Go downstairs. The cellar is the real star. It’s a maze of tiny, dark rooms with low ceilings. Watch your head. Seriously. The beams are brutal.
It’s called the “Cheese” for a reason. No, not because of a dairy obsession. The original building was a warehouse for cheese merchants. Fancy that—a pub built on a foundation of old cheddar.
These tiny rooms were once “coffee houses.” But the “coffee” was mostly gin. It was a place for journalists, lawyers, and spies from Fleet Street to lurk. The newspaper industry was born drunk.
Dickens and the “Boozy” Bits
Charles Dickens lived nearby. He loved this pub. He mentions it in “A Tale of Two Cities.” He probably based the creepy vibe on the corner table he sat at.
Look for the plaque. It lists famous patrons. Dickens, Mark Twain, Alfred Tennyson. They all came for the atmosphere. And the cheap, strong booze.
There’s a story that the great lexicographer Samuel Johnson hated the wine here. He called it “poison.” But he kept coming back. That’s the power of Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese—bad wine, good company.
