London - A Small Cask Snapshot

I was in London last week for a few days and decided on a whim to have one entire day - or thereabouts - just drinking cask. "Unwise" I hear you say and of course I can see why, but arriving at a somewhat gloomy and rainy Euston and just as gloomy Aldgate, somehow pints of lager didn't appeal.

As usual, we inspected the flat and having confirmed all is well, E ritually dealt with a predictable pile of post, which nowadays is almost entirely junk and then, being creatures of habit, even though this habit is separated by weeks not days or hours, we made tracks, as we always do for the Aldate Tap. 

The Aldgate Tap is very much a pub of the City. Usually in the summer, hordes of people dressed in that smart casual way of work nowadays, haunt the outside area, leaving the interior pretty free for those of us who like to sit inside and people watch.  Harder to do that last Thursday though, not only had that aforementioned pesky and somewhat wintry rain driven many inside, but much of the pub - bar really - had been cordoned off for a corporate Christmas do. Bank of America, I think. And no, I couldn't find out their tab number, but there was a sprinkling of Christmas jumpers and rather a few who didn't seem that familiar with pubs.

Nonetheless, John, the Manager greeted us warmly and we quickly, being veterans in every sense, spotted a group leaving a small table and a swift wriggle later, we were seated. John recommended the Kent Brewery Goldings Bitter. It was pretty good by the third pint and unmistakeably Southermn in style. You can usually tell. It needed drinking through to "fresh from the cask", but it was a good start as we watched the amateur drinkers, unsure of what to do with empty glasses, lay them lengthwise inside each other on the floor behind tables. (I took them back to the bar before someone trod on them.) Still, it was jolly enough and the beer was under a fiver!

Next day, after lunch in Charlotte Street, we called into the next door Fitzroy Tavern. One of Sam Smith's empire, this excellent and expensively refurbished historical boozer was, sadly, almost completely empty on a Friday around half past two. Six of your British pounds for Old Brewery Bitter. It wasn't bad, but it too needed more throughput, and my pint was clearly in the lines for a bit. I'd still recommend the pub, but even by London standards, they are pushing it a bit on price, the bottles, particularly, are eye wateringly expensive. Not all Sam's pubs in London are as nice as this one, and price may be a factor in emptiness. If you pay top dollar, you want something decent from it. An empty Sam's pub offers little in terms of atmosphere. Top spotters tip?  In a Sam Smith's pub, the house whisky is still labelled "Rochdale and Manor Brewery".

Moving on, through Soho and various Christmas lights, we ended up in the Strand.  I've always liked the Coal Hole and we nipped in. Touristy maybe, but it is a proper pub.  It was rammed, but again after a few minutes we got a table to perch at. In the meantime, I'd admonished the barman for trying to slop me with the half filled glass under the tap trick. The dodgy one being switched for the clean one he'd made sure I'd seen in his other hand. Not so fast, Matey. I was doing that to keg customers 50 years ago. A fresh pint of Titanic Plum Porter was so good, I had another. He didn't try the same trick twice. Top tip. Always watch the pour a little from the side of the pumps in tourist traps. You'll spot it and call it out easier if they try something on. 

And then, another Sam's. The Lyceum is an old haunt too, and the beer there was fine in that Old Brewery Bitter sort of way. Worth six quid? No, but a busy pub which could maybe do with an upgrade.

We caught the 15 bus home and went for a last beer in the Sir Sydney Smith in Dock St. Now this is a lovely pub near our flat. A former Truman's house, it has been sensitively refurbished - it used to look as though you could film Goodnight Sweetheart without changing a thing.  It was busy, and I knew trouble was afoot when the server put my glass under the handpump and splashed beer into it while pouring a half of lager. It was the worst pint of Vocation Bread and Butter I'd ever had, but I supped it quietly and left most of it. I hadn't the heart to pull this hard-working lass up about it. Someone should have trained her better.

At our table we started talking with a couple of lads who'd lived locally for a few years, They too had started on cask and abandoned it so we enjoyed Hofmeister instead and swapped tales about the area. We even exchanged details and promised to meet again.

So, while the pub didn't deliver on cask, it did on being a nice place to be in and for atmosphere and friendliness. Overall, the London cask bag was mixed, but on the whole, it could probably do better. 

A bottle of Organic Cider or Perry is the equivalent of £11.84 a pint. Eek.  The rest of their prices are pretty dodgy too, but the did have Dark Mild at £4. Click on image to see details.

I didn't repeat the experiment the  next day, but boy is London getting expensive. £7.80 a pint for Camden Hells in an ordinary Farringdon pub?

Perfect - Exceptional. A Rarity

Some of you, CAMRA members particularly, should know about CAMRA's National Beer Scoring System whereby you rate a cask beer drunk in a pub, on a score of one to five. Rather than explain it all here in my words, here is what the Campaign has to say about it in terms of why and how.

"Scoring beer in pubs is really easy!

The National Beer Scoring System (NBSS) is a 0-5 (0 = No cask ale available) point scale for judging beer quality in pubs.

It is an easy to use system that has been designed to assist CAMRA branches in selecting pubs for the Good Beer Guide and also monitor beer quality by encouraging CAMRA members from any part of the world to report beer quality on any pub in the UK.

If you are a CAMRA member, we want you to tell us about the quality of beer in the pubs you visit.

If you are not a member, why not join Europe’s most successful consumer organisation?

What Do the Scores Mean?

• 0: No cask ale available
• 1: Poor - Barely drinkable
• 2: Average - Drinkable but unremarkable
• 3: Good - Enjoyable enough to make you consider another round
• 4: Very Good - Stands out for its excellence
• 5: Perfect - Exceptional, a rarity
  

Right. All got it?  In our local branch we encourage its use. Of course - and many may not know this - there are, behind the scenes tools, to eliminate as much as possible, those who try and manipulate pubs into the Good Beer Guide. This may be by giving unrealistically high scores on a regular basis or whatever. Additionally in our branch, we have a hybrid system where the NBSS scores inform debate and decisions, but do not dictate the outcome.

Now over the years I probably don't score beers as much as I ought to, but I regularly do. I am probably quite a strict scorer, given that I judge beer in competitions and also that over the years, I know what its what.  So, that's a long winded way of saying, until now, I have never given a five.

So let's get to the point. It had to happen and last Friday, in an infrequent visit to our local Wetherspoons, I gave a beer a five. What was it I hear you scream? Well, perhaps not surprisingly given the quality of the brewer and the beer, it was Thornbridge Jaipur.

Why a five? Well, this was perfectly brewed, clear and untainted with no off flavours, at a perfect temperature and was bursting with condition. The body and mouthfeel were perfect. The glass was spotless. In my mind I went over everything. Could it be improved in a normal pub environment? Not as far as I could tell. It was, simply, faultless.

Now this was an ordinary Wetherspoons, albeit one which is a first time Good Beer Guide entry.  People complain - usually through snobbery in my view about Wetherspoons - but like all good pubs, if you have someone who knows what they are doing in the cellar and a pub that is well run, then you are in with a chance.

Speaking to the Manager a while ago, The Harbord Harbord in Middleton has built up a following for cask beer on the basis of offering one blond beer, one dark and one strong one, plus the usual suspects, in tip-top condition. It is working. Well done them.

Now you will see from the photograph that somewhat oddly, the Jaipur is priced cheaper than Doom Bar.  If you wonder about the low pricing of the guest beers, it applies to a few JDW outlets in this area, either where they want to build up the cask following, or where they feel the customer base needs an incentive, due to low disposable income. 

I only had three pints of the perfect beer, having only intended one while I waited on my bus home and three very nice pints of JW Lees Plum Pudding elsewhere. Needless to say, I was late for tea, bollocked by E and got an Uber home with my beer savings. Spread the wealth and all that. I was also in bed early, but boy was it worth it.

(More) Bad News and (a little) Good News

Well it didn't take quite as long as most of us would have imagined, but the inevitable has happened. Carsberg Marstons Brewing has decided, after announcing the closure of Banks's Brewery and saying that it would not result in a loss of brands - also known as someone's beloved beers - that they are discontinuing no less than eight cask beers and three others. As Pub Curmudgeon remarked, "it might have been easier if they had just told us what is left." 

Brands such as Bombardier which was once as ubiquitous as Doom Bar is now, the Mansfield range - unless something does remain, but that isn't clear - Jennings Cumberland, and more will cease to be available from the end of the year.   Even iconic beers such as Bank's Mild and Marston's Old Empire (despite its slightly dodgy name) haven't been spared the axe. But don't worry, you can still get McEwan's Export, which nowadays is mainly a beer sold in supermarkets.  That's all right then.

Of course, a cynic might say that these are lacklustre beers which nobody will really miss, but this is surely the thin end of a very predictable wedge which will inevitably result in even more brand loss and further diminishing of choice.  It also gives a clear indication of the simple fact that if Carlsberg says something is safe, be deeply suspicious. Its record speaks for itself. Their total retreat from cask beer is now much more than a blurred and indistinct dot on the horizon.  It is a clear and predictable reality.  It is a pity too, if that is their intention, that they didn't offer the discontinued brands to someone else who might have made a better fist of them.

Now does this matter? Well, not if you don't care for the future of British indigenous beer styles and the fact that foreign ownership does not seem to have brought much stability to the UK beer market. Prepare for more of the same I'd say. Fewer brands means less choice and the restricted nature of  entry to bar counters due to ties and contracts means you can't expect the independent sector to take up the slack- much as they'd like to. Too much of the market simply isn't open to them.  Sadly the cask market in many areas will continue to be dominated by a smaller set of poorly designed beers, brewed as weakly as possible, down to a price.  Seek independent and family brewers while you can.

So what's the good news? I read that Marble Brewery in Manchester has restored Pint to its original 3.9% from 3.4%, apparently in response to customer demand.  Well done for customer power, and it is good to see this small reversal in the march towards weaker beers.  At the same time, I read that Acorn Brewing has returned to the original owners from the business development company that had control.  This is good news for those of us that like Acorn beer and I feel their future is now a little more secure and frankly, any good news in the beer game is worth a mention.

Win some, lose some I suppose, but I've a feeling there will be many more losses than wins coming along the road.

I had the pleasure of two pints of the fantastic Gorlovka Stout at the weekend and at 6% it was glorious.

Of the brands mentioned above, I feel that Banks's Mild could have some kind of future in the right hands, but it isn't going to happen.  If you can completely feck up Tetley Bitter, nothing is impossible.

Benchmark

Back in the day, when pubs weren't structured and laid out as they are now, the best room and public bar were usually tricked out in bench seating.  In fact, bench seating was the norm really and poseur tables and armchairs and a lot of modern trappings like tables more suited to a restaurant were much rarer beasts. It allowed a lot of people to sit around the walls of pubs and created room for circulation and standing drinkers. Pubs were then, in many cases I suppose, a little more spartan, along the lines of a "a pub is for drinking in", but rarely uncomfortable.  Many though, were convivial and cosy, even when they were big - and large pubs were then very common indeed - they weren't, in the main, specifically aimed at diners.  I'm talking, probably from God knows when, until I first came to England, so the 1980s and onwards through the nineties, until things slowly but surely morphed into the kind of pubs we see today.

There was then, too, much more standing at the bar.  In fact, standing generally. I'm often amused nowadays, in some pubs, mainly with young staff, who when you are standing at the bar, and can clearly see you have a drink in front of you, ask in that tiresome way "You all right?" It seems they are totally discombobulated, and indeed nonplussed - rattled even - by a punter choosing to stand at the bar and drink their beer on their hind legs. More of this later, as this is what has given rise to this post.

Back then as nowadays, you'd enter a pub, look around and decide where you would consume your beer or whatever your chosen drink. It would be entirely conventional, if on your own, to either stand at the bar and enjoy your pint. Or, if the pub was rammed, find a space on a bench seat and join others, more than likely not of your acquaintance. In both cases, it would be rare not to find a conversation being struck up. Even more common, in a busy pub, if you looked round, someone on a bench would shout "Squeeze in here Son" and everyone would "hutch up" to make room. As an aside, drinking on your own was, I would suggest, much more common then and not remarked on, never mind being looked on pejoratively or askance.

As a seasoned pub goer through six decades, of course I have noticed that pubs have changed - or evolved if you prefer. I have written in the past about house style when most pubs were owned by breweries, but that isn't it exactly.  I suspect the disconnect from vertical ownership speeded internal design changes, as did changes to drinking patterns and customer preferences. That and the march of time plus the accompanying desperate need to attract customers in a declining market.  Pubs we opened out to become one big space. In most cases, public bars were removed for more eating space, or to simply remove the need to have two bars and two sets of staff looking after them.  Tables aimed at four or six people became the norm, with uncomfortable high tables dotted about (not so attractive as you get older and one's clambering is no longer up to scratch) and, importantly, in many cases bench seating was ripped out.

Which brings me back to why I am writing this.  The removal of bench seating isn't universal. In the case of two of my local brewers, JW Lees and Joseph Holt, even in their recently refurbished pubs, bench seating forms a part of the offer.  The problem is, though, that few know how to use it any more.

Last Friday, early evening, I met my wife in the Roebuck, a recent acquisition by Joseph Holt, which has since been extensively and expensively refurbished. It has proved extremely popular and is the nearest pub to me. I like Joey's bitter, so good news.  It has plentiful bench seating of various types. Now, I like the room on the right as you go in. I arrived, and the place was buzzing.  I glanced round and while no tables were free, I noted that in the two large benched areas below the windows, there was plenty of room. Well, if people moved up a bit.  I ordered our two drinks and surveyed the scene standing at the bar while waiting for E. Others were looking for seats too, and I noticed two people approach a group who were using the area on my left. There was room. They asked, "Is anyone sitting there?" and were told that there was, and they were at the bar. Not so, but the enquirers however sought solace elsewhere.

In the meantime, I had been asked "Are you all right there?" as above, despite having two drinks in front of me. Ho Hum. The other area of bench seating had two people sitting there. I should add that each area has a table or tables opposite the benches.  They were sitting opposite each other, leaving three seats to their left and around five on the window bench. To their left, a group of teachers were spread out. (I know this because they later told me.) I approached and as a politeness - as you do - said, "Is it all right if we sit here?" The male, probably older than me, said "Well you can sit there", gesturing in the direction of the teachers. Hmm. I pointed out that the pub was busy and that they were taking up between two, around nine seats, but the teachers said they'd squeeze up, and with some mutterings on both sides, the matter was left there.

Now thinking on, you often see in busy pubs, (like busy trains), coats and bags covering free seats. And these days, unlike the habit in Germany, it is unusual to see strangers sharing a table. I recall last winter, in the Commercial in London, asking a couple if we could sit at a bench, where six could be accommodated.  They thought I was asking them to move elsewhere, until I explained that I just wanted them to shift their arses along to make room, a notion that seemed alien to them.

Oddly, this aspect of pub etiquette isn't really covered much at all in t'interweb. Google is pretty well silent about it, amongst plenty of other advice about how to behave in pubs, but I'll add another point. While seated on a bench, any adjacent table is fair game to rest your pint on, unless someone is eating at that table. 

Moving on, this reluctance to share with strangers is covered by social anthropologist Kate Fox in her excellent book "Watching the English" . It pertains to public transport, but I believe also to public houses, though in that case for sure, it should be overcome.

"The Denial Rule

Our main coping mechanism is a form of what psychologists call ‘denial’: we try to avoid acknowledging that we are among a scary crowd of strangers, and to maintain as much privacy as possible, by pretending that they do not exist – and, much of the time, pretending that we do not exist either. The denial rule requires us to avoid talking to strangers, or even making eye contact with them, or indeed acknowledging their presence in any way unless absolutely necessary."

It need not be so, so here are a few simple rules to follow when encountering bench seating in a pub.

Rule 1:  Expect to share. You are in a pub. A pub is a shared space

Rule 2:  If sitting in the middle, expect to have people sit on either side of you

Rule 3: In a booth style, if sitting at the apex, rule 2 applies

Rule 4: Don't try to fill empty places with coats and bags

Rule 5: Any table adjacent is communal, unless eating

Rule 6: Be ready to hutch up

Rule7: Be welcoming and friendly. 

Rule 8: Remember Rule 1 always

So where does this leave us.  Well, if you are in a pub and someone asks if they can sit adjacent to you, your first thought should be, assuming it is possible and reasonable to do so,  "Of course, I'll hutch up a bit".  If your thoughts are otherwise, either don't go to the pub, or learn a bit of basic pub and human etiquette. It is written down for you now, so if in doubt, cut and keep.

In fact, when out in Manchester yesterday, bench seating was actually common, so maybe I have overestimated its demise. But it was mid-afternoon and quiet.

I recommend, as I have before, Kate's book. The link above is a free download.  Well worth doing, especially if you are clueless about how pubs should work.

Spoilt by Progress

If you look at the Banks's Brewery website, it describes, in a timeline, the various breweries taken over by the company. For most of the time the owning company was Wolverhampton and Dudley Breweries and then Marstons, and now Carlsberg Marstons Brewing (CMBC).

Back in the day, brewing companies, on the whole, took over other brewers to acquire outlets, or sometimes, to buy out an owner who wanted to cash in. The latest in the company's line was the buyout by Carlsberg of the minority share of the brewing company formed by Carlsberg and Marstons as a joint venture.  Moving back a little, Wolverhampton and Dudley Breweries themselves had acquired several breweries by takeover. These included well known names such as Jennings in the Lake District, Camerons of Hartlepool (now independent again) and Julia Hansons of Dudley, taken over in 1943. In 1999, Marston, Thompson and Evershed and Mansfield breweries were acquired. This was a now a big company, and it was renamed Marstons to reflect its national presence.  

Further additions to the company were some brewing interests of Thwaites and the former Wells and Youngs brewery in Bedford, which was bought and sold, and along the way, all taken over breweries were closed and others, too, were acquired and eventually closed.  Under Marstons though, breweries such as Jennings, Ringwood and Wychwood hung on, only to be closed when Carlsberg acquired a controlling interest.

Now the original brewery, the Park Brewery in Wolverhampton, is set to close next year. CMBC cite the lower demand for cask ale and the loss of the contract to brew San Miguel - though what that has to do with Banks's is somewhat opaque. The Park Brewery has been in operation since 1875 and its beers were once legendary in the Midlands, though much less so now.  Reading about it, it seems to be considered as a traditional brewery, with somewhat outdated brewing kit. The subsequent lack of flexibility, and the availability of additional capacity at the former Marston's site at Burton, means the writing was certainly on the wall. Nor can its value as a city centre site be overlooked.

It is almost forgotten that Carlsberg-Tetley Brewing Limited, existed from Jan 1993 - Mar 2004.  The famous Joshua Tetley Brewery in Leeds was taken over by Carlsberg Group. The Leeds Brewery was closed in 2011, and demolished in 2012, with production contracted out by Carlsberg to remaining breweries in the group.  In the meantime, they had already shut the huge Tetley Walker plant in Warrington in 1996 and then sold the Ind Coope Brewery Burton Brewery to Bass in 1998, with the loss of brands such as former Champion Beer of Britain, Ind Coope Draught Burton Ale. Although the brewery is still brewing under Molson-Coors ownership.  Tetley Bitter was farmed out to become the shadow of its former self that it remains to this day.

So, is over capacity the real reason for this? Sadly, there is little point in denying that is a fact, but the lack lustre brands produced by CMBC does not give much hope for the future either. Where does this leave us, then? In the short term, many of the large number of existing brands from formerly well thought of breweries, will be brewed on a single central site. The outcome of that will also probably mean more rationalisation in time. Choice will be diminished once again. Cask drinkers expect more than bland beer brewed down to a price that Pub Companies will pay, when they know it could be so much better. Sales will diminish further.

What can we learn from this?  The big players, all foreign owned, do not see it as their future to any meaningful extent. Cask is being further driven into being a niche product. Family and other small brewers need to fill the quality gap, though routes to market make that difficult.  

And finally,  if you want to keep your brewery alive, keep away from Carlsberg.  They have form. A lot of form. 

Supermarket bottle ranges will also likely be rationalised, and would anyone bet money that CMBC Burton has a long-term future?

Carlsberg makes the previous famous Whitbread Tour of Destruction seem like a minor blip in brewing history, and do they brew the best beer in the world?  well,you already know the answer to that.

Tabanko Callejón

Fuengirola in Southern Spain is a town of two parts. Towards the Malaga side is more of a resort, popular with Belgians, Dutch, and some Brits, with its attendant sprinkling of "British" pubs as well as a paseo crammed full of lookalike restaurants.  Strolling through at night, you are accosted by "propaganda" types, trying to persuade you in.  It is the sort of place that has plenty of buzz, but to me at least, little appeal, but you have to see it to be sure.  On our two visits to the town, we have probably only walked through it occasionally. There is a divide though, and when you cross it - and it is very obvious - you are in the truly Spanish part - the old town - and it is there, that for this writer at least, the real attraction lies.

Typically, a Spanish seaside old town will have a lot of backstreets, with various business, shops and of course bars and restaurants. It will usually be unspoilt and pretty well timeless. There are several squares and often these have bars with outside tables of  varying degrees of appeal and sometimes, hidden away, is a gem. Such is Tabanko Callejón. Situated on the main road, opposite Pl. Reyes Católico, a busy square which contains a very smart hotel, the former Town Hall, at its top end. I know this, as this is our hotel of choice when we visit. You could easily miss the bar, next to a supermarket, with an unassuming exterior. It is a proper Spanish bar. Proper in that it almost solely attracts locals and that it ticks every box in the mind's eye of what a Spanish bar should be. It is typically rammed during the day and then, not evening, is the best time to visit if you want the full on experience.

On our previous visit, we had sort of looked in several times, balking at the merry din and wondering, "Are we welcome here?" Once we had actually gone in, and as we couldn't find a single place to stand or sit, we retreated, self-conscious, tails firmly between our legs and utterly defeated. We had also looked in at night where it was a shadow of its daytime self, less busy, more gloomy and somehow not the same.  This time our hotel room, with its little balcony, overlooked the square and the bar. We could watch the comings and goings. We needed a plan, but we were going there no matter what.

We decided on simplicity. Basically, we'd get in there in good time and make ourselves part of the furniture. So, on the appointed day, we'd have a small breakfast, go in early afternoon and eat lunch there. The bar is quite long and thin, and we speculated that we'd be looked on more kindly when taking up one of the few tables if we were eating. 

When you enter, the first thing that strikes you is the hubbub. The air crackles with shouts and laughter and while it is quite dim, you realise instantly that this is the real deal. The place is going like a fair and is just as cheerfully boisterous.. On the right are a few empty, more formal tables, all with cutlery and all with reserved signs on them. The bar takes up the length of the room, with a few high tables and wine barrels acting as tables facing it with stools for seats. There isn't much room between barrel and bar. Just enough to get by. At 2pm, all except one are occupied, while the bar is crammed with bodies, some with small plates in front of them, some not, but all with either a caña of beer, a vermouth, or a glass of wine.  We boldly nab the only empty table as we look round.  Within seconds, a waiter approaches with a brief hello. Are we eating, he says. We reply in the affirmative, he asks what drinks we want and disappears. Dos cañas. He brings two Cruzcampo and plonks them down with a menu. Seconds later, he returns with a plate of bread and a small bowl of paella. "On the house" he says. We are in and can relax.

The theme of the bar is bullfighting. The walls are decorated with the heads of vanquished bulls, looking, presumably in their taxidermized state, a lot more happy than when they met their fate. Bullfighting apparatus covers the ceilings. The bar is dark brown and white walled, with the usual trinkets, bric-a-brac and collectables, and at one end several large wine barrels are dispensing who knows what.  On the door end of the counter is a chill cabinet with salads and seafood. A cheerful pile of knobbly and oversized tomatoes completes the picture.

Looking round, there is a good customer mix. Mostly men or couples, but this changes as a family come in and occupy the reserved tables. They are jolly and have various children, obviously used to it all, who are fussed over and included.  They don't run around, not that there is any room to do so. Behind us is a man in his thirties, accompanied by a younger woman. He is the type that you certainly wouldn't want your daughter to bring home, and they spend their time canoodling, though in fairness, he is the canoodlee rather than the canoodler.  A barman catches my eye as he shucks shellfish with a fierce looking knife, without looking at them. He jerks his head to the couple and shakes his head at me. I shrug and nod. We understand.

You wouldn't really have thought the bar would get much busier, but it does. The dynamics are simple. Newcomers try to squeeze in, or wait just behind those at the front, and when someone goes, they seamlessly slide in. Our server brings our food all at once in the Spanish manner, but as two of our three plates are salad - no problem. We eat boquerones and move on to white verdejo wine while taking it all in. Measures are generous and only three euros.  I raised finger gets you a refill. It is all easy now. My barman friend - a worried father maybe - catches my eye again. His feelings now quite open about the couple behind me.

A single woman enters and skilfully finds a spot in front of the tomatoes. She acknowledges everyone around her and throws us a winning smile. Children, old ones, locals and foreigners, everyone is welcome if they play by the rules and really, all you have to do is read the room and tune in. We are happy and our food finished and enough wine for now, we depart.  As I look back, "our" table is occupied already. No doubt it had been subtly watched and earmarked.

So, when in Spain, find these places. They are so worth a visit and a people watcher's paradise.  The atmosphere is unbeatable and the experience lasting. Don't be afraid of them.

We also had an afternoon in Torremolinos as a trip out on the Sunday of our week away. Though not in the same league as Tabanko Callejón, we found a couple of excellent traditional bars, including one, surprisingly, in the main shopping Street. Well worth looking in the backstreets anywhere in Spain really.

Spanish Cruzcampo is pretty easy going stuff. Maybe the best, but Alhambra and Victoria are OK too. San Miguel and Mahou, not so much,  but you may think differently.

 

 

What Would You Have Done?

 I wrote sometime ago about the relatively recent phenomenon of queuing at the bar.  You know the kind of thing, standing in a line rather than joining a general scrum in front of the bar. Proper pub behaviour, in other words.

On return from our week in Spain, we decided to stay a couple of days in London.  We'd flown from the fab London City Airport, which was way cheaper for similar times than flying from Manchester, and comparatively a lot easier to get to given our London flat is dead handy for the Docklands Light Railway.  The landing at London City is quite an experience, and I'd recommend it, but I digress. Once we'd settled down and sorted this and that out, a pint seemed, as it usually does, an excellent idea. 

We had returned to rather pleasant weather, so cheerily set off, me still in shorts and a tee shirt. Our destination, as it almost always is, was the excellent Aldgate Tap.  OK, it is a bit modern, but I know the manager (and the owner) and it is well run and with, for London, decent prices and excellent German beer.  It is set in a square with a fountain, lots of outside seating and, being London, standing room too, but we always sit inside to avoid the inevitable smokers and now, vapers.  The pub - well a bar really if truth be known - has rather a small actual bar - probably not much more than 10 feet (ca. 3 m) long -  with all dispense being from taps on the wall. There are no fonts or pumps on the bar itself.  We walked straight to the bar, like you do, chose our beers and found a comfy low level seat - as I get older, and with my new knee, I don't really enjoy the high perch of bar stools quite so much.

The manager came over for a chat, and we sat happily afterwards with minds in neutral, just passing the odd remark.  Three quarters through our drinks, I asked E if she wanted another. Be prepared and all that. She replied in the affirmative and then said something I wasn't expecting. "You might have a bit of a wait - have you seen the queue?"  Somehow I hadn't noticed, but a queue had spontaneously formed and was now snaking out of the pub itself and well into the square. It was work chucking out time, a warm and sunny day, and the queue was being extended before our eyes as more punters joined it. I was taken aback.  This was a dilemma I wasn't expecting.  I watched and though the bar staff were making valiant efforts, the line was not diminishing. It would clearly take some time to get to the front of it, and our glasses were nearly empty.

Now, as I wrote in my earlier piece, I don't approve of queues in pubs, but this one had been organised by the customers and the dozens of people were patiently waiting their turn. E asked if we should go somewhere else, but that seemed like a defeat. Now if it had been a long traditional bar, I'd likely have just ignored the queue and walked straight to the bar, but that was totally impractical here. The bar isn't big enough.

With a heavy heart and great reluctance, I walked out of the pub and joined the tail end of the queue. The British penchant for queuing had, on this occasion at least, beaten me into conformance. Thankfully, by the time we had our third and final drink, the queue had gone. 

I am relieved that in my previous piece, I didn't nail my colours too firmly to the mast. Do circumstances alter cases? I think so, but I didn't feel great about my compliance with it.

It should also be mentioned that there are usually two good cask beers on offer at a touch under a fiver a pint. Not so common in central London these days.