The historic pub is owned by a British legend.
Few places on earth juxtapose the contemporary world with history quite like London. A brief stroll from the iconic skyscrapers of Canary Wharf I find myself in a pub that stood here when Sir Walter Raleigh’s third expedition departed for the New World from the Thames directly outside in 1587.
The Grapes has graced this spot for nearly 500 years. You can feel it. It has outlasted countless other pubs, both historic and modern, that have risen and fallen across the capital during that time. And Raleigh is far from the only towering British figure associated with it. In 1661, Samuel Pepys’ diary chronicles his visit to lime kilns at the jetty just a stone’s throw from The Grapes.
Charles Dickens was a frequent visitor to the area and is said to have featured The Grapes, “scarcely disguised”, in the opening chapter of his novel, Our Mutual Friend, in which he describes it as “a tavern of dropsical appearance… long settled down into a state of hale infirmity” (perched on a stool hunched over a barrel table, I spotted a complete set of Dickens books arranged across the wall directly behind me).
Oscar Wilde, Arthur Conan Doyle and painter Francis Bacon are also reputed to have been captivated by this corner of London, and the pub’s walls are adorned with oil paintings and watercolours alongside an impressive collection of books. Today, another British icon has become inextricably associated with The Grapes – and he’s no ordinary figure.
The current leaseholder is none other than Sir Ian McKellen, the celebrated knight of the realm and undisputed national treasure, who has amassed seven Olivier Awards for his theatrical performances, yet remains most recognisable to the general public as Gandalf in Lord of the Rings.
Departing Cardiff at 3.30pm, I arrived at the pub by 6pm. Within moments of emerging from the bustling Canary Wharf tube station, I found myself in the comparatively tranquil streets of Limehouse, where the pub’s vibrant hanging baskets and the inviting amber glow emanating through frosted glass proved utterly irresistible against London’s mid-autumn dusk.
I’d congratulated myself on arriving before 6pm, yet every seat in the downstairs snug bar was already occupied, leaving me anxious that my long-anticipated fish supper might be scuppered. Fortunately, a narrow staircase concealed behind the bar led me to a charming upstairs room, where a large wooden barrel serving as a table awaited me.
As darkness descended over the Thames and the Canary Wharf skyline beyond, I made my way downstairs to the bar to order my supper and a pint of Guinness. At £6.15, the price of a pint these days still sends a shiver down my spine as someone who can vividly recall paying £1.10 for a pint in his youth, yet it’s hardly extortionate by London standards. And fish and chips for £18.50 in a stunning pub owned by a genuine Hollywood legend feels like an absolute bargain.
The fish and chunky chips arrived accompanied by a generous helping of mushy peas and a fairly standard side salad of rocket, chopped cucumber, onion and tomatoes. There’s little else to say about the food, really.
It was thoroughly satisfying in an understated fashion. One thing I did notice was that the fish and its delicate batter were entirely free of grease, meaning I didn’t feel remotely queasy afterwards, as can occasionally happen following a heavy fish supper. The Guinness was great.
Ultimately, unless a pub or restaurant is built entirely around outstanding cuisine, these establishments live or die by the atmosphere they create. At The Grapes, I felt genuinely content. In fact, I can sum up the experience in just three words: gutted to leave.
