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.

Belfast Pubs - The Conclusion

Following on from E's bout of sickness, we did the touristy bit. The Titanic Experience isn't just about the ship, but about Belfast. Suffice to say, it was brilliant, especially the "ghost train" trip of the shipyard with accompanying sounds.  You need to go there really to see what I mean - and very worthwhile it is, too. There was also entertainment on the bus back to the centre. Belfast's buses still have inspectors and as tickets must be purchased before entering the bus, it follows that spot checks are made.  Now they aren't soft enough to wait with the crowds at the Titanic bus stop, nor the one after, but a posse swooped at an obscure stop in the middle of nowhere. We were fine, of course, being old and law-abiding, but a young lad by us was frantically thumbing his phone as the inspector made his way toward him. "Too late for that" remarked the inspector as he asked for the lad's ticket.  Oddly, the fare dodger seemed to relax at this point - on a fair cop basis, I assume.  His details were obtained and, a fine of sixty pounds, was rammed up his arse. The inspector added insult to injury as he left, calling over his shoulder, "£60, plus the fare!"

This kept us entertained until we reached the City Centre.  E was still feeling crook, but gamely came along with me to the Crown Liquor Saloon, where I obtained us a booth and a very creditable pint of Oakham Citra. E stuck to tonic water. For my second pint, I noticed that they sold Belfast Black Stout by Whitewater Brewery.  I ordered one and this proved to be a very wise decision. Smooth, black, hoppy, and not at all cardboardy - Guinness to note. We were joined in our booth by a lad from Dublin and his young son, who had escaped from a family shopping trip, as the boy was hungry. He assumed I was drinking Guinness and expressed surprise at my choice. I assured him it was a very decent pint, but he looked doubtful.  We chatted amiably, though, as his son devoured sausage and chips. A very pleasant chat ensued as we agreed Belfast was a fine place. Alas, a third pint was denied as E felt a bit tired after her sleepless night, and fancied two or three hours kip before our booked meal later by the University.

We hopped on the bus and soon E was tucked into bed. This gave me a chance to nip out onto Botanic Avenue, as I'd spotted a couple of drinking establishments there. First was The 1852. Not my normal sort of bar, but it was laid back and had a few younger types idling around and some gentle music. I sat people watching with a pint of Open Gate Citra IPA, which while nothing spectacular was fine in the circumstances. Service was pleasant, and while I wasn't in a place where I'd meet someone to chat to, I enjoyed it so much, surprising myself, I actually took E there later on that night after our meal.  Just up the road - I didn't want to stray too far - was a place that looked fine, so in I went. It was a large modern bar with what looked like a full size cherry blossom tree behind the bar. It was rather stunning. I don't know what it was called, as it seemed anonymous outside. See Street View to get my point.  There was football on and again, Citra IPA, so chatting to this one and that one, a pleasant hour passed until I returned to the hotel. A bit different for me, but not worse for that - and very relaxing.

We met friends the next day at the Deer's Head, a brewpub, with very well-made beer in the modern style. That is hazy, but there wasn't lumps in it and we thoroughly enjoyed it, except for the slightly aggressive servers, the 10% surcharge for table service that we didn't want, and a complete refusal to split the bill between two of us.  We decanted after that to the friendly John Hewitt, an old-fashioned bar with very modern beers from Ireland and the UK. I'd certainly go back there. 

The next day we returned home, but we had a hour or so to kill before the bus to the airport, so were first equal customers into Robinsons Bar, where we had our first pints. I ordered a Harp just because I could, and it was really rather good. Clean and bitter and very enjoyable, I necked a couple while watching more football. E was back on tonic, and we nattered to one of the bar staff, who simply came over for a chat. Great stuff. And that was it. A quick bus trip to the airport where, suffice to say, the Harp there - all locally brewed beers were off - wasn't as good as the Robinsons one.

So to sum up. Belfast was great for pubs, beer and touristy things.  It would have been even better if E was 100%, but fine nonetheless. The people were fabulous on the whole and I'd go back in a heartbeat.  Guinness was, I think, just about the most popular beer. Best pub overall? Robinsons.  Professional, friendly and in my opinion the best Guinness I had.

I realise we only scratched the surface of Belfast's pubs. Next time I'll dive deeper.  We did other things too. The Ulster Museum, Botanic Park and the Universities, the Palm House and Town Hall.  Lots of walking about - Belfast centre is pretty flat.

Best beer? Probably Capstan Aussie Pale by Bell's Brewery at the Deer's Head, but oddly, the Harp at Robinsons hit the spot pretty well too.

In With the New

When I met my oldest friend Mike for a few pints, I made it my mission to take him to entirely new (to him) pubs.  As we met at Piccadilly Station, him fresh off a rail replacement bus, we started in the Waldorf, a neat brick built pub just off Piccadilly itself and a pub that has, over the years, had more makeovers than a Channel 4 house.  It was more or less exactly one on a Saturday afternoon and the pub was inexplicably rammed and for Boak and Bailey whose thoughts on pubs I have just read, it was rammed with young people. Well when I say young, I'd say mostly twenty to thirty year olds. Bloody young to me anyway.  It was impressively noisy and our joint choice of Purple Moose Elderflower Ale, sufficiently interesting for us to declare it a good start, despite the rather grumpy service.  What also interested me was why the pub was so busy. It wasn't a number of large groups, but just bunches of varied people having a good time. Maybe the Waldorf has found the magic formula at last. I hope so as it is rather a good looking boozer.

My plan fell apart at the next hurdle as Mike fancied a pint of Hydes, so we nipped into the Grey Horse on Portland St which was almost deserted.  Nonetheless, despite me picking the worst tasting beer on the bar, we had a good time by the simple expedient of chatting to the few people there.  The cricket was on the TV and followed with serious intent by a gent on the next table. We nattered about the slow rate of progress and general this and thats and then struck up a conversation with a Burnley fan, in the team shirt, though I had to inspect it closely to rule out impostors such as Aston Villa and West Ham.  The forthcoming season's chances thus discussed, we left with sense of contentment that simple friendly interaction with strangers often brings.

Next up was back on the "new" theme in the shape of the Brink, a newish downstairs bar that majors on beers from no further than 20 miles from its location. That still gives it plenty of scope. They also pride themselves, rightly, on the quality of their cask beer and we supped our pints happily, while the pub, not big and busy enough to start with, became even busier and even noisier.  This was a mixed crowd, mostly young, but spread across the age range.  We had a couple, then retreated as it had become difficult to have our usual detailed political discussion, due to the enjoyment of others being expressed in rather Stentorian tones.  This is actually a cracking little bar and I certainly don't begrudge others their loud appreciation of it.

Last up was another underground bar, the white tiled Gas Lamp.  Just across the road from the Brink in Bridge St, but actually much more pubby to my mind, though the old white tiles do give the slight
impression of supping in a public lavatory.  Here we encountered celebrity in the shape of Aiden Byrne, still dressed in his chef's whites and as he was having a few, hopefully not going back to the stove.  Sadly Mike, a fellow Scouser had never heard of him, but there you go. Again the pub was jumping and we found seats only because a couple left and Mike, quick witted as ever, jumped into their graves as it were. Beer here's a good mixture of cask and keg (think Magic Rock, Kernel, First Chop etc.) and the crowd was anything from 20 to much older with the majority being in their 30s. For some unaccountable reason, instead of my usual cask,  I enjoyed some Schneider Weiss mein Helles which was rather good, though pricey. (As an aside, Schneider, to my mind, is the most improved brewery of the German biggies - most of the rest have gone backwards.)

And that was it. Leaving Mike to stagger off to his longish bus journey, I reflected on our visits. Four great pub experiences, though all slightly different and apart from one, all really busy. There's hope for the pub yet.

I somehow forgot to take any photos. Those here are from the pub's websites.