There are few sights more beautiful in this city than a busy pub bathing in sunshine, light dancing on Victorian tiles, the inelegant throng of the willingly thirsty.
London in warmer months brings these nourishing scenes: revellers spilling out onto pavements armed with pints, gin and tonics and iced glasses of rose, the odd chip dropped consciously to one of the many dogs flopped over in a grump. Our old pub dog, Alan, knew exactly how to lure diners into parting with their fried potatoes. Funny, isn’t it? Suburban types who wouldn’t share anything much with anyone, more than happy to go halves with a springer spaniel.
At the Latimer in Notting Hill, crowds are descending. Those nourishing scenes are happening, and happening well — on the first day of trading last week, many came to drink glasses of stout and christen a new arrival. It’s no surprise: the place is now under the stewardship of the Spiteri family, one known in London hospitality (Caravel, Rochelle Canteen and the like). Their studious overseeing of the place brings a little dining room at the back, with white linen tablecloths and cider-braised pork, and a bar of rich wood and light green.
Tables are brass-topped, there are dinky stools to be clamoured over, and a creaking wooden floor ready for neighbours’ boots. This is a locals’ boozer, one about craft beers and wines likely to be unknown to anyone out of the scene. No Madri, no Kronenbourg. There’s much to explore.
The Latimer was Ariadne’s Nectar Bar before, a bit of an institution, one of those old-time gaffs you get in West London where money seems to hide somehow. But like so many of these places, while supposedly loved, they are also muchly forgotten, in need of a little lift. It has come. And so the next time you see the sun come out in London and find yourself in Notting Hill, see if you can find space on the pavement for a pint, and a bowl of chips best shared.
274 Latimer Road, W10 6QW, thelatimer.co.uk
