The White Horse: Richmond's Sloaney Poney

14-16 Worple Way, Richmond, TW10 6DF

tel: +44 (0)20 8940 2418

When I first moved to London in 2001, I was living with a very posh, 50-something female flatmate who was keen to show me all things British. She started me off with a few top tips. 1) You mustn't buy your bed linens anywhere expect John Lewis. 2) You must never say, "I'm full" after a meal - one says, "I'm replete". 3) If you want to meet nice men, go to the White Horse in Parsons Green. Famously dubbed the Sloaney Pony because of its posh clientele, a single girlfriend and I gave it a go one Friday night. It was disastrous. The "nice men" were all pretentious tossers, most of them smashed off their faces bragging about their latest sailing trip to Croatia. We lasted one beer before running for cover.

Fast forward ten years. A girlfriend of mine with a new bloke in her life texts me to ask if me and my fella would like to meet them for Sunday lunch. She suggests the White Horse. I gulp. But then I notice she's said, "the White Horse in Richmond." I sigh with relief. Thank heavens for the plethora of pubs in London, many with the same name. So I check out the website. It dubs itself as a "lovely local gastropub" and says it's famous for two things: its great food and fantastic staff. When we arrive on the first Sunday of 2011, the place is packed with reserved signs on every table. The first thing we notice is the high proportion of children. And dogs. Together, they almost outnumber adults. As we try to squeeze through a narrow pathway to our table, no one gets out of the way. "Pardon me," I say politely to a table of well-groomed men and women wearing wool jumpers and wellies. No response. "Excuse me," I say again, this time with a little more edge. "Could I just sneak through?" A man with horn-rimmed glasses snorts something posh and incomprehensible at me and grudgingly moves his chair in 1mm. "Thanks," I say out loud. "For nothing," I mumble under my breath. And then it dawns on me. This White Horse is the adult equivalent of the Sloaney Pony. This is where those same bragging, pretentious tossers come when they have perfect children and golden retrievers. Oh lord, I think. This is going to be a long lunch.

Luckily, the food is fantastic. The White Horse offers a choice of Sunday roasts - beef, pork, lamb, chicken or turkey.  Two of us choose the beef (£15.95). While the Yorkshire pudding was a little burnt, the meat was rare, juicy and coated in a gorgeous gravy. It was perfectly matched with a plummy Argentinean Malbec advertised on the "bin ends" chalkboard. We tried to order another bottle, but a charming waitress informed us we had drunk them dry of Malbec. She brought over an impressive wine list, featuring over 55 bottles and we managed to find an apt replacement with the house red. 

My husband, still feeling a little delicate from a boozy dinner party the previous evening, ordered the wild boar sausages with mashed potatoes and red wine gravy (£10.95). He had nothing but praise for the sausages and mopped up every last drop of the rich, thyme-filled red wine gravy.

Across the table, our girlfriend's new bloke went for the burger with melted cheddar, mustard mayo and chips (£10.95). He gave it the nod of approval and complimented the chargrilled flavour adding, "for a pub burger, this is pretty damn good." He comments that he'd order it again, but would ask for the bun to be grilled too. "The buns in this country always let the burgers down," he concluded. All in all, I'd give the White Horse a 8.5/10. The service was cheery; the food super tasty; the clientele - a bit wanky. That's not the fault of the pub. Where there's a White Horse, sloanes will follow. 

The Prince Albert: Too Posh to Rush

85 Albert Bridge Road, SW11 4PF

tel: +44 (0)20 7228 0923

Reading up on the Prince Albert pub before my first visit, many of the reviews weren't exactly glowing. Slow service and snotty staff were the most cited complaints. Others lamented that it was impossible to get a table at weekends. So, with low expectations - me, the hubby and two friends decided to pay it a visit on a recent Sunday at lunchtime. Despite the poor reviews, the pub is perfectly located overlooking the beautiful Battersea Park. Walking in the door, we were met with warming and spicy smells of mulled wine. Sure enough, there weren't any tables to be found, but there were four free stools at the bar. We hunkered down and ordered a couple pints of the Wandle - brewed just down the road. We spoke to a friendly young server who put our names on a waiting list for a table. "It should be about half an hour," she smiled. 

Famous last words. An hour later, we still didn't have a table. The lady was apologetic but said there was nothing she could do. It seemed the rugby had started, and legions of well-built men with their collars upturned were there to stay. We ordered a couple starters at the bar. A prawn cocktail (£7) came on a bed of limp lettuce which rather dampened their appeal. They certainly were no match for the pint of prawns you can get at the excellent Anglesea Arms. Better though was the country pate with apple chutney (£6.95). The chutney was a lovely balance of onions and nutmeg and we all agreed that it outshone the pate. 

By the time we finally did get a table an hour and a half later, the sun was beginning to set. And the table wasn't quite what we expected. We were taken away from the pub area and upstairs to the private room. While it was a stunning space with its own bar and a great view of Battersea Park, it was also filled with a table of 50 people having a Christmas party. Children running wild, grandmothers wearing paper crowns. Luckily, they were all fairly inoffensive. I ordered a Sunday roast with all the trimmings for £16.50. It was delicious. Rare, tender and in a delicious gravy. The roast potatoes were a little burnt and the Yorkshire pudding nothing to write home about, but the beef was well and truly beautifully cooked.

My friend ordered the seabass with baby clams on a bed of mashed potatoes (£15). It was even better than the beef. The buttered clams, slid easily out of their shells and into a lovely pesto sauce. 

My husband opted for the fish curry (£11) which was fairly unexciting in my opinion, but he seemed happy. We washed things down with a lovely red called Chateau Lescalles (£6.20 per glass).

Pudding came in the form of a dark chocolate brownie with vanilla ice cream. As far as brownies go, I'd give this one a 7/10. As far as pubs go, I'd give The Prince Albert a 6.5. It gets points for the beers on tap, the lovely view and the tasty roasts and seabass. The deductions come from the wait, the price (fairly expensive) and the rugby toffs hogging all the tables.

The Brown Dog: Pooches rule, people drool

28 Cross Street, Barnes, SW13 0AP

tel: +44 (0)20 8392 2200

"Sometimes there are more dogs than people in here," laughs the soft-spoken Canadian landlord of the Brown Dog. This was proven correct by Exhibit A: a gigantic poodle sitting under the table beside us gnawing noisily on a big bone. Its owners were oblivious, too busy tucking away into their Sunday roasts with intense concentration. Exhibit B: a devilish little terrier running around the front of the bar, like he owned the place. "Yeah, and if you haven't seen it yet, come and check out our dog wall of fame," the landlord adds. "It's an ode to all the local dogs that hang here."

LOVE IT. On the other hand, if you don't like the idea of pups in pubs, then the Brown Dog is not for you. Indeed as the landlord tells me: "one lady got in such a state about having dogs in the pub that we had to ask her to leave." So there you have it. Dogs definitely rule here. But luckily for humans, the food is also top notch.

My friend G and I ventured in on a sunny Sunday.  While there were plenty of appealing starters on the menu (plum & parma ham salad with sesame dressing for £6.50 or six Irish rock oysters with chili & lemon vinegar for £9) we had neighboring table envy and went straight for the roast beef of the day (£16.50). It was the giant, golden Yorkshire puddings that swayed us, I think. There were plenty of ales to choose from (a light Wandle ale, brewed in Battersea and a bitter from Kent) but I was in a wine mood. The waitress suggested a large glass of rioja, which turned it into the perfect Sunday lunch. Well, almost...

For dessert, I chose the English Cox apple crumble with vanilla ice cream (£5.50). If I had been a dog, my tail would have been wagging with delight. G went for a sticky toffee bread and butter pudding concoction which she gazed at lustfully. 

The bill came to just over £60, which is a tad on the pricey side for a pub. Still, the food is very good and the atmosphere is delightful. In the summer there is a pretty garden out back where they sometimes put on moorish seafood BBQs. Oh, what torture that would be for a pooch. As we paid up, the lovely landlord let us in on a juicy little secret. G had been flipping through the Sunday Telegraph magazine and pictured on the front was Robert Pattinson, the heart-throb British actor from the Twilight movie. "He comes in here. His parents live just around the corner." If G and I were 15 years younger, we might have barked with excitement. But no, it's the food, not the celebrity spotting that will have us bounding back.