tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38904483918465946402024-02-19T05:03:36.990+00:00The Pub DiariesThe Pub Diaries came to me as do many ideas ... over a pint. I'd be asked the question of how many pubs I had been to since moving to London in 2006. I didn't have a clue. I just knew there were a lot. In the space of about 15 minutes I tallied over 200. Friends would call, email and text me for recommendations to the extent that I realised I'd become a one man walking pub directory. So please join me as you read The Pub Diaries.The Pub Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833851533643604100noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3890448391846594640.post-50669204994031452442010-12-19T22:04:00.001+00:002010-12-19T22:05:25.801+00:00THE PUB DIARIES HAS MOVED TO PUB DIARIES.COMSo as mentioned the blog has undergone a bit of revamp. Its now found at <a href="http://www.pubdiaries.com/">www.pubdiaries.com</a> and is hosted using wordpres. For the bloggers reading this, its simply and easier tool and gives more options.<br />
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Hope you'll continue to follow as the new address.The Pub Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833851533643604100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3890448391846594640.post-42137600533788676512010-12-10T09:34:00.000+00:002010-12-10T09:34:49.548+00:00The Pub Diaries is on the move!It's been a busy few weeks which is the reason for a lack of any posts. <br />
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Those who follow on Twitter may have worked out that I've been travelling. So to come very soon are a wealth of posts from HK and Australia... once i'm over the fact that its back to the reality of work!<br />
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To add to this the blog will be jumping from Blogger to Wordpress so you should see a better looking site in coming weeks. More news as it happens!The Pub Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833851533643604100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3890448391846594640.post-25259066039998927682010-11-03T16:31:00.000+00:002010-11-03T16:31:50.592+00:00SE1 Beer Revival: The Dean Swift<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Reaction to suggesting that SE1 was the go to place for beer lovers in London was unexpected; with hundreds of hits on the blog, Charlie McVeigh of the Draft House proclaimed the SE1 "beer revival" on Twitter and there were suggestions that NW1 was in fact the place to be. With the imminent opening of the Euston Tap it was a fair point but I stand by SE1 and beyond as superior.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">In mentioning the big hitters in that post I'd relegated the rest to an etcetera. But these etceteras aren't mere footnotes and The Dean Swift is a good example. This Shad Thames pub on Lafone Street is just streets away from Tower Bridge and has the hallmarks of a local having undergone a change of ownership and a spruce up, while retaining a local feel. The choice on the bar isn't the vast head scratching exercise of the Draft House but there is still around 8 beers on tap, a mix of craft and the likes of Becks. To be honest after a busy day I just don't have the capacity to make decisions and with the increasingly popular Sierra Nevada on tap it’s an easy decision to make. Having paid over £5 in Shoreditch its more than fair at £4 a pint. A sharer of Fish and Chips serves as a good filler on our visit. Proper pub food in a basket is something that you don't see enough of.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Add in friendly and knowledgeable bar staff and and it’s a real winner. Another tick for SE1. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;">The Dean Swift</span> <br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">32 Lafone Street </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">SE1 2LX</span>The Pub Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833851533643604100noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3890448391846594640.post-26511287231218606092010-11-02T00:02:00.000+00:002010-11-02T00:02:28.878+00:00SE1: who needs North of the riverNorth has always been my compass bearing of choice. So it surprises me to say that South really is the place to be. It's been coming for a while with a move South of the River last year after years in Clerkenwell and Hoxton (I never owned skinny jeans or a brakeless racer mind) but Sunday afternoon confirmed there really is no need to venture across the river.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOQaJGAoIufQdmhaAJAXl_JBSELunCPmLIZHnm1ge4IbbbHZ1jpQDoDw3P3V6P94xNFp_a3-KyLji71Sq8lsP88nAHX4KmOEFzFWWM5WTQTGPbY4BBfccvyycjGqxR0gVZIh5yugidjPA/s1600/photo-705123.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534691590379025330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOQaJGAoIufQdmhaAJAXl_JBSELunCPmLIZHnm1ge4IbbbHZ1jpQDoDw3P3V6P94xNFp_a3-KyLji71Sq8lsP88nAHX4KmOEFzFWWM5WTQTGPbY4BBfccvyycjGqxR0gVZIh5yugidjPA/s320/photo-705123.JPG" /></a></div>The SE1 starting point was the <a href="http://www.drafthouse.co.uk/drafthouse/towerBridge.asp">Draft House</a> on Tower Bridge. It was the perfect place to meet the Dane, over for the weekend and staying nearby. The last visit was during the soft launch and i've been looking for an excuse to come back ever since... not that I need an excuse, but the hangover that first visit was difficult to cope with after the over indulgence. The atmosphere was perfect for a Sunday afternoon. There had been thoughts that it may be packed out with tourists in hiking boots and kagools (a style choice I can never really get in Central London) but thankfully this wasn't the case. Enough fellow punters for a bit of life but not so many that we had to wait for service. The choice as always was impressive so much so that i'm left making a choice and changing it, not wanting to miss out on something that i've not seen. Possibly the reason for the hangover last time! Captain English joins us and we are set for a few hours drinking and catching up.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>As we depart, the Dane heads East and English and I head towards London Bridge. It's at this point that I remember Tweets about the <a href="http://therakeblog.wordpress.com/2010/09/12/south-west-beer-fest/">South West Beer Fest</a> at The Rake. Attempting the "one more no more" it falls flat as English has an appointment with a pair of oven gloves. I've never been one for drinking on my own, least of all at a Beer Festival, but the lure of The Rake is too much. It's the closing hours when I arrive but there is still a decent crowd, the staff are in Halloween costume; at least I hope so as i'm sold a pasty by a <a href="http://www.google.co.uk/imgres?imgurl=http://www.affordablehousinginstitute.org/blogs/us/Clockwork_droogs_small.jpg&imgrefurl=http://cascadeclimbers.com/forum/ubbthreads.php/topics/916305/Re_Halloween&h=363&w=641&sz=61&tbnid=0mq3BEWDLl0PsM:&tbnh=78&tbnw=137&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dclockwork%2Bdroogs&zoom=1&q=clockwork+droogs&usg=__jPK18YUP8GDvYp2hoRoS_4CrPwg=&sa=X&ei=_0nPTJCwI8yTjAf4y-HZBw&ved=0CC8Q9QEwBA">Droog</a>. I sample in halves and manage to get through Bath Ales Festivity, Lizard Ales Helford River , Isle of Purbeck Fossil Fuel and Yeovil Ales Stargazer. With each half I note down what i've had on the iPhone until I come to the realisation that the next step could be a notebook, similar to the Ticker next to me. I put the phone away, consider another half but decide that I don't want a repeat of the <i>Draft House Head</i>.<br />
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I head to London Bridge through the market to ensure there aren't any detours to Brew Wharf or a host of others. The choice is so rich in SE1 I'd say there is no better place in London for a lover of beer, pubs and Droogs selling pasties... put simply who needs North of the river?<br />
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Draft House<br />
<div><span dir="ltr">206-208 Tower Bridge Road</span><a href="http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&q=%28The+Draft+House+Tower+Bridge%29+SE1+2UP&sll=51.478416,-0.170116&sspn=0.008473,0.01929&ie=UTF8&hq=%28The+Draft+House+Tower+Bridge%29&hnear=London+SE1+2UP,+United+Kingdom&cid=1860899568020878295&ll=51.51136,-0.068407&spn=0.018696,0.036478&z=14&output=embed" style="display: none; text-decoration: underline;" target="_parent"><span></span></a></div><div><span dir="ltr">SE1 2UP</span></div><div><span dir="ltr"> </span></div><div><span dir="ltr">The Rake</span></div><div>14a Winchester Walk</div><div>SE1 9AG</div><div><span dir="ltr"> </span></div><div><span dir="ltr"> </span></div><div><span dir="ltr"> </span></div>The Pub Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833851533643604100noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3890448391846594640.post-75301671787447405172010-10-06T15:40:00.022+01:002010-10-13T11:16:44.048+01:00Dovetail, Clerkenwell: The Saviour of Tuesday<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; font-size: small;">There was a time, not that long ago, that a few beers on a Tuesday night could turn into an unexpected session. Random dives, curry and kebabs would likely be involved; as inevitably would the Wednesday morning hangover and the prognosis of: it must be something I ate. Nowadays I'm a little more restrained. Attributable in part to the conversion. Not of the religious kind, Though on reflection it does involve a morning baptism and a great number of oh god, jesus, jesus's, as I plunge into an outdoor pool which today read 15c. It's not something to be attempted with the remnants of a session clunking round your shattered mind and body! </span><br />
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</div><div class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWWRMC5wRHYmUEwGL7FJi7UlUMelwP7uzMiqYri2270N5OnZE7ycyJnFHEnoUqYbinYaR9t13arvBLSXo3UaTk30cdJ6gf7yfu4Em0KE8klFqIJ-_MFTHD_E7iVLuj-JBsHG52pNop_7Q/s1600/photo-706352.JPG"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524926559411796834" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWWRMC5wRHYmUEwGL7FJi7UlUMelwP7uzMiqYri2270N5OnZE7ycyJnFHEnoUqYbinYaR9t13arvBLSXo3UaTk30cdJ6gf7yfu4Em0KE8klFqIJ-_MFTHD_E7iVLuj-JBsHG52pNop_7Q/s320/photo-706352.JPG" /></span></a></div><div class="mobile-photo" style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<div style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">So planning a few Tuesday evening drinks these days requires more thought. The main rule here is that too much of a good time should be avoided or you are risk of a session. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Meeting Captain English around Farringdon I'm stuck for a venue. I've always found the station end of Cowcross Street to be a wasteland for decent pubs and bars so this is firmly out. Ok so I said too much of a good time should be avoided, but a bad time is just a waste of time and money. There's a niche between the two which is pleasant conversation, a few laughs (but not too many mind) which will see you on the right train home every time. Clerkenwell Green, the Gunmakers and the Peasant would all be too dangerous a proposition so the choice was the Dovetail. A bar specialising in Belgian beer should surely be a dangerous choice? But strangely it isn't. The service is ok, the choice is extensive and tucked away on Jerusalem Passage it's a relatively quiet location. I've spent time here for after work drinks and on weekends when I lived around the corner but have never made a connection in the same way as say the Peasant or 3 Kings, that makes me want to stay. English and I ponder this over a Kwak; the conclusion is it's identikit feel; with Tin Tin posters, pews, Belgian beer memorabilia, not to mention the stale chip fat aroma, we could as easily be sat in a Bromley chain bar. </span><span style="font-size: small;">A shame perhaps? Well not really as without the likes of the Dovetail occupying the niche between favourites and the likes of Cowcross Street, Tuesday nights could be a thing of the past.</span> As conversation strays to the existence of a Kwak Pipe it's time for the short walk to the train station.<br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; font-size: x-small;">9-10 Jerusalem Passage </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Clerkenwell </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; font-size: x-small;">EC1V 4JP</span>The Pub Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833851533643604100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3890448391846594640.post-22312048645608797392010-10-05T14:13:00.000+01:002010-10-05T14:13:00.210+01:00Turner Prize: Chip #3<div class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAEoQ6uG8T07G8GPGO3cUV4lkNdlBCaTkY6A2Fhg8miAVEwjN4VvxqPQXdzMtzyQSr-pXiIQ-dyBmO9COu2NJ8U5z_TagNftXOltCvArH0SQZdpoCeIQDKRdR9lhe7GOCtZXrCQD1Xjrs/s1600/photo-717751.JPG"><br />
</a></div>Turner Prize furore is fast approaching; with the prize announcement on 6th December and work available to view from today at <a href="http://www.tate.org.uk/britain/turnerprize/turnerprize2010/default.shtm">Tate Britain</a>.<br />
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The Daily Mail and other such liberal minded publications will be sharpening their knives and preparing their blunt rhetoric for another year. In a time of recession is there anything better for them to tear into than something which is modern, conceptual and is ultimately destined to have a price tag attached equal to a 3 bed detached in Nuneaton and a top of the range Mondeo? Rule of thumb being that if it isn't at least 150 years old, appropriated from another culture or of some naked bird then surely it cannot be art. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZux9uLLnAEbvyXxvEKqgc2_0NV6CI5B-2v1wdeefMtZ1r9Qu3lutjRxm9pHnbd79UdsuDSNje2E0wg5wXfUrbKXgV-y6RgZnH-vZyb2ChVLzUVVGvdUz9YPaXtqiP3evWtOl26fhYB_I/s1600/photo-747763.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523525719180633586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZux9uLLnAEbvyXxvEKqgc2_0NV6CI5B-2v1wdeefMtZ1r9Qu3lutjRxm9pHnbd79UdsuDSNje2E0wg5wXfUrbKXgV-y6RgZnH-vZyb2ChVLzUVVGvdUz9YPaXtqiP3evWtOl26fhYB_I/s400/photo-747763.JPG" width="300" /></a> <br />
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Lou and I were at Tate Britain over the weekend (I can stroke my chin with the best of them) to deliver my Turner entry. Only to be told that this isn't the way it works. And there was me thinking it was akin to The Gallery on Hartbeat. I explained i've been referred to as an artist of note on many occasions. Often preceeded with the word <em>piss</em> but an artist all the same. This as you can imagine didn't sway the good people of the Tate and tail between my legs, retired to the Canton Arms, safely across the bridge. <br />
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So instead I share it with your goodselves. The Pub Diaries presents: Chip #3. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAEoQ6uG8T07G8GPGO3cUV4lkNdlBCaTkY6A2Fhg8miAVEwjN4VvxqPQXdzMtzyQSr-pXiIQ-dyBmO9COu2NJ8U5z_TagNftXOltCvArH0SQZdpoCeIQDKRdR9lhe7GOCtZXrCQD1Xjrs/s1600/photo-717751.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522359077232722674" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAEoQ6uG8T07G8GPGO3cUV4lkNdlBCaTkY6A2Fhg8miAVEwjN4VvxqPQXdzMtzyQSr-pXiIQ-dyBmO9COu2NJ8U5z_TagNftXOltCvArH0SQZdpoCeIQDKRdR9lhe7GOCtZXrCQD1Xjrs/s320/photo-717751.JPG" width="240" /></a> <br />
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I would ask interested buyers to form an orderly queue behind Charlie Saatchi. Don't worry there's plenty to go round... I've got a bowl full..The Pub Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833851533643604100noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3890448391846594640.post-85656478607180696222010-10-02T08:40:00.001+01:002010-10-02T08:41:44.131+01:00Raouls, Jericho, Oxford: Aviation<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Cocktails have never really been my thing. I've had too many that were overpriced or over liquered. So they aren't usually on my drinks radar, unless I find myself at a time or in a place where a beer just isn't appropriate (yes there are such times), and importantly the Bartenders know what they're doing. </span><span style="font-size: small;">Not some Tom Cruise obsessive who's practiced their bottle tossing more than their mixing; and certaonly not someone who refers to themselves as a Mixologist.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> After a day of historic Oxford colleges and pubs we made our way to <a href="http://www.raoulsbar.co.uk/splash.htm">Raoul's</a>, raising a birthday toast to Lou's sister Elise. </span></div><div style="border: medium none; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAfz5g7DIhsr19m4zMwM0bQVBHPu4FI7wD6t1n38cwf2lDWMJbt-qBcQMmBNwPgEuiImlmk0wYvG_Z_o0wAF8oweqXGmk2bNfHo3KOHO4jYuaeESEblCKO0Ac88LQCtof9RD5amKE8Raw/s1600/photo-771724.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522708060539280210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAfz5g7DIhsr19m4zMwM0bQVBHPu4FI7wD6t1n38cwf2lDWMJbt-qBcQMmBNwPgEuiImlmk0wYvG_Z_o0wAF8oweqXGmk2bNfHo3KOHO4jYuaeESEblCKO0Ac88LQCtof9RD5amKE8Raw/s320/photo-771724.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="border: medium none; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">The cocktail list is vast but Lou goes for her regular of an Old Fashioned. Elise and middle sister Jerry go for some sweet concoction. Col seems set on his choice which could be anything from a Dirty Martini to a Donn Beach Zombie, such is his eagerness to give anything a go (this includes Channel Swimming and Richard Gere impressions). Lee AKA Ho Ho Ho Green Giant asks for something to knock him over which is a decision he may have later regretted. Being a relative novice, but knowing what I like (and more importantly what I don't), I ask a few questions. The bartender knows his stuff and sells me on the Aviation. It's in the Forgotten Cocktails section, served in a Martini glass and the main constituent is gin. Its right on the mark for me. Its dry, fresh and not an umbrella in sight. Its one of those classic drinks that makes me think of an age of elegant air travel. The days before bodily swabs and Easyjet snack packs, when people were more likely to light a cigar than their shoes. </span></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="border: medium none; clear: both; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">I was so impressed that I had a look into the ingredients and method to recreate at home; something that you cannot do with a pint without a decent amount of expertise, patience and brewing equipment (one day perhaps). Who better <a href="http://www.spectator.co.uk/scoff/blog/6201398/let-them-eat-cake.thtml">to take guidance from</a> than Erik Lorincz of the Connaught, recipient of International Bartender of the Year.</span></div><div class="separator" style="border: medium none; clear: both; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">So its predominantly Gin; about 2 shots of something decent (Bombay Sapphire, Tanquray, Hendricks). Raouls adhere to one of the original recipes which uses Maraschino (1/3 shot) and Violet (1/8 shot) liqueurs; though some dispense of the Crème de Violette. A shot of lemon finishes the mix. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Pour into a ice filled shaker (a pint glass if you need to improvise). Shake and strain to a chilled glass. Garnish would traditionally be a flamed lemon peel but I think you could be forgiven as with the Crème de Violette for not adhering fully at home! Retire to the terrace to the strains of Frank, Dean or Sammy and enjoy.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">32 Walton Street, </div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Jericho, </div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Oxford, </div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">OX2 6AA</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">01865 553 732</div>The Pub Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833851533643604100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3890448391846594640.post-88210819124484902952010-09-30T10:19:00.000+01:002010-09-30T10:19:11.519+01:00The Old Bookbinders, Jericho, Oxford: You'd be Nuts Not To!<div class="mobile-photo"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><a href="http://oldbookbinders.co.uk/">The Old Bookbinders</a> is tucked away in the residential streets of Jericho. No snap happy tourists here unless you count the snap happy blogger and his iPhone. On a drizzly Sunday afternoon, there is just a handful of locals at the bar and a friendly but bored barman. Our arrival more than doubles the occupancy and draws some stares which confirms that this could be pigeon holed as a "local"; or just the normal reaction to 5 Aussies and a Northerner.</span></div><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWlVl3AKpGY588iqlbG1q5bwtXYeW39q9R1O4Y20YdV3Y5u7mPYnwvtYzZ7jXHMrBA1EeAryMO1YSGMLwoZ8RK3zK2h1D-suB2ezBxQAJkEFnq1qGhQS6bKO3SJyKPU1laD0f9GaNF2Z4/s1600/photo-776068.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522632056071586882" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWlVl3AKpGY588iqlbG1q5bwtXYeW39q9R1O4Y20YdV3Y5u7mPYnwvtYzZ7jXHMrBA1EeAryMO1YSGMLwoZ8RK3zK2h1D-suB2ezBxQAJkEFnq1qGhQS6bKO3SJyKPU1laD0f9GaNF2Z4/s320/photo-776068.JPG" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">The pub has a jumble sale aesthetic, which looks like its slowly crept through the pub, with vinyl, beermats and rows of spent lighters clustered on walls. I imagine it to be great for a proper session with its dimly lit back room and corners to occupy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I opt for the seat without a lethal looking ice skate dangling above and have a pint of <a href="http://www.bathales.com/">Bath Ales</a>, Gem, accompanied by free monkey nuts scooped from a large barrel. I am happy. Easily pleased perhaps but the simple pleasure of cracking shells, supping the the rich malty Gem and good company is what Sundays are all about.</span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">17-18 Victor St </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Jericho </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Oxford </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">OX2 6BT</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">01865 553 549</span>The Pub Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833851533643604100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3890448391846594640.post-8803133753275225232010-09-28T12:27:00.002+01:002010-09-28T22:03:06.802+01:00Jude the Obscure, Jericho, Oxford: We Love Sundays?<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">As far as statements go, <i>We Love Sundays</i> is pretty unequivocal; and taken next to a £7.95 price tag the Roast at <a href="http://www.gkpubs.co.uk/pubs-in-oxford/jude-the-obscure-pub/">Jude the Obscure</a> in Jericho seemed like a good option. Now I'm not expecting gastro pub fare, just the hope of some wholesome pub grub. I can't tell you where it came on the scale between boil in the bag heap and my </span><a href="http://www.thepeasant.co.uk/"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Peasant</span></a><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> benchmark as Jude's relationship with Sunday seems to be an on off one; Roasts only being available November onwards. The thinking perhaps being that no one eats Sunday Roast in Autumn? The suggested alternative to the Roast is, as a Yorkshireman, quite shocking. In fact I think this would bring a grimace to the face of even the most ardent Lancastrian.</span><br />
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<div class="mobile-photo"></div><div class="separator" style="border: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigTjmk0shgP_LPG6jSN8JbISQ_GOAJ9miXR_QABHM7Axthl5muj0rfT6Ppv0ui_M5URuciVhBtD1Qzz7lSYEq0MXPqHiB631RMCXsX3R0fEuRLHtXlLanLIdwz__gGBJKPLTu4SeLq5vs/s1600/photo-704179.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521905039144610530" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigTjmk0shgP_LPG6jSN8JbISQ_GOAJ9miXR_QABHM7Axthl5muj0rfT6Ppv0ui_M5URuciVhBtD1Qzz7lSYEq0MXPqHiB631RMCXsX3R0fEuRLHtXlLanLIdwz__gGBJKPLTu4SeLq5vs/s400/photo-704179.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Yorkshire Pudding is something that really shouldn't be messed with too much; as it simply doesn't need to be. A Roast Beef Yorkshire Pudding Wrap therefore is something of an abomination, ranking up there with the </span><a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/wordofmouth/2010/jun/16/tesco-lasagne-sandwich-lasandwich-why"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Lasangwich</span></a><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">. There are doubtless pud-purists out there that object to </span><a href="http://www.deliaonline.com/recipes/cuisine/european/english/toad-in-the-hole-with-roasted-onion-gravy.html"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Toad in the Hole</span></a><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> as unecessary. This concoction would finish them off. On the assumption that a Yorkshire Pudding should be light, crisp and risen after being cooked in oil or fat; then preparing a pancake like batter wrap surely makes it something else other than a pudding? But then Soggy Beef and Batter Pancake Wrap doesn't really have the same ring I suppose. </span></div><div class="separator" style="border: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Courier New;">Lou, ordered the Wrap, though bearing in mind that she hasn't had a proper Yorkshire Pudding she cannot be held accountable; and it at least allowed me a guilt free taste; albeit a small one. With a consistency of pancake rather than Yorkshire pudding I loaded it with horseradish and chewed; and chewed. R<span style="font-family: Courier New;">ecent bids to endow the humble Yorkshire Pud with <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/8554455.stm"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">European protection</span></a><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> would put pay to not the dish but the passing off as a Yorkshire Pudding; perhaps we could have the start of the Yorkshire Pancake? Which could almost be bearable.</span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="border: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>The Pub Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833851533643604100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3890448391846594640.post-5148069070805876482010-09-24T19:30:00.003+01:002010-09-24T19:35:57.265+01:00Enter the Flagon: Beer Kung Fu - Walk Like a Panther<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Beer Kung Fu Master status comes to the lucky few. We don't wear a belt to denote our status but we can be seen in action in licensed premises throughout the drinking world.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">The ability to pass through a crowd of punters without spillage is one sign of a Master and the most precious of skills (more so when its £4 a pint). It's what we call <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xeFyD-JYWD0">Walk Like a Panther</a>. Perhaps a Panther whose had a few, but a Panther all the same.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">The latest test to hone my Master skills was the <a href="http://venues.meanfiddler.com/relentless-garage/home">Garage</a>, Highbury. Before me stood a crowd of anticipant punters; <a href="http://www.grinderman.com/">Grinderman</a>'s entrance onto the stage was moments away and I had two pints filled to the plastic brim with expensive, bland, gassy Lout. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">I choose a zig zag route through jostling groups; last minute toilet dashers and most dangerous of all hazards: the random wavy arms. Like flailing beer assassins, they can spell disaster. Unlike stationary hazards such as random laptop cases this foe often cannot be anticipated with forethought. They require the lightening dexterity of a young Jackie Chan. In my case a quick back step and roll passed this obstacle with zero spillage. Other moves for any aspiring Master are the shoulder nudge, beer in the air (a risky move when failure leads to spillage on heads below. In which case normal Kung Fu maybe required); all accompanied by a booming shout of 'SCUSE ME! I am in no way what you would describe as coordinated but with the Power of Beer I dare say I could <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cxVJ2LKxFDA">pirouette</a> if required. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Beer safely delivered and status well in tact I hand the plastic vessel to Captain English, he immediately spills the contents, misjudging the flexibility of the plastic (for someone described as a Music Alpha Male, having been to more gigs than some roadies, this is an amateur moment). More training required for his Yellow Belt I feel. <a href="http://www.grinderman.com/">Grinderman</a> take the stage, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7kV5XkBQsKU&feature=related">Nick Cave</a> throwing some impressive shapes, throwing mike stands and generally making the stage hands earn their keep; which while great on stage, makes me think that he could be added to the list of foes, when off stage.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Are there any fellow Masters out there who wish to share the ways? </span></div>The Pub Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833851533643604100noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3890448391846594640.post-59947407489849194552010-09-14T22:28:00.003+01:002010-09-15T10:11:19.112+01:00Intoxicating Sweet Shop: Draft House, Tower Bridge<div style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"></div><div style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"></span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span">I first heard that the Draft House had a new Tower Bridge outpost through Twitter and a look at the website revealed a soft launch with 50% off all food before the "real opening" on 13th September. I suppose the thing with a soft launch is that it a kind of<i> forgive us if you we make mistakes but we are only new, we're not really open yet</i>. Whatever your thoughts on that I thought it a fair enough deal at 50% off and based on my visit to Battersea I spent the rest of the day clock watching.</span></div><div><br />
</div></div><div><div style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Captain English took little convincing and we spent more time debating how to get there. Now he holds a Boris Bike token walking seems so, well, pedestrian. Vernon as usual was a tentative and with that we had our three. I made it to Tower Bridge quickly through the City backstreets and all that stood between me and the a much needed beer was the tourist throng. I weaved my way through, taking no regard to stop while the fifth or sixth or seventh tourist took a picture of a loved one pointing at the bridge, at the river, at City Hall. It took on an almost Top Gear challenge anticipation as I got closer to the Draft House, expecting to see the Captain fly past. </span></div><div style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Stepping in, I saw him just at the bar, wiping the slightest glint of sweat away, which seems to have been more from the mission to find a docking station than the actual ride. The décor is somewhere between gastro pub and diner with melamine tables and a pea green banquette around the walls and a centre high table with stools. The walls, as with the Battersea Draft House are hung with classic music posters and despite the table service by smart staff in shirt and tie it feels relaxed enough for a quick beer, a longer session or a proper meal, which seems to be the main focus.</span></div><div style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Attention soon turned to the pumps. Despite the array of bottled choice, the first had to be hand pulled, but with a choice of 10 or more it wasn't proving to be easy. We started with something we know, the Wandle Ale and steadily worked our way through Junction, Porterhouse Red and Sharps', Chalky's Bite, to name those that I recall. From the bottle we had Mort Subite Kriek (in place of dessert) and an Aventinus. It has been said that when faced with this kind of choice I am like a kid in a sweet shop, albeit the most intoxicating of sweet shops. This was no exception.</span></div><div style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Food is an easy choice once I spy Pork Belly, served with a Black Pudding mash. Vernon has arrived by this point and turns his nose up at the thought of Black Pudding. In my mind unless you are a Vegetarian or acutely Hemophobic you have no business turning your nose up at Black Pudding, not least when it is mixed with mash potato The pork is good as is the crackling, albeit sparing in its portion. My appetite does however grow in proportion to the volume I have drunk, so I'd maybe have to return to comment conclusively.</span></div><div style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Compared to my last Draft House experience this was comparable; with a great beer selection, good food and friendly and knowledgeable staff. Service was a little unsure at times, though there was always a more experienced barman to hand, but as I've already said this is early days. I will return, when I'm sure the service will be as flawless as the beer.</span> </span></div><div style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><br />
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</div></div>The Pub Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833851533643604100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3890448391846594640.post-54264274245245570982010-08-14T09:58:00.003+01:002010-08-14T10:26:24.632+01:00In The Wedge: The Cavendish Arms<div>So it's been a while since my last proper post. I'm back by popular demand. Well OK maybe just the demand of a few of my regular drinking companions, but back all the same.<br />
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So where better to start than <a href="http://www.thecavendisharmsstockwell.co.uk/">The Cavendish Arms</a> in Stockwell. I've mentioned the Cavendish in <a href="http://thepubdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/04/stockwell-easter-crawl-pt-2-landor.html">previous posts</a> but I felt it was time to do it justice.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Found in the <a href="http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?oe=utf-8&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&ie=UTF-8&q=cavendish+arms+stockwell&fb=1&gl=uk&hq=cavendish+arms+stockwell&hnear=Camberwell&cid=0,0,17944010905901628412&ei=MlNmTKrDHeDT4waz3piZBA&sa=X&oi=local_result&ct=image&resnum=2&ved=0CCIQnwIwAQ">wedge between South Lambeth Road and Wandsworth Road</a>, the Cavendish on approach looks like an estate pub which would be avoided by all but locals and a brave stranger. Draw closer and you will find a newly revamped beer garden which is a mere taster for what you will find inside. A comfy living room atmosphere of Chesterfields and the odd Spitting Image annual in the main bar is your starting point of discovering the delights of the Cavendish. </div><div><br />
</div><div>It never ceases to impress me with it's friendly service from the Landlady, sound engineer and sometime Musician Shirley-Jane, to Dave the Compere (pulls of a gold jacket with aplomb), Daniel the barman and his architecturally impressive hairdo or occasional Pub Organist, Tam. Yes I did say Pub Organist. As if this in itself isn't reason enough to visit there is the Ballroom. At one time this would have been the smokey backroom; now transformed into an intimate venue complete with stage, mirrorball and velvet curtain. The often free line up includes Music, Comedy and now and again a bit of Burlesque; and who doesn't like a bit of free tassle!<br />
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So if you haven't guessed already I am quite a fan. Usually I would leave the choice to the reader but I will make an exception and command you to jump on the Northern or Victoria line, <span class="Apple-style-span">bus or bike and head to The Cavendish Arms. </span></div><div><div><br />
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</div></div>The Pub Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833851533643604100noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3890448391846594640.post-45818271139101241792010-07-21T17:03:00.000+01:002010-07-21T17:03:10.423+01:00SlackA combination of iPhone v. washing machine (washing machine won in a clear knockout), trips to Amsterdam, Paris, Berlin and a sprinkle of apathy have seen me being a little slack on the blogging front of late. Rest assured I will be putting this right over the next week or so with a few entries that are bubbling away at the moment. So coming up will be:<br />
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Herr Spargal's Berlin punk karaoke <br />
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Farewell to Meister (he's departed for sunnier climes not the afterlife!)<br />
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Dancing monkeys and cocktail clowns in Paris<br />
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East London's finest<br />
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The Sam Smith's Crawl (or more accurately Stagger)<br />
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And more… <br />
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Oh… Meister does this count as a post?The Pub Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833851533643604100noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3890448391846594640.post-14911713713222816942010-06-24T12:15:00.000+01:002010-06-24T12:15:34.508+01:00Game of Two Halves, Game of Two Pubs: First Half<div class="mobile-photo">It's a Saturday afternoon kick off for the Socceroos second fixture and the Aussies gathered again in SW8. Our venue this time is a new Sports Bar on Wilcox Road which adjoins the A Tasca corner restaurant. I've passed many Portuguese bars in SW8, but until now have not tried one. It's friendly albeit empty and has Sagres and Super Bock as the standard offering; preferable over a pint Carling any day. </div><br />
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<div class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMBXnyb43qB4JDo924RX8gIrch91ZZlqq8Xad1qpcdoM6i4EZc0-WzMbN4nh2gcwoDXO4fA7NN1KJ7B6NiyMmDEwLFT8a6qYbA8XB_fcljwnh_QrULPFHKaIvG23EyayADKdyPWhfY-D4/s1600/photo-783884.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486260588063403730" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMBXnyb43qB4JDo924RX8gIrch91ZZlqq8Xad1qpcdoM6i4EZc0-WzMbN4nh2gcwoDXO4fA7NN1KJ7B6NiyMmDEwLFT8a6qYbA8XB_fcljwnh_QrULPFHKaIvG23EyayADKdyPWhfY-D4/s320/photo-783884.jpg" /></a></div><div class="mobile-photo"><br />
</div>The game's kicked off when Lou and I arrive and we find Meister and Nic watching intently. When the commentary is low, monotone and wholly in Portugeuse you have no choice but to watch intently. Minutes later the first goal goes in and the Aussies are looking confident. This lasts all of 13 minutes before the double blow of Kewell sent off and a Ghanaian penalty goal. The commentary takes on more enthusiasm and pace. As much as commentary can be banal it still gives a little insight. We ask if there is anyway the barman can get BBC. He apologises that he can't. Nic jokingly tells him that he can translate. The barman misses the humour and duly translates, proving in the process that commentary is universally banal. The whistle blows for half time and we move on across the road in search of banality.The Pub Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833851533643604100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3890448391846594640.post-42603602820295410242010-06-21T11:07:00.000+01:002010-06-21T11:07:16.568+01:00Mawbey Arms, Stockwell. C'MON AUSSIES<div class="mobile-photo"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Having watched England's stuttering first match I was in little doubt that the Germans were going to repeat such a performance with the Soceroo's. As much as I admired the optimism of the Aussies round the table I couldn't help but think that they were about to get a lesson in the Beautiful Game. </div><br />
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Our unlikely venue for the Sunday evening kick off was the Mawbey Arms in Stockwell. Tucked between South Lambeth Road and Wandsworth Road its not a place you stumble upon. Patriotism is not in short supply here. I start to count the St Georges flags and get bored by 73. The barmaid eyes us with caution and I'm expecting the South London equivalent of "your not from round these parts are you". As we indecisively look up and down the pumps debating the merits of each choice a long sigh is audible from behind the bar. Meister notices the Doombar and comments that it's available back in Perth which initiates further discussion. The sigh is now accompanied by tapping fingers. Ordering our drinks the tapping ceases and we move to the beer garden, because who knows what follows tapping fingers.<br />
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The patriotic theme continues and I can add another 80 flags to the tally. The big screen is accompanied by big sound, the volume booming out. We take it in turns to try and turn it down, with no success, but this soon becomes unnecessary as the rib rattling bass of a car stereo drowns out the pre match analysis. By half time the confidence is waning and the cries of "C'MON Aussies" are sounding increasingly desperate. The car stereo has stopped and we can now hear the commentators. They seem to have their Thesaurus out and are seeing how many variants on eviscerate they can use by full time.<br />
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The whistle blows. At 4-0 the enthusiasm has drained out of the Aussies and post match celebratory drinks look unlikely. We head back into the pub to drain the last of our drinks. There are a few more punters now and unnervingly all eyes are on us. O and Meister are looking at a particular flag of the many. It's signed by Peter Shilton we are told. I nod respectfully as one should. There may even have been a slight eyebrow raise. "Peter Who?" asks O. I explain while the laughter and shaking of heads subsides. Making our way to the door Meister seems to think he can get out through the brick wall. "I'm sure there was a door there before". More laughter. <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqgeMndkV4_qwlrgd1cQgnePMfTxr0fvvY_Gaz5wHNSI1qUjFS92UtH_VGAN_r6SDwGllOizCwD4Z9rp2SqN9XEFRNHGi93HS24RzWR06I8xgutj43Lzcx87MWOpHa44C2wWSvDk4xx8s/s1600/photo-758958.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485152808661368402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqgeMndkV4_qwlrgd1cQgnePMfTxr0fvvY_Gaz5wHNSI1qUjFS92UtH_VGAN_r6SDwGllOizCwD4Z9rp2SqN9XEFRNHGi93HS24RzWR06I8xgutj43Lzcx87MWOpHa44C2wWSvDk4xx8s/s320/photo-758958.jpg" /></a></div>The Pub Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833851533643604100noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3890448391846594640.post-38643196380537649032010-06-01T23:39:00.002+01:002010-06-02T22:06:09.282+01:00Supper Club: Harwood ArmsAs an aged Sloan Ranger and her daughter loudly berate a Polish tradesman, for the crime of asking them to move down the tube carriage, I raise my eyebrows at Cockles. I sense we are both hoping that the schlep to Fulham is worth it. We are en route to meet Captain English and Meister for what could be the final Supper Club: A loose fixture in our diaries where we invariably end the night with tight waistbands and light wallets. Meister is heading back to Oz and is working through pubs and restaurants at a commendable rate. Our venue, the <a href="http://www.harwoodarms.com/">Harwood Arms</a>, has a task ahead of it in the gastronomic stakes but as London's first Michelin starred pub the night is full of promise.<br />
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Set on a residential street the unsuspecting could wander in thinking it was your bog standard Gastro Pub, though here you will not find the standard fare. We find English and Meister at the bar and take it in turns to ponder the menu. Much scratching of heads and stroking of imaginery beards ensues. We are still deciding well after being seated. <br />
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Wine selection is Meister and Cockles area of expertise. With a considered debate and lots of questions of the staff we start with the Chateau Petit Val Grand Cru, St Emilion, Bordeaux, 2005. I will <br />
confess that my question was less about the attributes of this particular choice but more a question of how much it would cost my pocket. They both have form for choosing wine by quality and not price which I am slowly coming to terms with. Straight faced Meister tells me it's £45. My eyebrows raise and I bite back my Northern urge to protest. Well in truth there may have been a little protest but then curiosity gets the better of me and we go with it. Now Oz Clarke has nothing on this Aussie in terms of the theatrics of wine tasting. First comes the long smell with nose fully in the glass, which I'm told should tell you most of what you need to know. Second the swirl, followed by the taste, with or without a slight slurp and then final consideration. A slight pause for dramatic effect. And the verdict. In this case it's the thumbs up. Some would view this spectacle as pretension but I see it more as Meister quality control. I'm not disappointed with the choice and have to admit its good though I feel I need some further education to fully appreciate it. A trip to a few wineries perhaps. <br />
<br />
Grilled salted ox tongue with cauliflower cheese croquette, bread and butter pickles is first off. I can't say I've had Tongue in the last 20 years (snigger) but this was an excellent reintroducton. What I expected could be chewy was delicate and light. A great start which set me up for the main course. Shoulder of Roe deer follows, served with sauerkraut, mash and greens. For two on a wooden platter, my eyes widen as it is placed between English and myself. The bone slips away effortless as we dish up generous hunks and even more generous dollops of mash and sauerkraut. It's a bold, hearty dish which is what Supper Club is all about. It is faultless. I am at risk of drowning my keyboard as my mouth waters just thinking about this! Rounding off the meal I am torn between the English cheeses with toasted Bara Brith or the baked custard with Grasmere gingerbread. I'm told the Bara Brith and gingerbread are both made on the premises and on the basis that no one makes Bara Brith like Nan did I go for the custard. The top cracks satisfyingly but I could have probably done without the accompanying sorbet. The gingerbread is good but lacks the dustiness and snap I was expecting. That said it's a good end to a great meal. Where the country comes to town is the phrase that came to mind when I was trying to sum up the Harwood Arms and it's menu. They beat me to it I see as it's emblazoned on their website. Just when you thought you'd had an original thought!The Pub Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833851533643604100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3890448391846594640.post-48986060052143351822010-05-20T13:41:00.001+01:002010-05-22T08:57:48.488+01:00The Rake. Preaching to the converted?I would think I'm preaching to the converted in writing about Borough's, The Rake so I'll keep it brief. It's one of those placesthat has been on the list for some time, is by no means a trek from work, yet I'd never been. We won't count the weekend when i found it closed and all I could do was stare through the window and vow to return.<br />
<br />
The return was with Cockles, Captain English and Hadedar. A relatively brief visit but all the same as I type my head is pulsating with every tap. Let's just say it's like being a kid in a sweet shop, albeit an <br />
alcoholic sweet shop. Where to start? Do I start on the pump or bottles? Arrrr too much choice!<br />
<br />
The Darkstar American Pale Ale seemed like a good starting pint. It's maybe here that I should have settled on this as my nights choice. However faced with such choice the Six Hop and Saison came and went. As I made my home the avoidance of the 9% Brewdog had me feeling rather smug, though with my frontal lobe throbbing I feel anything but smug and it isn't helped by seeing today's choices tweeting in my feed. Hair of the Brewdog perhaps?The Pub Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833851533643604100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3890448391846594640.post-50011034980311333792010-05-19T16:17:00.000+01:002010-05-19T16:17:42.840+01:00Climbing Off The Fence: Back Tracking<div class="mobile-photo"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfh0B_pw5qEt15irx_03ai74OQz44QbuJ1DXARvIZS7nVjzyAT2L7qwD_P67cXpPe9Zw2nyHORtXEuqww3hMy-C_MkuOjqIFKWlsy-Hm9qssIrJoA6oyyTUko7VK73HkAgMVRqZRU2BE/s1600/photo-712245.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472977666629377906" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfh0B_pw5qEt15irx_03ai74OQz44QbuJ1DXARvIZS7nVjzyAT2L7qwD_P67cXpPe9Zw2nyHORtXEuqww3hMy-C_MkuOjqIFKWlsy-Hm9qssIrJoA6oyyTUko7VK73HkAgMVRqZRU2BE/s320/photo-712245.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">In the spirit of my previous post - Climbing Off The Fence - I feel it only right that I post this update. I portrayed myself as a normal CAMRA member. Not in the slightest like the sinister Mr Deltics portrayed by Pete Brown. At the time of posting it was the truth. However since then (a matter of mere weeks) I have some shocking and rather shameful news. I have been dabbling in Steam. And I liked it. What does this mean? Is this the early onset of an addiction to Steam? It's a real worry. An addiction like this could spiral downward and before long I'm living in a Croydon bedsit eating from unlabelled tins and surrounded by cats dressed as station masters.</div><br />
After spending the weekend at All Tomorrows Parties surrounded by the achingly cool, the prospect of a steam train was a strangely welcome one. I'd spent three days watching the likes of Broken Social Scene, Camera Obscura, The Fall, Pavement and The Clear but The West Somerset Railway was just too much of a pull. Running between Minehead and Bishop Lydeard it transports one at a more genteel pace through country and coastal views. Preferable to being thrown round bends on a sweaty bus full of hungover hipsters? Or maybe this is just a cover? I ask myself how long it will be until I am living with the cats and carrying my magazines in a plastic bag. <br />
<br />
Does anyone know of any possible treatment?The Pub Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833851533643604100noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3890448391846594640.post-81882234557396849332010-05-16T12:12:00.003+01:002010-05-17T20:25:37.024+01:00The Ship Aground: Mankini ManLeaving <a href="http://www.butlins.com/resorts/minehead/?utm_source=Google&utm_medium=PPC&utm_term=butlins%20minehead&utm_campaign=%7BBrandMinehead%7D&ito=3585&itc=GAC4795015241&itkw=butlins%20minehead">Butlins</a> we were back in the real world and looking for a pub. A proper pub. One without a theme. We found it in <a href="http://www.theoldshipaground.co.uk/">The Old Ship Aground</a>; ideally placed by the quayside. Picnic tables looking out to sea; the perfect spot to soak up the rare glimpse of sun and enjoy a pint of Dartmoor Best. Having passed the <a href="http://www.quay-inn.co.uk/">Quay Inn</a> further down the road this looked like the more local choice.<br />
<br />
We could have happily sat for longer eyeing the Ploughmans, which looked to come with a months cheese intake. It wasn't to be as approaching we saw a gang of blokes approaching. I say blokes but they probably referred to each other as "chaps". A safe guess was that this was a stag do as one of their number was <a href="http://www.mankini.org/">Mankini</a> clad. For those who are uninitiated as to Mankini you want to think twice about googling it. Let's just say it's a piece of Lycra that leaves very little to the imagination. Initially the group caused some amusement as only a man half naked in fluroescent Lycra can, but told that they couldn't be inside unfortunately found the table next to us. If Butlins was Shoreditch on Sea this particular part of Minehead had become overrun with Claphamites. No need to Google this just think public school boys. As we left without eating I did get berated by Lou and Hadedar for being too judgemental. The advantage of writing a blog is that I can say I was 100% right. I'll let you decide. A selection of comments:<br />
<br />
• Dan Dan Dan has never been to Prague...<br />
<br />
• OHHH MY GOD they were real locals.... Then I chundered haw haw haw<br />
<br />
• Thats well loco man<br />
<br />
And my favourite<br />
<br />
• Edward, get me a Real Ale with a top.<br />
<br />
Standing this no more we headed down to the Quay Inn. It's a second choice and seems to be struggling with the slight increase in their custom. The laminated menu isn't a good sign as is the potato Smiley Faces; or the grinning face of your childs future heart attack. Ordering Ploughmans we are told it will take upto an hour as they are serving in order. Despite the wait and the inability to get a pork pie, cheese and pickles out in under 60 minutes it's preferable to the view of the Mankini.The Pub Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833851533643604100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3890448391846594640.post-82312542158575344402010-05-15T10:24:00.000+01:002010-05-15T10:24:11.960+01:00All Tomorrow's Parties, Butlins, Minehead<div></div><div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.207031); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.207031); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.273438);">I've made a break for the coast for the weekend for a stay at Butlins with a difference. It's All Tommorrows Parties curated by Pavement. A 3 day music festival in the unlikeliest of places: Butlkns, Minehead. With not a Red Coat in sight the camp has taken on a look of Shoreditch on Sea with no shortage of skinny jeans or trilby's. This is festival in a more civilised form. The only tent is the main Pavillion, there are no Portaloo's and you queue no more than 5 minutes for a beer.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.203125); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.203125); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.269531);"><br />
</span><img height="400" id="3938FE84-CA56-4672-82D1-B8423D37845C" src="cid:3938FE84-CA56-4672-82D1-B8423D37845C" width="300" /></div><div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.214844); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.214844); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.28125);"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.214844); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.214844); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.28125);"><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.199219); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.199219); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.265625); font-size: 15px;">Choice of drinking establishment is like the worst town centres in Britain with a mix of theme pubs and chain clubs. Having travelled from London on 2 trains, tube and bus I felt I deserved a drink. It's hardly an arduous journey but any excuse. With<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.199219); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.199219); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.265625);"> Lou travelling after work and Hadedar resting I ventured out with Captain English to do the shop and a crafty pint.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.207031); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.207031); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.273438); font-size: 15px;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.207031); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.207031); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.273438); font-size: 15px;"><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.199219); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.199219); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.265625);">The Swinging Shillelagh is as name suggests an Irish pub. Correction. It's a pub themed loosely on Ireland. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.1875); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.1875); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.253906);">Guinness and shamrocks do not make anIrish pub. The pint of the aforementioned black stuff takes all of 10 seconds to pour into a plastic glass, part of which is down the side. This explains why every surface is sticky. Whole tables like human fly paper. </span></span></div></span><br />
<div>Day one highlights are Calexico covers cover of Love Will Tear Us Apart. When I think of Calexico I think of the Dead Mans Shoes soundtrack, dark and brooding. The mariachi tendencies came out here. An uplifting start to the weekend.</div><div><br />
</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.210938); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.210938); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.277344);">Broken Social Scene headline the first day and continuing a theme of politeness they thank the audience and Pavement multiple times. Who said rock n roll couldn't have manners. In a Spinal Tap moment the lead singer proclaims "so hey, you've got a new government, what's up with that... Let's hope there's change people". No one I guess has filled him in on the Tory past.</span></div><div><br />
</div><div>By 1am we've seen post punk journeymen Mission of Burma and Portland trio Quasi perform on a stage usually used for talent shows and karaoke. While the skinny jeans dance until we retire for the evening. We have two days to go after all.</div></div></span><br />
<div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div></div>The Pub Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833851533643604100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3890448391846594640.post-32991827473949815512010-05-12T15:35:00.000+01:002010-05-12T15:35:23.921+01:00Trafalgar Arms (judging a book by its cover)<div class="mobile-photo"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0ZfHiFER_3WBod2cnoS86vALdfW-o9_zrYpKRPWQBXCNdN5sDYtL3-lH9FC0gyshWk2NZ0vd7yp_4JT6TiaB0FPwPzfWMPT93ODi9sOUsnk6v3vCh9KSgxKNrgzMRqH5fVOtkwtDa0RQ/s1600/photo-743185.jpg" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469764303844176498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0ZfHiFER_3WBod2cnoS86vALdfW-o9_zrYpKRPWQBXCNdN5sDYtL3-lH9FC0gyshWk2NZ0vd7yp_4JT6TiaB0FPwPzfWMPT93ODi9sOUsnk6v3vCh9KSgxKNrgzMRqH5fVOtkwtDa0RQ/s320/photo-743185.jpg" /></a>Is it possible to judge a pub by the cover of the newspapers available on the bar? There were multiple copies of both the Mail on Sunday and the News of the Screws on the bar at the <a href="http://maps.google.co.uk/maps/place?hl=en&rlz=&um=1&ie=UTF-8&q=trafalgar+arms+tooting&fb=1&gl=uk&hq=trafalgar+arms&hnear=tooting&cid=18132874998177680848">Trafalgar Arms</a> when I visited with Meister. Neither publication are high on my Sunday reading list, my preferences leaning more to the left of "hang em all". I should have maybe taken heed and done an about turn to find a pub with proper Sunday sized papers. The type you need a week to read fully. An overreaction perhaps? After all I don't walk out of the newsagents fearing I may come into contact with a Mail reader, preferring to just duck behind the pick n mix.</div><br />
A sparse mix of locals and students underwhelmed the large interior; a mix that often coexists for a pubs survival. The lone student offer was chalked behind the bar as was the existence of the Fat Frog which I assume to be a noxious cocktail of some kind (most likely green and served with multiple straws). The white wine list, also chalked up, was a curious sight. All Pinot Grigio. All the exact same price. It seems it's not just the papers which were limited.<br />
<br />
It's the last day of the season and Moscow Rovers were just about to crush plucky Wigan 8-0 to clinch the title. You would expect a crowd, even if this is not exactly Chelsea, but besides a group around the pool table there were only a handful of lone drinkers and a group of students most of which weren't taking much notice. The staff and their friends seemed to be the largest and most vocal group. Lounging on sofas in front of the lit fire grate they looked to have commandeered the best spot in the pub. This leads me to one of my pub gripes, of which there are many. Pubs becoming a private club for owner and staff alike. Where you are interupting the party by daning to request a drink. When that drink could then be classified as a crime against Guinness the feeling of annoyance grows. If the marketing is to be believed it takes 119.59 seconds to pour a perfect pint of Guinness. The Trafalgar has obviously introduced efficiency measures as this was more likely 10 seconds. The result a murky pint which has a detergent edge. It's almost understandable when the bar is three deep as the title race is coming to a dramatic conclusion but when you are the only customers at the bar it's just plainly shoddy.<br />
<br />
The half time whistle is a reprieve. We put our unfinshed drinks on the bar and leave. In future I will unleash the inner Mail reader and succumb to my knee jerk reaction and do an about turn without thought.</div>The Pub Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833851533643604100noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3890448391846594640.post-60179591897804257372010-05-11T11:25:00.000+01:002010-05-11T11:25:21.755+01:00Climbing off the fenceI have a secret. A dirty little secret which I keep from colleagues, friends and loved ones. They wouldn't quite understand. No I don't steal under garments from washing lines. No I didn't vote Cameron. I'm a... a... I am a card carrying member of <a href="http://www.camra.org.uk/">CAMRA</a>. I pay about 20 quid a year to join with ohers who love Real Ale. Yes, some have beards and books to tick; and a mind for facts whether they be about great English battles or the age of steam. I have neither beard nor tick book and as for facts let's just say I don't know my Battle of Worcester from Bosworth. Our common interest, love and in some cases obsession is of supporting brewers and sellers of real ale. And obviously there is the odd pint involved as well.<br />
<br />
A cosy world of appreciation one may think? Little did I know before dipping my toe in the blog pond that tensions exist, with esteemed commentators as non members and a debate around the "<a href="http://petebrown.blogspot.com/2010/05/camras-noxious-culture-of-entitlement.html">noxious culture of entitlement</a>" raging. Who'd have thunk it? It's debates of this like that make me question whether I should request that my <em>What's Brewing</em> and <em>Beer</em> be sent in plain brown paper. I should maybe point out that I've never been a joiner. Not since being thrown out of the Boys Brigade. So as I took the unusual step to ally myself I must be happy to say I'm a member and share my loose reasons (in no particular order) for joining:<br />
<br />
1. Discounts. I am a Yorkshireman, and if there's one thing we love, it’s a bargain. Either that or we're tight. As much as 33p off a pint sometimes. I figure I only have to drink in the region of 350,000 pints, pocket the discount and i can buy my own pub.<br />
2. Information and Support. Who doesn't want to sit on the train at 7.30 reading Beer? If you've ever bemoaned the lack of a decent pint, a lack of choice then CAMRA is worthy of support. I could at this point write a serious commentary around the Campaign but I would direct you to the website, while I continue with my ramble. <br />
<br />
3. Being in my thirties. On turning 30 many of the preoccupations I had in my teens and twenties (I would write "in my youth", but that would be too depressing) were replaced by an attitude of doing exactly what I wanted to do, as opposed to what I ought to do. My iPod wasn't playing just the latest indie band which I should be heard listening to. They were unashamedly rubbing shoulders with John Coltrane, Dolly Parton and Dean Martin. On occasion Jamie Cullum (ok, I may have gone too far with the honesty now). Being associated with stereotype beardies, bores and beer obsessive's doesn't bother me in the slightest. <br />
<br />
4. Annoyance. Not why I joined but possibly why I will renew. If I knew there was such dislike of members in purist circles (perhaps too worthy to join?) I would have stumped up for membership years ago, got on a train to Sheffield and declared loudly in the Tap "BARMAN. FREE BEER OR I WILL UNLEASH THE WRATH OF CAMRA"... I would expect to be shown the door and sentenced to the local Wetherspoons, but it could be worth it, although the train would cost me at least the discount of 230 pints. What can I say I just like a bit of antagonism.<br />
<br />
So that's it in short. The secrets out. I've climbed off the fence. Time for a pint perhaps. Now where's my membership card. Can't forget the discount.The Pub Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833851533643604100noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3890448391846594640.post-15515338078394761912010-04-27T14:33:00.000+01:002010-04-27T14:33:39.148+01:00The Warwick (The Gastro Half Marathon)<a href="http://www.thewarwickpimlico.co.uk/">The Warwick</a> in Pimlico was the venue for a Sunday lunch which will not soon be forgotten for food and service which were poles apart. <br />
<br />
As Lou and I arrived at 1pm to meet O and Meister there were only a handful of tables occupied. Designed from the gastro pub by numbers manual it’s a mix of mismatched tables and chairs, benches on stripped floors. Asking for a pint of Royal London, one of only three Ales (Green King IPA and Abbot Ale being the others) the barman seemed confused by my choice. Repeating my choice again I pointed at the pump. This first sign of the trend for the afternoon barely registered.<br />
As the bar filled over the next 2 hours a definte division formed with a Nappy Valley developing in the lowered area. Getting from the table to the toilet became a mission, weaving round strollers, toddlers and their parents all blocking the passageway to the toilets. <br />
<br />
The pace of the 3 staff increased with every new table, dashing from one side of the bar to another, in and out of the kitchen, nerves fraying, a scene of inefficient fire fighting. Plates were stacked at either end of the bar, constantly fed by annoyed diners clearing their own tables. The pile closest to Nappy Valley looking as if there could be a cascade of knives, forks and gravy at any second. Although this should have been our cue to leave the food looked and smelt great and watching what would unfold next was like strange voyeuristic theatre. <br />
The danger to Nappy Valley is cleared by one of the kitchen staff, or perhaps even the chef, which could go some way to explain the near 60 minute wait for food. There are no thoughts of the chaos around us as we ravenously attack the Soft Shell Crab, Pan Fried Scallop and Seared Foie Gras. If the kitchen is at boiling point at this point it doesn't show as each dish cannot fail to impress, from good produce to presentation. The scallop and foie gras dishes while pan fried or seared are crisp from the pan but not overcooked, as is often be the case when diverting from normal pub menus. The accompanying carrot puree with the latter dish adds a subtle sweet edge to the richness of the main element. Its safe to say that appetites are sated and we are ready for the main courses. <br />
<br />
We prise another bottle of Malbec (Mendoza 2007) from the bar after pointing it out on a stained and sodden wine list, an early casualty of the plate mountain. This sustains us for the 35 minute wait for three mains, the fourth coming 15 minutes afterward having been left off the order. All I can do is drool at the plates as the other three tuck in. The roasted cod looks good, though there seems to be a shortage of puy lentils. My roast pork belly arrives without any word of apology. Its at this point that my nerves start to fray slightly and I ask if they expect me to pay. The manager waves his hands around and mutters for me not to worry. He's probably contemplating that there are many hours of this left; with a group of weary London Marathon runners limping in medals round their necks. I'm thinking we deserve one at this point for the Nappy Valley Slalom and the Freestyle Drink Pointing. Despite all the grief it's certainly worth the wait. It has a thin scored crackling which delivers the required sweet fatty hit without picking it from the molars for the next week. The pork is moist, the accompanying veg, apple sauce and Yorkshire Pudding are all to a good standard. <br />
Our own half gastro Marathon complete consensus at the table is that dessert may be a dish too far. Meister and myself leave quickly for a pint at Cask while the ladies settle the bill. We are seated and served when we receive a call to say that we need to guess the bill. They sound please with themselves. We have a little time to think before they arrive. Knowing that it should be in the region of £150 we are dumbfounded with the final bill after an expert complaint. £55. Was it the right bill that they discounted? How did they reach that amount? I'll probably never know if this was an isolated incident for The Warwick, as despite the fact it was hugely discounted and the food was superb there are plenty of places that can get both right. So, Gold medal for Lou and O for world class complaining, Silver to myself for the Slalom, Bronze to Meister for his choice and a wooden spoon to The Warwick.The Pub Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833851533643604100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3890448391846594640.post-14912969132588249192010-04-23T13:35:00.004+01:002010-04-25T09:36:16.430+01:00Walkabout (can it ever be justified?)Facing Shepherds Bush Empire I have a choice to make. <a href="http://www.oneills.co.uk/">O'Neills</a> or <a href="http://www.walkabout.eu.com/">Walkabout</a>? Neither would be a choice I'd usually make but we're meeting before a gig and its one of the two, set either side the venue. So is it the Craic Den or something reminiscent of a Shearing Shed? With a chill passing through me I take a deep breath and head towards the neon of Walkabout.<br />
<br />
Am I being unfair to this employer of hundreds of Aussies and Kiwis? This purveyor of quality student night outs, supporter of drunken hen and stag do's? I don't think so. Every Aussie I know has a healthy disregard for it and those who don't I would seriously questions as suitable company. Tolerating it only for AFL coverage and familiar beer. They would doubtless choke on their VB if they saw the claim that its an "authentic Australian bar chain". Authentic 1920s Drovers Station possibly.<br />
<br />
On my last visit to the Upper Street outpost (to watch AFL with Meister) a psychotic customer took off his shirt and beating his tattoed chest screamed at his barfly companion that he was going to "rip his face off". The manager, without a moment of hesitation said "look mate. I've told you before... Do it again and your barred". What would you have to do to get barred from a Walkabout? Actually rip his face off?<br />
<br />
There's the dubious appropriation of aboriginal culture and iconography in the name and the design, there is the use of the word "dunnie", there is the full size ping pong table which makes me think I'm in a hostel or a sanitorium, there's the Steinlager which the barmaid could only describe as being from New Zealand, with an expression on her face that said "look it tastes like piss but what do you expect for £2". There is the use of the word "Awesome" on their website, the over use of which is anything but awesome. There is.... Well I could go on for hours.<br />
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Is there a plus side? Erm.... Well. This is difficult. I did see <a href="http://www.alanfletcher.net/">Alan Fletcher</a> sing to a Freshers week crowd. Although this should be in the against argument the combination of numerous bottles of VB and Tooheys New, being neither a Fresher nor a student and seeing Dr Karl himself was a heady mix.<br />
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With the doors to the gig open and our party complete we headed out past the ping pong table to watch <a href="http://www.angusandjuliastone.com/">Angus and Julia Stone</a>, who incidentally were excellent. They also hail from the <i><a href="http://www.lyricsfreak.com/m/men+at+work/down+under_20091747.html">land down under</a>, where beer does flow and men chunder</i>... Possibly at the thought of Walkabout? Bet they went to O'Neills.The Pub Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833851533643604100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3890448391846594640.post-81268971524401279622010-04-22T06:02:00.000+01:002010-04-22T06:02:24.893+01:00The Roebuck (This Is England)<a href="http://maps.google.co.uk/maps/place?hl=en&rlz=&lr=&um=1&ie=UTF-8&q=ROEBUCK+RICHMOND&fb=1&gl=uk&hq=ROEBUCK&hnear=RICHMOND&cid=8303109305648338171"></a> <br />
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We arrive at the <a href="http://maps.google.co.uk/maps/place?hl=en&rlz=&lr=&um=1&ie=UTF-8&q=ROEBUCK+RICHMOND&fb=1&gl=uk&hq=ROEBUCK&hnear=RICHMOND&cid=8303109305648338171">Roebuck</a> from Richmond Park, hot and very thirsty. It's early evening and a smell of gravy laden Sunday lunches hits the nostrils as we enter. The interior is reassuringly unspectacular. It's a solid pub and has been since the 1700s, the smell confirming it hasn't been gastroed, which is surprising in these parts. <br />
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With a choice of London Pride, 330, Ascot Anastasia Stout, I start with the 330 and make my way onto the Stout. Heading outside to take advantage of the remaining sun we cross the road and step down onto the wide public terrace running parallel with the road. On a spring evening in Richmond there is no better place to enjoy views of Richmond Park and down across the Thames, an idylic English scene of <i>people simply messing about in boats</i>.<br />
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Groups congregate on the benches and the railings either side of the terrace in a scene which is positively European. Through in a game of boules and it may not be England. Deciding to sit on the hedge that drops into the park a fellow drinker is swallowed whole. As we watch the sunset we watch as his legs flap and his girlfriend tries desperately to pull him out. Inevitably the crowd claps, cheers and laughs at this moment of pure slapstick before some eventually heave him out. He holds his hands up to the sky in appreciation of his public before checking his scratches. Spots of blood forming on his white Ralph Lauren polo he heads to where else but the bar. It could only be England.The Pub Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833851533643604100noreply@blogger.com0