Spit and Sawdust, SE1

Dating from the early 19th century as the Beehive, this pub was destroyed in the Blitz of 1940 and rebuilt, probably in the late ‘50s/early ‘60s, reopening under the current name on 17th September 2016. This place isn’t in the most attractive area and internally it must have had quite a makeover to achieve the current aesthetic and needless to say, it bears no relation to the pub visited by Rex. The interior is slightly industrial with much dark paint, little décor apart from some trendy posters and meal deal fliers. There’s shuffleboard and old arcade games to the rear and an engineered beer garden with tiered seating; there’s a ‘private roof terrace too’. Furniture is either low, comfy lounge stuff or tall, scaffold and plank tables and chairs. Customers in the main seemed rather studenty, probably migrating here from the nearby LSE accommodation block; the website with its gaudy ‘all the fun of the fair’ approach to marketing for those with an attention span of no more than five seconds is clearly geared towards students, where photos of the interior can be seen. The ale front features a beer board with around 15 craft keg offerings, most from brewers I’ve never heard of, with styles running the gamut from a white IPA to an imperial stout. The cask front featured just two unused pumps then Windsor & Eton’s Eton Boatman at a very reasonable £2.00 a half, served by a friendly barman; it wasn’t at its best though. Despite the lack of a traditional interior, for which the Luftwaffe is largely to blame, this makes for something different and a good triple with the Victoria and George, especially if you’re a student, into craft beer, or both.

This place has certainly changed since RR's review below. Bar in the middle dispensing 18 or 19 craft type ales. Room off to the left and partially to the right. Would return to this one.

Official site of Spit and Sawdust - www.spitandsawdust.pub

Official site of Spit and Sawdust - www.spitandsawdust.pub

There’s no real ale in here. When I was in there was a young lady at the bar with her baby in a buggy, and with her baby’s accoutrements on the bar counter nestling among the empty crisp packets. The group of men at bar with whom she was chatting sporadically were swearing freely. The lights weren’t on in one half of the room, adding a bit of additional gloominess to the already dismal atmosphere. There were just a handful of tables and chairs occupying the room leaving plenty of empty space, and Smooth Radio was being played through the TV. The barmaid didn’t crack a smile, and frankly who can blame her. It doesn’t look as if anyone has made any effort to make this place more welcoming. Eventually the baby started crying and then I knew it was time to leave.