Open Mon–Tue 11am–11pm, Wed–Sat 11am–midnight, Sun midday–11pm
There are a few places in London where gentrification is obvious, perhaps none more so than King Street in Hammersmith. Gentrification starts at the traffic lights and is slowly, steadily, working its way west up King Street. Bookmakers are being closed, coffee shops springing up in their graves… Of course, gentrification is a rather controversial subject so I’ll steer clear of it for now, other than to mention one rather clear benefit that it has bought along in this case: the newly refurbished Hammersmith Ram pub.
Once the sort of place you’d avoid unless you were holding a meeting to organise a bank raid, it has recently got two barrels from a crack team of builders and an interior designer with a leather and wood fetish.
This is no gastropub, though. It’s like a street food truck pulled inside, under the comforting warmth of the Youngs pub chain, a Meat Liquor but lit in soft halogen.
So how was the food? Well, it was obscene, basically. The fries with pulled pork, avocado and sour cream were so filthy they have undoubtedly starred in several adult films, whereas the burger with ale onions, cheese and maple cured bacon was so dirty it’s probably being investigated for police corruption by internal affairs.
All of this was washed down by a vast selection of craft beers on draught, bottle and even in fancy cans. On cursory glance, there’s a more-than-adequate wine list to choose from, too, as well as a respectable range of regular beers and spirits.
My dessert—and my evening of pure gluttony—was rounded off by a salted caramel milkshake with Olmeca tequila (f**k me), and an entirely unnecessary, yet still quite welcome, home made Bramley apple pie and custard.
If you can stand the inevitable self-loathing after a thousand-calorie food marathon, you should definitely go. After all, in our brave new world of virtuous organic juice bars and gluten free tasteless meals, it’s nice to still have some sin. Dig in.