Just as a pretty girl makes one’s loins stir, and a lovely gun makes the trigger finger twitch, this article by Tom Parker-Bowles makes me want to sell everything I own and take a trip to Britishland, just to visit the pubs he talks about. I mean:
The 50 cosiest pubs in Britain. From roaring fires in winter to breathtaking riverside views and — of course — a fine selection of local ales on tap, the watering holes you’ll want to linger in
To my absolute chagrin, I haven’t been to any of them; although I would put some of my favorite pubs — e.g. The King’s Arms in All Cannings, Wilts. — against all of them.
And leaving The George Inn in Norton St. Philip off the list of West Country pubs is nothing short of a travesty.
Of the Haunch of Venison in Salisbury, or rather its omission, we shall not speak.
Frankly, I don’t care about the view in a pub — unless it’s that of a pretty barmaid — because I go to a pub to drink and make merry with friends and not to look out over a valley, a canal or the sea. Atmosphere is the thing, only in that it makes the merrymaking easier and me less likely to leave after only a cursory pint (it’s happened).
Also less important is the food; I look with alarm at some of Parker-Bowles’s choices (caramelized shallot and thyme tarte tatin — WTF is that?), when all I’m looking for is a decent fish & chips, a sausage roll or even just a toastie or cheese sarnie. (Fortunately, I see that Mr. Parker-Bowles dined mostly on good pub fare like toasties, stews and ox-tongue sandwiches. Attaboy.) Whatever. I don’t go to a pub to eat, FFS, I go there to carouse. Eating is best done in restaurants or at street stalls, where booze is the accompaniment rather than the raison d’être. Of “gastropubs” we shall not speak, either. (Okay, just one: I remember going to one such excrescence in London somewhere, and upon reading the menu that featured overpriced crap like “Sea salt & cracked black pepper squid, £28.75”, asked for a bag of potato crisps — to be met with a supercilious sneer and a “We don’t serve that kind of thing here” response. I left after drinking only half my pint of — mediocre — ale.)
Anyway, as I said at the start, I need to get over there and try some (all? ye gods) of these places out for myself.
(I know, I know: a half-pint? It was my “taster”, followed soon by a full pint, or maybe two. My memory is somewhat fuzzy, as often happens. That was at The Haunch.)
Also, I need to revisit some of my old haunts:
Let’s just hope they all survived Teh Covid.
But I sure as hell won’t be going to this foul place, and that’s for sure:
For nearly 200 years, the Stag Inn has been the beating heart of a tiny village. But a recent revamp has split opinion, with some welcoming the modernisation and others claiming its ‘spit and sawdust charm’ has been ruined by being turned into a trendy gastropub.
Critics say unacceptably avant garde measures at the drinking hole in West Acre, Norfolk, including graffiti in the toilets, an upmarket menu with options such as venison burgers, and garishly-coloured furniture have driven them away.
Me, too. No pics because ugh, as you will see if you dare to click on the link.
IMHO A good view is a bonus: sitting outside on a summer’s eve watching the sun go down over the countryside is pretty damn good.
Thanks to the very strict drink-drive laws hereabouts I don’t do pubs these days. My club is in walking distance anyway. But you’ve reminded me that I haven’t been to the Queen Vic in a while. 🙂
Since the homebrew revolution of the early 80’s (Jimmy’s only contribution to civilization,) the US has acquired a rich collection of brewpubs. My local’s Barrington Brewery Scottish Ale eases the agony of life in The Blue. I can’t believe that Texas doesn’t have anything to compete with, or even outshine, the brittly stuff.
So, the set. As for the setting, as you say, it’s mostly a matter of choosing your companions.
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I agree with you entirely on pubs. Good beer, great atmosphere, and pub grub. Nothing fancy let alone pretentious.
Too many near me are dive bars that are probably fronts for the heroin trade or maybe they branch out into meth for the motorcycle gangs. who knows.
There is a restaurant nearby that is in a historic building that is a nice restaurant but the bar area is not cozy at all and doesn’t promote lingering. It desperately needs a dart board. I threw darts in college and miss it quite a bit.
JQ
When I first visited in the mid-70’s doing a bicycling tour of England and Scotland I was introduced to decent ales and stouts at the local pubs. My brother and his girlfriend would go off to the local cathedral, and take the guided tour from the crypts to the choir lofts; me, I’d do a quick tour of the town and pick a pub.
I was also introduced to the concept of a “ploughman’s lunch” which basically consisted of a hunk of good bread, a hunk of local cheese, and a piece of onion (usually raw, but sometimes pickled). It was cheap, filling fare, and I would usually end up sharing a table with local folks. They weren’t stonkered at all by the concept of bicycle touring; camping and occasionally staying at a youth hostel was considered pretty normal. They were a little surprised that a young American was happy to plop in a pub, have what was usually the cheapest most filling food in the place, and buy a round of good ale. I had more than a few rounds bought for me on that trip, and I was never regarded as the “ugly American” since I usually did a lot more listening than I did talking…just have a slug of beer, ask a leading question, and sit back and have fun.
Do they still serve a ploughman’s lunch, or is that just too utterly declasse these days?
“Do they still serve a ploughman’s lunch, or is that just too utterly declasse these days?”
For £20, yes they do.
Also, a “ploughman’s lunch” was an invention of the early 1970s by an advertising agency. Pure marketing, no basis in history.
My little corner of the world (Northern Virginia) is better known for hookah bars, kabob shops, and grossly over-priced “fusion gastropubs”. There is one almost decent pub in Vienna, VA (the Hawk and Griffen) that tries very hard to approach the pub life, but a pasty and a pint will run you north of $40. And these days, you almost have to limit yourself to one pint unless you have a DD, because a DWI will ruin you in this state.
Thankfully, I have my annual trip to Wales to visit her sister and BIL coming up in April. They have a perfectly acceptable Brain’s pub at the bottom of their hill that has no TV, no music, and an excellent ploughman’s lunch and gammon sandwiches. They also have several cheerful barmaids who will use the pub’s golf cart to motor you back up the hill at closing.
For the past several years, my BIL take the ferry to Ireland on our Nature Walk and Pub Crawl. That can go from 7-14 days. We keep saying this year will be the last, as we immediately begin making plans for next year.
Wales? Hope you’re not driving. There’s a pretty much Wales-wide 20 mph speed limit…..
He left off The Black Lion Inn in Derwenlas as well, the addlepated buffoon.
LMAO Chris
The Ferret & Trouserleg gets my vote. Great name!
Edinburgh, and I think it’s still there.
That poor Stag pub looks as though it was done by a no-talent Karen on a real man hate binge.
I guess she wants it to be the meeting hall for the shire Clown Club.
A beer tour through England is on my bucket list in the unlikely event I win the lottery.
Your note about a half-pint “taster” reminds me of an Andy Capp cartoon. Andy and Chalky each have a pint of ale in a pub they haven’t been to before. After finishing the pint, Andy says to Chalky, “Not a bad brew, eh? Shall we have some?”
I’d join ya. I do miss the King’s Head in Orford, the Butcher’s Arms & The Grosvenor (126 steps from my door, yeah, I counted), both in Felixstowe, all in Suffolk. I imagine they’ve changed a bit since I was stationed there in the 80’s though…