Rammed

We returned to London for the first time this year last Thursday afternoon. We should have been there earlier the week before, but we had overlooked the revamping of signals and track at Manchester Piccadilly, resulting in its effective closure and trains starting at Stockport. Bugger that, so we came a bit later, but as always after checking the flat, sorting out mail and whatnot, off we set for our usual first night venues. We are nothing if not creatures of habit, so first stop - the Aldgate Tap. We know the manager and the owner - both Johns - the latter of whom E had oddly bumped into the previous day in the Oxford Road Tap where she partook of refreshment before Priscilla Queen of the Desert. 

Alas, it was not to be. Thursday is the new Friday for office workers in post Covid London, and despite the large outdoor drinking area (which we always avoid anyway due to smokers), the inside was bedlam. It isn't that big and with a long queue - yes a queue - at the very small bar and every inch of space taken, we decided to abandon ship. It wouldn't have been pleasant, though no doubt it was very remunerative for the various Johns.

Plan B. Just across the road is the Three Tuns. This is a nice little boozer, with from experience, a very friendly landlady and a pretty acceptable pint of Harvey's Best. My main complaint about the place is that the seating is completely of the poseur table variety, which with high stools is uncomfortable at the best of times and more so when busy. But we needn't have worried. Outside was a merry throng of office worker types and a peer through the window rewarded us with a sea of backs and no visibility of the bar whatever.  Another hasty retreat was beaten.

What now? Well, one of the most attractive pubs in the area was just a few moments away. Cask St Mary Axe is more or less under the Gherkin and internally a very appealing pub. Large windows, exposed brickwork, some lovely breweriana including both mirrors and enamels, the sort of lighting that just makes you want to stay. A good customer mix and decent mixed seating all help make for an attractive visit. What can possibly go wrong?  Well, try the usually odd selection of cask beers at your peril. They are in my experience, invariably from breweries that could do with taking a serious objective look at their offerings and served poorly at top dollar. So why go at all?  The ambience is just fine, and they do have London Black, albeit at a price.

The pub as always in London had quite a few standing outside, but there was a bit of room inside. We squeezed onto a table by invitation and I nipped to the bar for a London Black and a half of German pilsner for E. I then returned the bar to correct severe overcharging which I hadn't noticed at the time. As an aside, the cashless move often means a card machine being quickly thrust under your nose in a busy pub, in a way that means you often can't readily see what the charge is. The other side of the coin is it shows up instantly on my banking app, so my £15 charge for a pint and a half resulted in a £3.50 refund. Still about the priciest drinks of the weekend I believe.

Does that tale end there? Alas, no.  My nitro poured London Black looked suitably Guinness like at first, but within minutes, the head had all but disappeared, leaving a flat black liquid with a thin scum of head.  The gas was clearly in need of a fresh bottle or the regulator needed re-calibrating, but my heart wasn't in another complaint, so I endured, and we left as soon as we could. No amount of visual and sensory appeal can overcome poor beer. 

Now one poor pint in a three pub visit isn't a good outcome, so we went back towards our flat to the pub I mentioned in my last (long ago) blog. Ye Three Lords was busy with a decent crowd, and again we were invited to share a booth. The London unfriendliness myth was being shattered and while I still didn't trust the cask, Budweiser Budvar was very tasty and provided suitable refreshment in a very pleasant and comfortable atmosphere, which when you boil it down, is the name of the game.

So, what do I conclude?  Beer in London is still variable in quality. Some pubs are better than others - much like anywhere - and Londoners aren't that miserable, a theme that was repeated and confirmed throughout the weekend. Prices are ouchy and Thursday is indeed the new Friday.  With that settled we scuttled off for our usual first night in London Pizza Union evening meal.

I remarked to E while in Cask and looking at the Dryborough's mirror on the wall, that I'd bet the flat that I was the only one present that had ever drank Dryborough's beer. Hell, apart from E, probably the only one who's ever drunk Draught Bass, also represented on the brickwork. But I wouldn't have bet the flat on that!

Next up - yes there will be more, as London inspires me. Tales from Poshley aka Maida Vale coming soon.

You'll have to do without photos. I didn't take any.