An English Pub

There's a really good reason why the British Empire spread halfway across the world. I'm convinced.

The folks from the UK that we've met are smart, engaging and hard workers. With just a short exposure to the capital city, I didn't know if my opinion would be changed, morphed or enhanced.

After spending a couple of evenings in English Pubs, I now know that my opinion is right. We had dinner last night in The Pilot. It's not a traditional English Pub. It's the next generation of genius. It's a small, local establishment. That's the expected--and normal--pub. Instead of a dark, close environment, we found a light, bright restaurant and bar. It was filled with the yuppie work crowd, and as the evening progressed, a few older people filtered in.

We enjoyed a perfect drink, a gourmet meal, and a lovely atmosphere. The walls had larged framed mirrors which reflected light around the dining room, and the floor was filled with antique oak tables and banquettes.

We grabbed a seat by the back door. We overlooked a patio area filled with tables, shaded by large umbrellas and fitted out with outdoor heaters to make it comfortable to the smokers who kept it hopping. The waiter rushed past and apologized for the fact that the kitchen wouldn't be open for another 30 minutes. It seems they had a private party being served and the kitchen wouldn't be able to focus on individual orders until the crowd was all served. Since we were there for the evening, we agreed and just ordered a drink.

At the point where they had to serve the big private party, they had to prop open the outside door. Then a parade of waiters and waitresses ferried food out, three or four plates a trip. The whole time they went back and forth, the door was propped open letting in a cold breeze. About three times, some other diner stepped over to the door, intending on closing it. I kept stopping them, telling them that the wait staff needed the door open until they got the whole party served. It stayed propped and they got the food served.

When they were done serving the big group, they got our order. Then the original waiter squatted down by our table and apologized at great length about the bother of having the door open. Then he tried to pay for our dinners. Really. It was the nicest that anyone has been to me in a restaurant in six months.

I had a lovely dinner. Salmon grilled to perfection atop a bed of fresh green beans, grilled tomatoes and steamed purple potatoes. DH had a traditional chicken pie. It was all beautifully presented and not your average bar food. Lovely. Brilliant. All the adjectives that the Brits use to describe the best stuff.

I can see having a place like this in the neighborhood and becoming a regular. The prices were reasonable and the food excellent. In the US, all we have in the neighborhoods, on the street corners, is fast food places. The English Pub is a much better alternative. Better than a drive through. A slow stroll down the block, a leisurely drink and nice dinner, waited on by attentive, thoughtful staff. A big win. These are the people that almost took over the world. Really.

--Sandee Wagner