The Saint Bow Lane

Exceptional Comedy Nights and Flavorful Fare

In a landscape cluttered with pubs lurching inelegantly between tradition and disconcerting eccentricity, The Saint manages to find its niche. This capacious establishment, tucked away in the banking district, excels in both atmosphere and libation—a heady brew of good cheer and laughter that will see you through any cumbersome week. If you're seeking accountability for the convivial setting, look no further than the towering troika behind the bar: Steve, Lauryn, and Santos—all Victoria Cross recipients in the regulars' eyes, doling out cocktails as if they were elixirs in a fairy tale. Each drink comes with their infectious smile stitched invisibly into the glass. The passion of the house is palpable and encapsulated in the delightful chaos of the comedy nights, which leave audiences doubled over, not just from mirthful jest but also from Santos's potent concoctions.

Yet, let's not ignore the clumsy pachyderm lounging in the room: the food has provoked stronger emotional commentaries than a Shakespearean tragedy. Complaints abound about its depressing encroachments on more positive experiences, though, astoundingly, some dishes still summon poetic praise worthy of illuminating the dimmed corners of orchestrated face-offs between chefs AJ and Chris. The crowning glory remains the smoked wings, which demand either applause or pétanque aficionados wielding handkerchiefs if you escape encountering them in your brief stay. Meanwhile, prices might provoke debate—you’ll find yourself assaulting your wallet during Monday and Friday happy hours when offices resonate louder than park benches—but the splendiferous service more than recoups your coppers. In a nutshell, The Saint is a harrowing joust between heavenly laughs, Satan-spawned fees, and angelic wings; knack ensures it's the Dickens novel you can't put down. — Penelope Savory