The Owl & Pussycat, Shoreditch, London

Delicious Sunday Roast! Wild Rock Oyster w/ Shallot Vinaigrette & glass of Nyetimber classic cuvee , red wine poached pear, goats cheese rucola salad, pork loin roast with veg and roast potatoes seemingly made with my own personal happiness in mind. Also had a nice “What’s up Pussycat?” as well to wash it all down (Jack Daniels and Chambord doing a little dance in a frosty glass number).

Liked it!

Owl and Pussycat was just lovely. Fantastic service. Great cocktails, Delicious food and nice atmosphere. Highly highly recommend!

-Gin mojito is amazing, has cracked black pepper in it.
-Rabbit salad was super tasty
-Lemon sole melted in your mouth
Pie is one of best I’ve ever had
-Lavender creme was lovely (burnt top part was a bit over-burnt though).

Desperate for a decent veg roast this sunday, I decided to check out the place. Nice basic pub decor with character, and thankfully it lacked the lame attitude of other pubs/bars nearby. Very good choice of beers and best of all, a lovely veg roast! Staff were also friendly and courteous. Reccommended after a long saturday night out.

Really nice Shoreditch watering hole - I can't believe I've never been here before! Full of local Shoreditch creative types but in a really unpretentious way. Lit how pubs should be lit (all warm and cosy) with a fair few corners to snuggle up in with a pint and a good book.

They also do a tasty Sunday roast, although I still recommend Lock Tavern in Camden as the number one for Sunday pub roasts.

Friendly staff, nice atmosphere, drinks that aren't too overpriced - all round winner!

Really pleased with the new Owl & Pussycat - especially as I heard an awful rumour it was getting turned into a wine bar. All the things that were good about the old Owl and Pussy cat remain in tact - good vibe, eclectic mix of east enders and INCREDIBLE GARDEN!!!, while the bad is gone - crabby barstaff, filthy loos, warm beer, crabby barstaff etc. They've added an upstairs bar and dining room which I haven't had a chance to eat in but the menu looks great. Hooray for the return of The Owl!

This sweet little pub on Redchurch Street is so old fashioned it's reminiscent of an old irish watering hole.

I came here recently for a sunday roast which is served upstairs in a quaint room full of tables dressed with red and white checkered table cloths and green carpet.

The was delicious but I have to say a little pricy for my liking for a huge plate of lamb, all the veg and roast potatoes you like it costs £15. Compared to other pubs who only charge £10.

They have a beer garden out the back which is cool during the summer months.

So an owl and a pussycat walk into a bar. They have some sort of sticky, sweet substance, and a shed load of moolah. They’ve been on a long journey in a vessel the colour of a legume. How happy they must have been to stumble into this establishment, with its lovely outside seating area and cheap drinks. Happy, that is, until the owners shot them and pinned them to the wall, along with the other owl and pussycat themed paraphernalia which adorns every surface of this Shoreditch hotspot.

Yes, the Owl and the Pussycat is another of those old school, traditional pubs which has become the boozer of choice for the cool kids. But don’t let that put you off; this place is much less overbearingly hip than many similar establishments in the area, and still maintains the feeling of a quirky local filled with quirky locals. The prices are very reasonable, that beer garden really is lovely and sedate- although if you’re looking for a more dangerous al fresco drinking experience you can sit in the street outside and try playing chicken with the infrequent passing traffic- and the bar staff are older than the Edward Lear poem that gives this pub its name, giving it some extra charm.

Minus points have to be given for the slightly fragrant toilets, but overall this is a perfect location for a few quiet drinks or a spot of pre-club lubrication, provided you aren’t of the feline or avian persuasion.

Love this place. It’s been my Sunday five-a-side footy team’s post-game drinking joint for over a year. Obviously everyone will have a different opinion I suppose, but I must admit I relish its old school and slightly tattered charms (although the gents toilet could use a deodorizer or something).

The landlord is a friendly enough fellow, and even chatted with my Dad and I for a bit about country music and opera. Gruff yes, but not unfriendly… and also not without a good sense of humor.

Importantly, I have never had a bad or questionable pint poured from the taps.

This traditional pub, once the cherished watering hole of real old east end geezers, has become the adopted hangout of new meeja blokes who treat it as the 'genuine article’ among the plethora of stylish new bars that now dominate shoreditch.

However, this doesn’t seem to have gone to the Owl’s head at all. It still has a blackboard full of indigestible pub grub which show no pretensions to 'gastropub’ status. No, it’s doorstep white bread sandwiches or lasagne and chips type fare here.

The tiny kitchen can struggle to serve the whole pub when it’s packed out on a summer’s day, so you can find yourself waiting and waiting. Better to just go for a drink and pick up a sandwich on the way back to work (more digestible too).

The pub garden out the back provides welcome seating and fresh air when the sun’s out, but it can get very full. Screens for football matches have also been introduced inside to please the masses.

If you want a proper pub with an even more proper sunday dinner then go to The Owl and The Pussycat.

In an age when gastropub meals are all fancy schmancy schlop, you cant beat a rare treat on a sunday.

The plate is fit to burst with seasonal veg and the meat is great.

Sometimes a buffet and sometimes served by a busty blonde, you cant beat this for a sunday hangover day, with a pint of 'hair of the dog’ to reenergise.

Why go anywhere else for a real taste of britishness?

Traditional old fashioned and unchanged pub in amongst the home of skinny jeans & awkward angular hair types that is Shoreditch. Before reviewing I think it’s important to mention that this is another pub that is likely to not be here in about 6 months. There is a big development going on in the area and I think this pub is going to go in that development, which for me is a real shame. (I’m not 100% on this..maybe someone else knows on here?)

It’s really just a traditional English pub, with a garden out the back and a decent sized room upstairs. It’s about as good an example of an English pub as you could get and yes the landlord may look like a sourpuss, but he is friendly enough in a gruff way and service gets the job done well in my view.

Also has a billiard table and TV.

Good atmosphere from my experiences there - well worth a visit if you fancy something traditional in the land of all things skinny and angular.

Oh and finally - great name for a pub!

Nice little ‘genuine English pub’ complete with musty smell, sticky carpet and aloof barman. But it’s also quite cosy. More of a ‘get in out of that weather and av a pint by the fire’ sort of winter pub. Too dark for summer. But then again it’s London. Saying that, there is a nice little beer garden out the back for the occassional summer day beer.
Also, it tends to be a post-private view haunt for arty people in the area. These motley crues tend to pile in here on Thursday evenings around 9. You have been warned.
Otherwise, yea, you can’t go wrong for a good honest pint.

If you’re after friendly, chirpy service from flirty ex-models with a fondness for wearing insufficient fabric, there are plenty of other places in the area to go to. This is a pub. Just a pub. It serves good beer. You can sometimes find a place to sit. The carpet sticks reassuringly to the soles of your shoes. And on a good day the barman will acknowledge your existence with a surly grunt. Perfect!

It’s got a beer garden full of smokers. In the old days they used to sit inside creating a collective smog of asthmatic-repellent. There’s a piano in the corner that I’ve never had the nerve to open the lid of and a wonderfully old-fashioned bar billiards table. But it’s the atmosphere that makes this place special. These other (s)wanky bars in the area might have helped a posh interior designer buy yet another Bentley - but they can’t buy a vibe like this.

Gratitude is a strange thing. You'd think that this pub's inimitable location, genuine east end pub furnishings and proximity to what is only going to grow as a big spending area that the publican of this building would manage to raise the odd smile.

Instead, on every occasion Pandyman has visited this place (i'll call it it a pub through gritted teeth if you insist) the landlord has been the most miserly scrooge one could image. He seems almost bitter that his pub is regularly packed out, albeit with the media types that Pandyman despises so much, despite living in their social and economical epicentre (I'm just around the corner) Such is life, but, Squire, please have the heart to recognise a man who likes an ale and a table with equal distaste for all that is the la de da of media darlings grouped around their oversized wine glasses and far too tight trousers (how do they piss? Answers on a post card.) Instead I am far too often treated to the grimace he serves these types with and against all the force of my charming, overpowering, nay, indestructible socially levelling banter. Such is life. So it goes.

Pandyman verdict: if you must come here, and, as my proper local, I occasionaly must, then do so with the following caveats. Your service will be terrible, you will wait for some time and receive no quarter or apology for lack of speediness. You may, as I have, receive aggressive attitude from the locals, or be forced to talk about digital platforms with a man who designs purple suits with far too many pockets. Suh is life, so it goes. On the other hand, you'll get a pint, there's a TV and an outside smoking area. Bogs are so- so (access to the ladies for the purposes of this review has proved troublesome despite repeated entry attempts by the Pandyman) This may cause you to leave and never return, casting oaths into the night's sky to join the general accord of vomiting oiks, lost locals looking remarkably like disappearing amazonian tribes in a sea of mediocre unformity all encompassed by the gentle wash of police sirens heading for trouble in places with a real heart and soul, with all the attendant problems therein. So it goes.

A recent night out prompted me to adopt a new running order: first drink, secondly eat, finally dance. As the drinking leg of the tour, this establishment served its purpose well.

Tucked down a side street, this is a great East London boozer. On my visit the barmaid looked like Amy Winehouse, locals stagnated at the bar (moving only, and reluctantly, to smoke), coats were piled high on the billiards table and advertising types discussed whether or not they knew how to play. Conclusion: they didn't.

This pub made for good post work times. It was busy - but the wait for a drink was never too long, and as the staff were cheery and looked busy, I could quite happily wait a few moments longer. This pub ain't big and it ain't clever, but it's full of people and laughter and made the perfect springboard to the rest of my night.