The Printer's Devil

99 Fetter Lane EC4A 1EP

Dark clouds hang heavy over The Printer’s Devil. Looming corporate HQs heave and sigh all around and cast the pub in constant shadow. It’s name is hidden by a shroud of ‘To Let’ signs and is only visable when approaching from the front (via a car park). This does not bode well. Listen hard enough and you might even hear the maudlin toll of single church bell, the ominous caw from the blackest of crows and the opening chorus of The Omen.

Everything here is grey or black. Not least those that dare to enter, whose garb is that of pin-striped slaves. Most of them look like regulars, but regular ‘what’ is anyone’s guess?

True, this is the city and these hard working teamsters can hardly be expected to change their clothes before leaving their desks. But they are the sort of people that choose The Printer’s Devil because the alternative is an empty home, an empty relationship, an empty fridge.

Wake up you goons, you’re decent people, underneath! The Printer’s Devil is a realm where Lucifer lurks, clandestine and furtive, holding you back, denying you an existence that is so much better. It’s no coincidence it’s situated on ‘Fetter’ Lane. Shackled and bound, every last one of you.

Navigating around this dingy, lugubrious maze is unsettling: natural light fails to penetrate its sad, abandoned-looking rooms; the décor is as dead as the atmosphere; the acoustics favour the cackling workmates on the next table, not the stereo. Plus, the narrow, grimey ‘garden’ area is the same size and shape as a grotty back alley where even mangy pigeons wont shoot up.

However, despite all this there is a glimmer of hope from within. For starters, the service is amicable and there’s free cake at lunchtimes if it’s your birthday. Also, if it’s possible to read by the light of yesterday’s sun, there’s a chance to dwell upon the wine list, for it is a splendidly wicked thing. New world, old world, out of this world – all are covered and at not too costly a price either.

And then there’s the nosh, which is surprisingly top.

The menu is intrinsic for post-work steam-venting when banter, light bites and 10pm shot-guzzling are the norm. Basically, it’s platters. All manner of them, too: homous mezes, serrano ham charcuterie, samosa Asian, artichoke vegetarian – and oddly, all containing the devilishly sumptuous lamb kebabs, a handsome recommendation.

If you’re happy to fill your temple with fluids rather than solids, then so be it (‘it’ being the monster hangover you’ll endure the next day). Whereas those that seek a healthier wall of substance should look to the delicious, affordable, yet traditionally unadventurous lunch menu, which the staff are willing to revive upon request.

Ignore the tasty veneer of batter surrounding the juicy haddock as the accompanying chips can be a tad wilted. Bypass the delightful gathering of pesto potatoes because the sea bass lying adjacent does go a bit dry. Instead, upsize the Tricolore starter and after one bite of its bacon-avocado-anchovy medley you’ll begin to ignore the din. After a second bite the dimness will cease to exist as well. And after a third, you might even start to enjoy yourself.

If this is the best Chancery Lane has to offer then attempt to abscond unnoticed, after taking advantage of the 25% take away discount. Then follow a tramp to the nearest park bench and feel satisfied with your venue of choice. Either that, or go for a nearby pie on the sly (at The Melton Mowbray).

Dark kills light. Menu beats venue. Otherwise 5 out of 10