There was a time when Dulwich Village was known as a leafy oasis in the barren wilderness of South London. Of course, since then, much of South London has cleaned itself up and offers plenty of other oases and delights throughout. But there’s no getting away from it; Dulwich is still just that little bit nicer than the surrounding areas. To paraphrase the late, great Terry Pratchett… for a certain definition of nice.
It’s a warm early summer evening, and I’m off to the focal point of “the village”—The Crown and Greyhound pub; though no one calls it that. To anyone who knows anything, it is and will forever be The Dog.
I’m meeting a dear old friend. We spent our hormone-fueled teens in far shabbier Herne Hill a mile down the road. But up at The Dog, they didn’t check your age and you could buy a box of Polish Silk Cut fags for a fiver off Dave in the carpark. So of course we’d ride our bikes up the hill, get pissed on snakebite, and ask the wrong people out. And come home with change of a tenner.
Much has changed.
Today, the grand old late-Victorian classic pub frontage still dominates the centre of the village. Reliable and dependable as it has been for 150 years. Though now there are rows of expensive e-bikes, half of them with child (or dog) chariots in tow, lined up outside. Like horses outside a Western saloon. A beautiful Dulwich crowd bask in the early season sun. It’s a picture of that England we all recognise but, when you think about it, we don’t actually see that often. Except perhaps decorating the arrival lounges of UK airports. But it’s a vision of England that is alive and well in this section of SE21.
Venturing inside, we step into an elegant renovation of the original Victorian. They’ve just spent what is clearly a few quid on a full makeover, including a new kitchen and some really stunning hotel rooms. It’s a grand job; dark-stained wooden uprights and floors, deep green plants in large brass pots. And they’ve kept the original design. There are still at least four different bars, each one separated by wooden dividers. Back when the pub was built, the different areas were designed to keep the riffraff (quaffing cheaper weak ale) from the respectable clientele (who paid a bit more for a nicer sip).
There’s no need for the dividers any more, of course. There hasn’t been any riffraff in Dulwich since I was a teenager, but I’m glad they’ve kept the original Victorian footprint. It’s a solid bit of history. And the dividers keep each bar area quiet and intimate even when the place is packed. The other obvious difference since Pissarro and Ruskin painted here is that it’s all brilliantly light and airy. Gone are those thick-glassed, two-foot-high Victorian windows. In their place, two-metre panes. And above them, pretty 19th-century-influenced patterns of coloured glass. These catch the early evening light and bounce it all over the pub, so you can see all that shiny brass and polished oak, and of course the beautiful Dulwich drinkers, their spritzers glowing in mote-filled sunbeams. Lovely.
And if you do need a break from the nearly-but-not Victoriana inside, there’s a Tardis of a garden out back. It’s expansive by any measure, especially so for being a mere 12-minute train ride from Victoria, Blackfriars, or Liverpool Street. Cascading layers of decking and cabin-y little nooks are arranged under the endless canopy of huge London Planes. Proper chairs and sofas with soft cream cushions. It’s effortlessly welcoming.
You could easily lose a whole Saturday in the light and airy pub or its peaceful gardens. And the service—both bar and table—is fast and attentive even on this well-attended early summer evening. After a few minutes wandering round trying to remember where Danny first snogged Lisa, we sit down and share an appetiser of fried chicken tenders while we study the menu. The first good sign is they haven’t tried to over-extend the offering. It’s what I call “British pub plus one.” The words on the menu are exactly what you’d expect from a good pub range, but the food itself is all that little bit better.
Here’s what I mean: Fried chicken is technically just fried chicken. But that’s not what it feels like here. They managed to keep it really juicy whilst still having a crispy crunch, perfect for dipping into the delicious chilli honey dip. A plate of these with a glass of chilled Picpoul in the shady garden makes a lovely start to a summer evening. We also tried the beef shin croquettes. You can’t really go wrong with well-cooked shredded beef shin. But the gochujang mayo lifts the heavy meat and gives it a little kick at the back end. Nicely done.
Encouraged by the warm-up acts, we dive into a large plate of crispy duck and watermelon salad starter. This was the highlight of the evening for me. Crispy, sweet teriyaki-glazed duck, fresh pink melon, a wild clump of glassy crispy noodles, and shiny pomegranate seeds that burst with citrusy zing in the mouth with each bite. A blend of sweet and sharp, refreshing and luxurious in the Maillarded meat. In the opinion of this eater, it’s the jewel in the crown and greyhound. (Sorry.) Even if you’ve just popped in for a drink, I recommend adding this dish to your order (and maybe a side of those delicious chicken tenders). It’ll add to your night and won’t spoil your supper. Much.
For mains, my mate went for a roasted harissa cauliflower. It was pretty good, though it is tricky to rave about anything after that top-class duck salad.
I had king prawn and Devon crab linguine. The seafood and pasta were both well cooked, but you’d expect that these days. But the reason to order it is the chilli. Chefs are too often too shy with the spices in this kind of pub-restaurant, and I was delighted to find each mouthful bravely alive and kicking. It is laced with the balanced hits of warm and sharp that only chillies can deliver, without overpowering the efforts of the crab and other ingredients. Thank you, chef.
With plates licked clean and still zinging from the chillied seafood, we wandered back to the bar, where we settled into reminiscing about the glory days. As my mate was telling me about the success of her latest reinvention—as a successful artist—it struck me how a reunion with an old friend was the perfect leitmotif for The Dog itself.
The place is built on the warm, comfortable, reassuring familiarity of a great British Victorian village inn, but redressed with enough new touches and flares to keep it relevant and interesting.
Go. Enjoy the airy Victoriana, the shady glen of a garden, and of course the duck salad. And if you’re lucky enough to go with an old friend, then that is even better.
A perfect evening?
The Crown and Greyhound, 73 Dulwich Village, SE21 7BJ – The Crown and Greyhound – 020 8299 4976
Opening Hours
- Monday 09:00 – 23:00
- Tuesday 09:00 – 23:00
- Wednesday 09:00 – 23:00
- Thursday 09:00 – 23:00
- Friday 09:00 – 00:00
- Saturday 09:00 – 00:00
- Sunday 12:00 – 22:30