A Proper Pint at The Sun & Anchor

The Sun & Anchor sits on a quiet street just past the clatter of Camden, where the foot traffic thins out and the buildings lean in close. There’s nothing particularly special about it from the outside – just a worn-down sign, a pair of hanging baskets full of flowers, and a few smokers lingering under the awning. You could walk past it a hundred times without noticing.

Inside, it’s warm and unpretentious. A long wooden bar stretches the length of the room, the counter dulled by years of resting pints and folded newspapers. The floor is dark, uneven, and creaks just enough to remind you that this place has been here longer than you have. The smell is right – a mix of old beer, fresh hops, and something vaguely metallic from the brass taps.

There’s a fireplace in the corner, though it’s mostly decorative in the warmer months, and a row of booths that fill up fast on a Friday night. The ceiling is low, the lights dim. A pub should feel like a place you arrive, not just pass through, and this one gets it exactly right.

A Pint Poured Like It Matters #

The man behind the bar looks like he’s been doing this for decades. Maybe he has. He pulls pints with an easy rhythm, letting the beer settle just so before topping it off. No rush, no wasted motion.

I order a bitter. No fancy craft concoction, no tasting notes scrawled on a board, just a proper pint from a pump with a brass handle. It arrives cold but not too cold, the way it should be. The foam settles into a thin, creamy head. I take a sip. Malty, smooth, just the right amount of bite at the end.

A good pub beer isn’t about fireworks. It’s about balance. This one gets it right.

People Who Know How to Drink #

The crowd is a mix. A pair of older men in wool coats sit at the bar, talking about the football match on the small television overhead. A group of younger office workers cluster near the booths, ties loosened, pints raised mid-sentence. Someone reads a paperback in the corner. No one’s in a hurry.

The Sun & Anchor isn’t the kind of place where people come to be seen. It’s the kind of place where people come to drink. And talk. And drink some more.

A few stools down, a man in a tweed jacket leans back, sighs, and says, to no one in particular, “Best thing about a pub is that you don’t need a reason to be here.”

No one disagrees.

Insider Tips #

• Order the bitter. Don’t ask what’s on draft—just get a proper pint.
• Cash is still useful. Card works, but the regulars still deal in notes and coins.
• The best seats are near the fireplace. Even when it’s not lit, that’s where the best conversations happen.
• Don’t rush. This is a place to sit and stay.

Final Sips #

Some pubs make a big show of tradition, all polished brass and fake nostalgia. The Sun & Anchor doesn’t need to try. It just is. The beer is good, the atmosphere is right, and nobody cares how long you’ve been sitting there.

I finish my pint, nod to the barman, and step back into the London evening, the buzz of conversation still rolling behind me.