The Near East

 I mentioned the posh(ish) wedding in Richmond, didn't I? Well, it went very well, but I'll gloss over the horrendous beer experience and say I enjoyed it all the same. I will just have my little rant though. Why do otherwise nice hotels sell such dross? The only draught beer - and there was precious little in bottles or cans - Becks at £8 a short measure pint, served warm through a home dispense unit! Not even a Lindr, which at least would have done the trick properly. Answers not needed. It's because they can.

On Saturday after the do, it was a late start. I was convinced, since I felt so odd, that I'd contracted Covid, but a full English, followed by lots of coffee, followed by - a little later - some beer. I eventually rationalised that I was merely hungover from a mix of prosecco, Swiss bottled beer, white wine, red wine and Becks. It is at least to my credit, I think, that I don't usually drink enough to be hungover, so I'd kind of forgotten what it is like. Did I miss out the sense of doom? That too.

The day was however sunny and warm, so early afternoon we had a walk along a very busy Brick Lane to Bethnall Green Road and hence to the Well and Bucket. Largely because of Covid, we hadn't been there for ages, and we bagged a seat outside and people watched. Camden Hells for both of us. The amber nectar restored me to some kind of equilibrium as we watched Hell's Angels, who were gathering, warn each other by hand signals of a police trap ahead and gazed at the extraordinary mixture of people who passed by.

Thus refreshed we headed for Shoreditch Tube Station and, via a rather run down cut through, to the fabulous Commercial Tavern on Commercial Road. This Grade two listed building is very imposing and has obviously been rescued from an early death. Its bare interior shows that it was likely stripped out in the past, but its elegant build, wooden floors and large windows, make for a fantastic boozer.  No room outside on this hottest of days, but with wide open doors and a pleasing draught, inside was better anyway. Beers were mainly from Camden, so back to Hells for us both. We had a couple there, and I can see us using it regularly, especially in winter, when we might be able to trust the cask.

Next up was another old London pub, the Duke of Wellington on Toynbee St, this one rather modernised, but still cosy and attractive inside. There was a little beer garden too, from which much merriment from a bunch of geezers could be heard.  No cask beer, but a huge array of mainly undistinguished keg beer, leavened by that rarest of beasts these days, Hoegaarden on tap. Probably not at its freshest, but a nice change.

Heading homewards, one last call before food. The Pride of Spitalfields needs no introduction, and we sat inside, as there was standing room only outside in the street. It really is a smashing little boozer. We also learned that only the bit directly outside the pub is allowed for drinking. Don't cross the road. We sat inside anyway, so all was well.

Near home, we nipped into the Efes Restaurant for a fine Turkish meal, washed down with a bottle of Efes Draft. The  restaurant is well recommended. The beer? Not so much.

In case you are wondering why no cask? This answer yesterday to Ben Viveur explains my logic. "In fairness Ben, a heatwave in London isn't a great time to drink cask and at the prices charged you dont want expensive dumpers." I'll wait until colder weather Folks.

Next up. A few Bermondsey tap rooms and a pub. 

Stick It Up Your Jumper

It seems that a fair chunk of London's new wave of brewing is concentrated in the east of the city. This is handy as when I am there, that's where I'm concentrated too. So, after a fairly civilised session at the London Drinker Beer Festival, it was time to up the octane trendiness wise. Unfortunately, there wasn't time to grow a neatly trimmed, but astonishingly bushy beard, but compromising by way of our tightest fitting clothes, we headed off up to and across Commercial Road, on to Whitechapel Road, then just before it becomes Mile End Road, left into Cambridge Heath Road, passing on the way, many interesting looking pubs of shall we say, a basic nature and a little portion of what appeared to be a market in Bangladesh after a typhoon. Nobody paid us the least bit of attention. It wasn't hard to find our destination thanks to Google and after a shimmy under a railway bridge, a sharp right and we were there.

Redchurch Brewery is in a a set of railway arches, so typical of London micro brewers.  The bar is upstairs and only open on a Thursday night, hence my determination to get there.  Showing what a small world the world of beer geekery is, I bumped into Mark of Beer, Birra. Bier on my way upstairs.  He was busy brewing on a small pilot kit with his home brewing pals.  Upstairs in the bar was Rich of Beercast, though that was less of a co-incidence as he'd told me earlier he'd be there. Seems he thought he'd be gone by then, but had been gripped by the demon drink (or was it the attractive lass he was talking to?) and was still giving it laldy.

The space is a modern, open one, with a small bar in a corner at one end, a few easy chairs, high tables and the like dotted about and a lot of thin beardy men.  Beer is keg and dispensed American style from taps in the wall, supplemented by bottles.  I decided to start with Shoreditch Blonde on draught, which I didn't like much, though according to the barman, is their biggest seller.  It was astonishingly highly carbonated, with a sherbet lemon nose, palate numbing cloves, though hoppy and bitter enough.  E was luckier with Bethnall Green Pale.  This had good pine resins, clean and bitter hoppiness throughout, but the body was made rather thin by excess carbonation.  As we sipped, we looked round at the gathered throng (not a big throng, but perfectly formed) and noted the high hipster content, including one bearded gent who, rather like a none too subtle shoplifter, had a (very well behaved) baby tucked up his jumper.  He cooed to it from time to time, while his lass chatted to her mates.  That was nice.

Things looked up with Brick Lane Lager in bottle.  This was the business though. Loads of C hops, a decent body and that elusive drinkability, was just what was required.  I finished with an impeccably good porter on draft, which was smooth, liquoricey and contained more resinous C hops and a hefty swipe of alcohol and an equally good Hoxton Stout, which certainly hit the spot body and hop wise.  They were very good indeed and I recommend them highly. So all in all,  I reckon these guys are on the right tracks.  It was well worth a visit, so why not make the journey?  Beers were (I think) £3 a bottle and around £2.50 a half.

The bus was our preferred journey home, straight to Aldgate, but of course after that sipping I fancied something to actually drink, so we called into our favourite local.  The barman called us both by our names despite not seeing us for several months, there was a sing song to Delilah (and many subsequent songs) on the go with the jukebox in full swing.  There was much merriment and a lock in. 

You probably don't get that kind of malarkey in Hipsterville, but room for both I'll happily say.  

More on the smallness of the geeky world in a subsequent post.

Good Little Boozer

I am always looking for new pubs to try in London, particularly near our flat. Yesterday, being let loose on my own, I set off to Brick Lane for my daily walk and found myself strolling into the Pride of Spitalfields, hoping to find Crouch Vale Brewer's Gold. It was on, but a few degrees too warm, which had knocked a little of the condition out, but it was still palatable enough. I sat outside watching the amazingly varied passers by in this very multi cultural area, while chatting to a Cockney Sparrow, who had also availed himself of the sunny weather for some al fresco supping. This is one of the delights of pub drinking, the casual conversation about this and that which makes you feel part of things.

Continuing along Brick Lane, I noted with pleasure that that there are still a number of little Asian caffs where you can get a cheap curry based snack or a couple of samosas. These, like their Manchester cousins, provide value and genuine home cooking. Far better than the flashy lookalikes which predominate in Brick Lane now. Passing Truman's Brewery is always a bit sad I feel. The mighty place still stands, much as it was. The registered office with its black eagle emblem is still there, but it now is full of arty farty cafes, galleries and clothes stalls. Times change.

I pressed on until I came to Cheshire Street and went along, simply because I had never done so. More clothes shops and galleries, until I happened on a little pub, the Carpenter's Arms. It looked neat and clean, so in I went. It was a typical old back street boozer, gentrified and gastro pubbed, but in a pretty good way. Original fittings and bare boards had been augmented by pot plants and candelabra, to tasteful effect. I liked it. Three handpumps dispensed two beers from Adnams, plus TT Landlord which I had and which was excellent. In addition there was draught foreign beers, with Duvel Green catching my eye and a number of bottled beers too, some interesting, but all maybe a tad expensive. I was the only customer, so had a good look round. There was a room at the back too and I noted with some surprise an etching of the Kray brothers on the wall in the bar. The barman told me the pub used to be owned by the Krays, with their mother as license holder, as they were ineligible due to their criminal records. Interesting.

I had to try the Duvel Green, given that Boak and Bailey had talked about it recently and did so for a reasonable £2.50 a half. Quite spicy from the Styrian Goldings, soft and very drinkable, but oddly vegetal in the finish, I marvelled at how the alcohol was so hidden. You wouldn't know it was nearly 7%. It was good. I'll have it again and will certainly visit the Carpenter's Arms again too.

Walking back home, I slipped into a little cafe for a couple of samosas. Gorgeous they were, but 50% dearer than Manchester. Expensive place London, but yesterday was still perfect. Sun shining, a nice new pub and a walk round my favourite East End. Marvellous!

The photo is from the Carpenter's Web Site.