently could give any seaside supplier a run for their money. Sprinkled amongst the clinking glasses and shared portions are mentions of an ever-diligent Johns, seemingly time-traveling to attend kindly across repeat scenes of familial suppers and murmured catch-ups. His presence is like a time-honored ritual at this salubrious scene, ensuring that each round dines down with relative satisfaction no matter the hiccup in staff shortages or errs toward digital distance ordering. No wonder frequent visitors return not just for its strategically placed breathing space in a hopping city lane but because even in the famed world's corner pockets, places like these brandish unapologetic community. With Nikita and Mahesh as punctual proponents of cheer, a gentle nod and softly spoken thanks seems the least one can do—this pub is anything but ordinary. — Penelope Savory