360 North End Road,
 Fulham, London, SW6 1LY www.cocktavern.co.uk
And I don’t mean by going gastro, as in cramming the place with so-called shabby-chic mismatched tables and chairs, oversized mirrors on every inch of wall, and a get-it-everywhere bought-in menu of fishcakes, pork belly and risotto. Nor do I mean pubs which install highly-commended chefs but daren’t call themselves restaurants.
I mean pubs, real pubs – somewhere to eat while you drink, not drink while you eat (an important distinction) and drink and eat as we do now. An inspired menu, small plates ordered as you want more, well-cooked dishes plus good beer (it’s a Young’s pub), a decent wine list – while sitting in comfort, whatever comfort means for you.
We sank into squishy leather seats in a booth and started our stomach and palate satisfying evening with a bottle of Rioja and a bowl brimming over with nuts. Peanuts, cashews, pecans, almonds – salty, old-fashioned, no-frills nuts. They are back, I’ve noticed, after years in exile due to misplaced gentility. Yes, I know they are make-you-drink-more-money-spinners – this is a pub; you are supposed to be drinking. And they go well with the drink.
We could have had starters and mains (the house special, cock in cyder, served with chips and allotment salad, and the higgledy pie were seriously tempting) but chose to graze – it is, after all, the now way of eating while you are drinking.
Puds were huge. Enormous. A not-too-sweet sticky toffee pudding, served with a generous dollop of clotted cream (my preference over the caramel ice cream), and a compellingly moreish bread and butter pudding with drunken prunes, cooked in a vanilla-rich custard, rounded-off the meal – and rounded-off us.
Surprisingly, the music deserves a special mention. Played at just the right volume to provide interest not noise, it was a well-mixed selection of rock, rhythm and blues, soul and a hint of disco – we identified The Beatles, Dusty Springfield, Amy Winehouse, The Rolling Stones and Rita Coolidge, but only out of curiosity; mostly it was there, increasing the feel-goodness of our surroundings. There’s live music on Fridays. And a pub quiz on Sundays.
Drawing on Dolly Parton’s self-parodying comment, ‘it takes a lot of money to look this cheap”, it takes a lot of calculated planning to create a space and an atmosphere without them seeming in the least bit contrived. Even the tiny touches – mini clothes pegs holding the menu, a phone in the booth from which we could make our order (we chose to speak face-to-face with our friendly, efficient waitress), church candles not tea-lights, the reserved sign balanced on a mini-easel – were quirky enough not to fall into the cliché category. Very cleverly, but without seeming so, the Cock Tavern has reinvented the pub.