The Holly Bush
ON THE COVER of The Official Sloane Ranger Handbook, their species-defining study of 1982, Peter York and the late Ann Barr headlined ‘The Problem of Hampstead’. Of course, they weren’t serious – or were they? At a glance, Hampstead is so picturesque it’s difficult to fathom what that ‘problem’ might have been. Only inside do the witty but acute co-authors show their hands. Throughout much of the 20th century, NW3 was the preserve of artists and intellectuals. It’s not surprising that the braying Hoorays of Parsons Green found, and might still find, it off-putting.
Assuming you’re undeterred – if not by the locals, then by the uphill stroll required to reach it – The Holly Bush is the perfect spot to ruminate on the character of a part of London that feels most like a village. Regardless of the season, it has the year-round autumnal atmosphere shared by all my favourite pubs. In the bar, scrubbed wooden floors, tongue-andgroove panelling and an abundance of etched glass evoke the cosy fug of real ale, open fires and good company.
I’ve assigned The Holly Bush to the ‘evening’ section of this book, and it’s true that you’ll find excellent cooking here throughout the week. However, it’s as a Sunday lunch spot that it really comes into its own. One of its hearty roasts will set you up for, or hopelessly undo the benefits of, a bracing walk on Hampstead Heath.
See also: The Grenadier, The Princess Louise, The Star Tavern
