This redoubt of vintage Britannia is dead-on in every sense but two: The pub grub is not the slightest bit grubby, and the pints are cold. Shepherd's pie, beef Wellington, fish and chips, and West Highland cheese soup are but a few of the outstanding victuals. The steamed mussels would draw an appreciative "tallyho" from even the most discriminating Buckingham palate. On tap at the sprawling bar: Bass, Newcastle, Harp, Boddington's and Guinness, to name a few. Aged-wood beams run the length of the low ceiling. Old-time maps, whiskey signs and prints of beefeaters and Scottish clansmen gussy up the oatmeal-colored walls. Outside, the red phone booth and painted pub sign are giveaways that a fetching slice of the Mother Country lies within the ivy-covered facade. The servers certainly are fetching, but alas, their English tends to be of the Bayou City variety rather than the Queen's.