The Star Tavern
OUT-OF-TOWNERS MAY grumble about ‘London prices’, but it’s an unarguable fact that pubs, regardless of location, are the most accessible, because affordable, places to drink in the capital. Therein lies a conundrum. I don’t seek that kind of democracy. I don’t want to wait to be served. And I hope never to be just another face in a shifting, semi-soused and altogether anonymous crowd.
No: the exclusivity I yearn for is of a different order. I cherish traditional British boozers with no bells and few whistles, yet which presuppose insider knowledge and a touch of class in their patrons. The Star Tavern fits me like a glove. Situated down a cobbled mews off Belgrave Square, this prettiest of pubs in the ritziest of postcodes isn’t one you’re likely to stumble across accidentally. It may define ‘out of the way’ but, once you’ve sampled its charms, you’re unlikely to drink anywhere else. Marred by neither televised sports nor music, The Star possesses a low-key, no-frills atmosphere that fosters confidential – dare I write, ‘conspiratorial’? – chats between lovers, friends and colleagues. That might explain its appeal across the decades to the shiny and shady, toffs and train robbers. Lest you assume that’s fancy on my part, allow me to disabuse you: the actual Great Train Robbery of August 1963 was planned on the premises by Bruce Reynolds and Buster Edwards.
See also: The Grenadier, The Holly Bush, The Princess Louise
