Welcome to Gentrified Central. Population: 60 smug Islingtonites and 60 masochists who have to traipse through the leafy lanes to get to The Albion and witness the area's majestic beauty.
A Sunday afternoon feeling a little bit ropey from the night before.
Rib of beef, Yorkshire pudding and a glass of red did me the power of good. I felt rather like Jake from The Sun Also Rises.
"I ate a very big meal and drank three bottles of rioja alta."
The only thing that let the roast down was the watery and flavourless gravy. It is not enough for gravy simply to be wet.
The garden at this place is really the draw. Everything else - the food, the decor, the staff - is what you'd expect from a pricey gastropub in a chi-chi part of town. Which is not to say that isn't exactly how you want to feel from time to time.
But the back garden genuinely delights - somehow they've contrived for it to feel smart and well-heeled yet tranquil and arboreal. You could be in the patio of a boutique hotel in Moreton-in-the-Marsh rather than Zone 1.
And there we stayed.
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