Now then,
it struck me writing about cask only pubs that as an aficionado of unspoilt boozers it was actually harder to think of those selling just real ale. Whether you like t or not, in pubs with restricted hours or that are well out of the way, a cask is a slightly dumb idea. Wastage. Disappointment. Ullage. Not good.
The thing is, many in the beer blogging fraternity consider that one of the central, if not the primary considerations for a pub being good, is that it sells the fine drink. Whilst I conceded there is a mix of criteria for greatness, I increasingly find myself visiting truly amazing pubs, both interior and atmosphere wise, that haven't a drop (I'd like) to drink.
Before I continue I must add the long closed Hop Pole at Risbury in Herefordshire to my list of none keg pubs. There was only room at the bar for the landlord. I saw bottles of cider, but his cask was kept in a pin under the stairs as you came in. Woods Parish Bitter, at £1.10 a pint. Very agreeable!
So here is a list of some cracking unmissable pubs that don't sell real ale. I think if you can get over that, you will be warmly rewarded.
The Royal Cottage Inn, A53 Leek Road, near Upper Hulme. According to Ken at the Quiet Woman, Cliff's Dad used to serve Worthington from the barrel (more likely the jug) in this isolated moorland pub, where it is claimed that anyone in their 50's to 70's now would certainly have earned their drinking stripes. Cliff senior apparently used to be up and down the stairs to the cellar non stop fetching ale for throngs of customers. Now the restrictive opening hours means that even smooth flow Tetleys is a gamble - if it's not sold at the popular music nights on the last Friday of every month. Well worth a visit despite all of the above - Friday and Saturday, 20.00 til no-ones in.
The Duke Of York Leysters Herefordshire. A quintessential unspoilt pub with two rooms and an ancient bar, with just Bass Toby Ale for drinking, plus bottles. One of the longest established family pub ownerships in the UK, the unchanging pace and appearance of life here is something rare these days. Not too restricted opening hours, and always part of community events, its well worth popping in, especially if you are visiting the excellent Talbot at Knightwick for heady freshly hopped ales followed by the Sun at Leintwardine.
Railway Tavern, Kincardine, Scotland. An amazing pub the size of a matchbox, one doorway in with a room at each side (but mainly only the left hand used), with a tiny bar and a long table in the window. Room for about 16 in the main room. An amazing surviving small wet led pub that is well worth a visit, if nothing else to note the natural ebb and flow of conversation between regulars who I imagine have been drinking together for decades. Tennents Ale and Heavy plus lager on here, plus a limited spirits choice. A full review from 2011 is here.
The Seven Stars, Halfway House, Shropshire (now closed). This is, or really, this was, a very unusual set up of a public bar adjoining a hotel in a separate building. Am not sure why the hotel would not have had a bar, but wonder if maybe the Seven Stars was the destination for a more down at heel traveler - maybe the hotel bar was ostentatiously exclusive?
Me and Wee Fatha visited in 2003 and it was one of a kind. The landlord and landlady were in the kitchen behind a closed door. We sat on giant settles just to the side of the fireplace and the door to the toilets to our right (a tiled bit of wall on the detached house next door, with a screen to hide you from the road, but no provision for sitting down!), and we listened in on the radio for a good few minutes before Wee Fatha went to order our drinks.
An old lady opened the door and said "Yes?" and WF responded that he would like a couple of beers. The landlady agreed but he wanted to know what the beer was. This was not a good question. Without a flicker of sarcasm or irony of the lack of information that repeating the same information provided, she reiterated that it was "beer". Three times. Only, it wasn't strictly beer. Like an odd under-mixed beer concentrate it was hardly recognisable as the Burtonwood they served next door. And it didn't bloody matter. The place was completely unique.
Goat, Llanfihangel Yng Ngwynfa, near Welshpool Wales. Recently a venue for Dimpled Mug, if anything the interior in the bar seems more modern than when me and Wee Fatha and Wee Keefy visited in 2001. The first room is unmistakably domestic, the second, now with a rashly installed bar (about 30 years ago?) is still barely a pub room. We only got to visit because when we called them the lady who answered the phone said that her cousin was coming in specially on the Saturday lunch to clean the pub, so even though they didn't usually open she would leave the door unlocked so we could come and visit. Bottles of Marstons with not a hand pump to be seen. And only one sign, on the right hand wall, proclaiming the word "Goat". Brilliant.
Vine, Tunstall ,Staffordshire. An amazing back street local in the Pitts Hill area, very hard to find if you are expecting to see it from the road, since its tucked away round a corner. A dwindling army of regulars attends mainly in the right hand bar room; sadly the older female customers have now passed away and the lounge on the left, which in 2001 was just that, is more prosaic in its appearance, whereas before it had table cloths, doilies, cushion covers, curtains and tea pots.
So as this eulogy doesn't run forever I must also briefly make mention of the Fiddichside Inn at Craigallachie, near Abelour Aberdeenshire, the now sadly long closed Colliers Arms at Mossley, the Lion Royal Hotel at Rhayader, Wales, The Mawson , Brunswick, Manchester, the Cornewall Arms, Clodock, Herefordshire, and in a cheeky move, am going to once again include the Cider House, Defford, Worcestershire. Coz it dunt sell beer at all.
All are stunning examples of pubs that stand out for being unusual, isolated, ultra traditional and interesting in equal measure. Anyone who knows me can vouch for my love of real ale, but these are venues that encapsulate the better features of pubs gone by. They are unswervingly tilling a course that means they remind people of what pubs used to be like, and indeed what they can be like.
A last special mention should go to the Red Lion in Wensley, Derbyshire. Now closed (as far as I can ascertain, although its been difficult to tell for years) the Red Lion was a unique pub. And that's borderline euphemistic. I went in once with Chala, and Wee Keefy has been in twice with Ralphus. When we went there was no draught beer (even the keg fonts were covered with towels, al-a the Station Hotel on the Wicker Sheffield) and the only canned beer other than Guinness seemed to be Youngers Tartan Special.
We walked in muddy from a climb down the dale and were immediately greeted with a sign insisting we removed our footwear and placed plastic bags round our feet. Once inside there were possibly two rooms plus toilets. The Ladies had no running water so having fallen on her arse down the hill Chala had to wash her hands behind the bar. The gents did at least have cold water.
A couple sat to our right with a pot of tea and a plate of sandwiches, every flavour of which had beetroot in. There were formica tables and hollow cylinder chairs (made of bent metal pipe) and an old Mackeson sign, plus the smell of soup. And tea. And fear of photographs, as we discovered. The pub struggled on until the last year or two, gaining notoriety for its "special" - half a pint of milk mixed with a can of Guinness, which, apparently, you had only 30 seconds to drink before it congealed. Ralphus was a fan. I cannot realistically explain why.
Irrespective of the odd tale above, I would still strongly urge you to seek out interesting and unspoilt pubs, even if they don't sell real ale. After all, you can always have a decent pint somewhere nearby afterwards. Though, chances are, you'll not find a glass of special....
Happy wandering
Wee Beefy
Showing posts with label Railway Tavern Kincardine.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Railway Tavern Kincardine.. Show all posts
Saturday, 13 April 2013
Monday, 27 June 2011
Wee Beefy drinks in Dalriada
Evening all,
many weeks ago there wasn't such a thing as new-fangled humid 21degree nights and unbroken sunshine, because we had just stumbled into a meteorologically muddled June. This was the time that I chose to head off for 7 days in Scotland, the country of my birth, the bestower of my nickname, and provider of my most interesting antecedents.
Wee Fatha was to be driver, human guide book and gracious coverer of costs for some of the nights, since originally this was to be a mere 3 night escapade arranged as a present for me and Chala. We started our adventure at 08.00 on Saturday 4th June and set out for the long haul oop north.
Following the snake and some motorways with 6's in them, we headed through the lune valley gorge before stopping at Milnthorpe in that Lancashire for morning coffee. Alas too early for a licensed beverage, we nevertheless had an enjoyable break sat under a tree on the green admiring the church and the sunshine, which was ominously predicted to shrink away before we got to Carlisle - and so it did.
As soon as we entered the lake district the lights went off and the clouds blew in, but it wasn't dull, or indeed cold as we crossed the border, just average. Our first stop proper was Moffat and the Buccluech Hotel. The GBG could perhaps have been a bit more precise in its details but essentially the hotel has a tiny bar with no real ale, but next door is what looks like a separate business, the Coachmans bar.
Here there was the inescapable Deuchars, a shame since on past visits under independent ownership the quality far outshone the pale copy that abounds today; also on the bar was Inkie Pinky from Inveralmond Brewery. This was a pale refreshing beer with a nice malt and balance of bitterness which didn't last very long, but then neither did we. What with much to cram in, and despite an interesting chat with a gent at the bar, we all too soon had to leave for pastures new.
These were Larkhall, on the outskirts of Glasgow, perhaps not as fearsomely lawless as WF made out as he insisted we packed all but our coats into the boot, but nevertheless looking like it may well have seen better times, a considerable number of years ago.
The Village Tavern is on the National Inventory of historic pub interiors (N.I) and comprises two entrances and essentially two different drinking areas either side of the bar, with bench seating along each side, and loos at the end giving the interior a pleasing 1930's design symmetry (although the layout is older ). Much of the old seating area on the left is basic which suits the functional bar fittings, with, I am told, a separate area to the right which may have been a snug or off sales jug and bottle bar. Alas there is no real ale, but we did at least get some acceptable McEwans 60/-. Its an inescapable fact that real ale is probably even less prevalent in traditional pubs on the inventory, so where possible I try and get a 60/- or a "best" to lessen the impact of how grim my drink is. Further disappointment came in the form of the pub being so packed as to make getting a photo impossible, which is a shame.
Next we headed East for the former mining village of Shotts, which was perhaps a good day to visit since the whole place was buzzing with the highland games on up the road, and many people dressed in kilts and full traditional regalia, or put another way, dressed as Americans would assume everyone did in Scotland's urban industrial heartland.
We were uncertain if our intended stop would be open at all though, with WF having got no joy with the phone number provided or from directory enquiries, but having taken a wrong turn and had a drive around Shotts fairly glum environs, we arrived at the Old Wine Store on Shottskirk Road. That said, I only knew this because I recognised it from a picture, and because WF had advised there might no longer be a sign. There is not, just a board where it will one day go, the only written identification being a blue McEwans sign with Old Wine Store in small letters along the bottom.
Now seemingly only on the regional Scottish inventory, it is still obvious what the unique feature is here - its the magnificent bar gantry housing 4 huge old spirit casks that still dispense whisky. Round the far corner of the small bar, with high ceilings and a low partitioned seating area on the right, a couple of ancient handpumps suggest a real ale may have been available once, but its keg only unfortunately. So I had a pint of the Belhaven Best and WF a rather odd choice of McEwans Tartan, a beer from my past when I had no idea what I was drinking that sends shivers down my spine, usually based on how cold its served to mask its barely detectable one dimensional flavour.
The gantry, or at least the ends of the wooden bar back, looks to have a couple of A shapes on it, I wondered if these were part of the design, i.e just shapes/patterns, or were a nod to former ownership by Alloa or Aitkens brewery. There is also a famed miniature mirror round the back left of the bar which WF reckons to have spotted, but even given the friendliness of the staff and the locals, I dind't fancy jostling at the bar for no apparent reason and staring intently at people in line with the said mirror.
We said our farewells after getting a few pics, and headed off up the road to West Calder, and the imposing visage of the Railway Hotel, also on the N.I and complete with a small tower at the left hand end as you look straight at it. Still no real ale here, so Belhaven by default and tomato juice for WF.
The interior of this grand pub was the best thus far. Being busy with regulars watching the England match on a giant screen in the right hand bar, we sat in the quieter left, having walked all the way around the island bar from the entrance and along a slatted wooden walkway at the back. This is a handy feature, not least because the bar splits at the end to allow staff into a room directly behind it, perhaps previously a traditional Scottish managers room, now likely a kitchen.
The thin single bar fitting straddles the exact middle of the island bar and features ornate woodwork, and to the right of the far end of the bar is a corridor to a second room (given that the bar does not reach the ceiling there is no partition and thus essentially only one room), which also provides access to the loos, as well as a snooker room with dark wood panelling at the end. In the left hand bar where we sat is a small window at the end of the bar structure which reminded me of one at Bennetts in Edinburgh, and some nice coloured glass windows.
The lights are in a gas lamp style which adds to the authentic feel, and there is noticable grooved dark wood at the edge of every window, making the frame look as though its as thick as the walls. A decorative old fireplace topped by a Belhaven mirror on the left wall facing the bar completes the scene, in what makes for quite a narrow room.
Our next stop was not drink related but the likely now private Niddry castle - the OS map has the words restored in brackets, which often means its privately owned. There is still a brown sign to follow near the network of local cycleways and paths in the area but we only wandered up the track for a peak, and a pic. Our next stop was more closely related to Mary Queen of Scots, as she is supposed to have stayed at Niddry, that being Linlithgow.
This magnificent town boasts a Palace, which was alas shut, at the top of a steep road above a grand fronted edifice which is probably the council house, and the Linlithgow cross. We walked up to take a look at the Palace and St Michael's church, and then walked down to the loch which we walked round part of in conveniently arrived bright sunshine, admiring the bird life and looking back to the mount with the palace and church on.
We then headed into town and into the Four Marys on High Street. This is one of two GBG listed pubs in the town and halted our real ale drought in some style, with 7 or 8 handpumps dispensing almost exclusively Scottish ales including the Belhaven 4 Marys, which I had a half of, and Houston Peters Well (untried), Williams Bros Ceilidh, and a fantastic pint of the Fyne Ales Avalanche,which had been a highlight of the recent 3 Valleys festival.
We left to watch an impressive circular parade round the square and up and down the main street, which explained the plethora of cones along every pavement, and was likely part of the Linlithgow Festival of the Marches. We then headed out of the town and made good progress over the Forth bridge to our accommodation in Clackmannan outside Alloa. We only briefly checked in before driving out to nearby Sauchie for tea at the famous Mansfield Arms brewpub.
We knew they were serving food until late and we were nearing the end of a long day travelling so just wanted to turn up. eat, and drink some decent real ale, which the Mansfield Arms is perfectly geared up to let you do. The pub, more precisely their Devon Ales brewery, is one of a handful of long established breweries that that have filled the void left by giants like Alloa Ales and Maclays in the area, and is a real ale survivor.
As the market started taking off in a big way in England there was a valiant but unsuccessful surge North of the Border. Here, Bothwell, Alice, Strathalbyn and Devanha breweries (to name but a few) opened and closed during the late seventies and early eighties, suggesting, with the exception of stalwarts like Harviestoun, that real ale and microbreweries didn't suit the Scottish market. The Mansfield Arms however has been brewing since 1993 (1992 according to their website ) and have seemingly gone from strength to strength. The brewery now produces 4 real ales and a smooth/cold version to suit the tastes of the younger regulars.
Real ale is served under air pressure from fonts but its cask conditioned so this makes only a marginal difference to the flavour - I did try them on gravity at Wakefield Beer Festival about a million years ago and recall little difference in taste. With our enormous portions of food we tried a pint ( for me ) of the Devon original at £2.10, WF having a half, a pint of the Thick Black, and a half of the Pride, which may also be called 90/-. All the ales were in good nick and were the perfect accompaniment to our food.
Luckily we had left room for a further drink sort of on our way back to the B&B. We popped in (having spent 10 minutes finding it, even for a 3rd visit ) to the unique survival that is the Railway Tavern in Kincardine. All that suggests there is a pub is a small beermat sized plate above the door stating J Dobie licensee, and a smokers wall mounted ashtray next to the blue door. Inside there is a small room on the right which is usually unused, only opened as an emergency overspill, a corridor off which leads the ladies and the gents at the end, a door on the left to the bar room, and, confusingly, another door on the left to the bar, literally. Given that ther can't be more than 30 square foot behind the bar fittings included, its merciful that this door opens out....
In the bar room is a fireplace as you enter on the pubs left wall and a couple of stools at the bar. Immediately on your left in the window, is a large table which seats 8. And that's it. You may be able to get 6 standing 2 sat at the bar and the table full but that would be absolutely rammed. This seating arrangement makes best use of the minute available space, and has led the regulars to develop an innovative purchasing arrangement. This usually involves a designated orderer being sat at the bar and taking the money from and the products to those sat at the window end of the table.
We were in early enough ( anytime before 21.30 ) to get a seat at the table, with myself occupying the seat against the window, luckily I chose an early point at which to go to the toilet. I had a pint of the Tennents Light, which just to make things clear is a dark beer, and settled down to listen in on the topics of conversation of the evening, including leeks and potato growing, highland blizzards, and catching up on the daily lives of the locals.
All night the blokes who I remembered seeing in there on my first visit were all drinking virtually the same drink - a half a beer and a whisky, sometimes with a cheeky lemonade or ginger beer added. Perhaps this cuts down on disruptive trips to the gents when the bar gets busy. Time passed very quickly even though we were there over an hour, but we had to head off all too soon to get a well earned kip after our lengthy first day.
Next - Loch Leven castle, some Dundee N.I pubs, Dunottar Castle, Stonehaven and Banchory.
Wee Beefy
many weeks ago there wasn't such a thing as new-fangled humid 21degree nights and unbroken sunshine, because we had just stumbled into a meteorologically muddled June. This was the time that I chose to head off for 7 days in Scotland, the country of my birth, the bestower of my nickname, and provider of my most interesting antecedents.
Wee Fatha was to be driver, human guide book and gracious coverer of costs for some of the nights, since originally this was to be a mere 3 night escapade arranged as a present for me and Chala. We started our adventure at 08.00 on Saturday 4th June and set out for the long haul oop north.
Following the snake and some motorways with 6's in them, we headed through the lune valley gorge before stopping at Milnthorpe in that Lancashire for morning coffee. Alas too early for a licensed beverage, we nevertheless had an enjoyable break sat under a tree on the green admiring the church and the sunshine, which was ominously predicted to shrink away before we got to Carlisle - and so it did.
As soon as we entered the lake district the lights went off and the clouds blew in, but it wasn't dull, or indeed cold as we crossed the border, just average. Our first stop proper was Moffat and the Buccluech Hotel. The GBG could perhaps have been a bit more precise in its details but essentially the hotel has a tiny bar with no real ale, but next door is what looks like a separate business, the Coachmans bar.
Here there was the inescapable Deuchars, a shame since on past visits under independent ownership the quality far outshone the pale copy that abounds today; also on the bar was Inkie Pinky from Inveralmond Brewery. This was a pale refreshing beer with a nice malt and balance of bitterness which didn't last very long, but then neither did we. What with much to cram in, and despite an interesting chat with a gent at the bar, we all too soon had to leave for pastures new.
These were Larkhall, on the outskirts of Glasgow, perhaps not as fearsomely lawless as WF made out as he insisted we packed all but our coats into the boot, but nevertheless looking like it may well have seen better times, a considerable number of years ago.
The Village Tavern is on the National Inventory of historic pub interiors (N.I) and comprises two entrances and essentially two different drinking areas either side of the bar, with bench seating along each side, and loos at the end giving the interior a pleasing 1930's design symmetry (although the layout is older ). Much of the old seating area on the left is basic which suits the functional bar fittings, with, I am told, a separate area to the right which may have been a snug or off sales jug and bottle bar. Alas there is no real ale, but we did at least get some acceptable McEwans 60/-. Its an inescapable fact that real ale is probably even less prevalent in traditional pubs on the inventory, so where possible I try and get a 60/- or a "best" to lessen the impact of how grim my drink is. Further disappointment came in the form of the pub being so packed as to make getting a photo impossible, which is a shame.
Next we headed East for the former mining village of Shotts, which was perhaps a good day to visit since the whole place was buzzing with the highland games on up the road, and many people dressed in kilts and full traditional regalia, or put another way, dressed as Americans would assume everyone did in Scotland's urban industrial heartland.
We were uncertain if our intended stop would be open at all though, with WF having got no joy with the phone number provided or from directory enquiries, but having taken a wrong turn and had a drive around Shotts fairly glum environs, we arrived at the Old Wine Store on Shottskirk Road. That said, I only knew this because I recognised it from a picture, and because WF had advised there might no longer be a sign. There is not, just a board where it will one day go, the only written identification being a blue McEwans sign with Old Wine Store in small letters along the bottom.
Now seemingly only on the regional Scottish inventory, it is still obvious what the unique feature is here - its the magnificent bar gantry housing 4 huge old spirit casks that still dispense whisky. Round the far corner of the small bar, with high ceilings and a low partitioned seating area on the right, a couple of ancient handpumps suggest a real ale may have been available once, but its keg only unfortunately. So I had a pint of the Belhaven Best and WF a rather odd choice of McEwans Tartan, a beer from my past when I had no idea what I was drinking that sends shivers down my spine, usually based on how cold its served to mask its barely detectable one dimensional flavour.
The gantry, or at least the ends of the wooden bar back, looks to have a couple of A shapes on it, I wondered if these were part of the design, i.e just shapes/patterns, or were a nod to former ownership by Alloa or Aitkens brewery. There is also a famed miniature mirror round the back left of the bar which WF reckons to have spotted, but even given the friendliness of the staff and the locals, I dind't fancy jostling at the bar for no apparent reason and staring intently at people in line with the said mirror.
We said our farewells after getting a few pics, and headed off up the road to West Calder, and the imposing visage of the Railway Hotel, also on the N.I and complete with a small tower at the left hand end as you look straight at it. Still no real ale here, so Belhaven by default and tomato juice for WF.
The interior of this grand pub was the best thus far. Being busy with regulars watching the England match on a giant screen in the right hand bar, we sat in the quieter left, having walked all the way around the island bar from the entrance and along a slatted wooden walkway at the back. This is a handy feature, not least because the bar splits at the end to allow staff into a room directly behind it, perhaps previously a traditional Scottish managers room, now likely a kitchen.
The thin single bar fitting straddles the exact middle of the island bar and features ornate woodwork, and to the right of the far end of the bar is a corridor to a second room (given that the bar does not reach the ceiling there is no partition and thus essentially only one room), which also provides access to the loos, as well as a snooker room with dark wood panelling at the end. In the left hand bar where we sat is a small window at the end of the bar structure which reminded me of one at Bennetts in Edinburgh, and some nice coloured glass windows.
The lights are in a gas lamp style which adds to the authentic feel, and there is noticable grooved dark wood at the edge of every window, making the frame look as though its as thick as the walls. A decorative old fireplace topped by a Belhaven mirror on the left wall facing the bar completes the scene, in what makes for quite a narrow room.
Our next stop was not drink related but the likely now private Niddry castle - the OS map has the words restored in brackets, which often means its privately owned. There is still a brown sign to follow near the network of local cycleways and paths in the area but we only wandered up the track for a peak, and a pic. Our next stop was more closely related to Mary Queen of Scots, as she is supposed to have stayed at Niddry, that being Linlithgow.
This magnificent town boasts a Palace, which was alas shut, at the top of a steep road above a grand fronted edifice which is probably the council house, and the Linlithgow cross. We walked up to take a look at the Palace and St Michael's church, and then walked down to the loch which we walked round part of in conveniently arrived bright sunshine, admiring the bird life and looking back to the mount with the palace and church on.
We then headed into town and into the Four Marys on High Street. This is one of two GBG listed pubs in the town and halted our real ale drought in some style, with 7 or 8 handpumps dispensing almost exclusively Scottish ales including the Belhaven 4 Marys, which I had a half of, and Houston Peters Well (untried), Williams Bros Ceilidh, and a fantastic pint of the Fyne Ales Avalanche,which had been a highlight of the recent 3 Valleys festival.
We left to watch an impressive circular parade round the square and up and down the main street, which explained the plethora of cones along every pavement, and was likely part of the Linlithgow Festival of the Marches. We then headed out of the town and made good progress over the Forth bridge to our accommodation in Clackmannan outside Alloa. We only briefly checked in before driving out to nearby Sauchie for tea at the famous Mansfield Arms brewpub.
We knew they were serving food until late and we were nearing the end of a long day travelling so just wanted to turn up. eat, and drink some decent real ale, which the Mansfield Arms is perfectly geared up to let you do. The pub, more precisely their Devon Ales brewery, is one of a handful of long established breweries that that have filled the void left by giants like Alloa Ales and Maclays in the area, and is a real ale survivor.
As the market started taking off in a big way in England there was a valiant but unsuccessful surge North of the Border. Here, Bothwell, Alice, Strathalbyn and Devanha breweries (to name but a few) opened and closed during the late seventies and early eighties, suggesting, with the exception of stalwarts like Harviestoun, that real ale and microbreweries didn't suit the Scottish market. The Mansfield Arms however has been brewing since 1993 (1992 according to their website ) and have seemingly gone from strength to strength. The brewery now produces 4 real ales and a smooth/cold version to suit the tastes of the younger regulars.
Real ale is served under air pressure from fonts but its cask conditioned so this makes only a marginal difference to the flavour - I did try them on gravity at Wakefield Beer Festival about a million years ago and recall little difference in taste. With our enormous portions of food we tried a pint ( for me ) of the Devon original at £2.10, WF having a half, a pint of the Thick Black, and a half of the Pride, which may also be called 90/-. All the ales were in good nick and were the perfect accompaniment to our food.
Luckily we had left room for a further drink sort of on our way back to the B&B. We popped in (having spent 10 minutes finding it, even for a 3rd visit ) to the unique survival that is the Railway Tavern in Kincardine. All that suggests there is a pub is a small beermat sized plate above the door stating J Dobie licensee, and a smokers wall mounted ashtray next to the blue door. Inside there is a small room on the right which is usually unused, only opened as an emergency overspill, a corridor off which leads the ladies and the gents at the end, a door on the left to the bar room, and, confusingly, another door on the left to the bar, literally. Given that ther can't be more than 30 square foot behind the bar fittings included, its merciful that this door opens out....
In the bar room is a fireplace as you enter on the pubs left wall and a couple of stools at the bar. Immediately on your left in the window, is a large table which seats 8. And that's it. You may be able to get 6 standing 2 sat at the bar and the table full but that would be absolutely rammed. This seating arrangement makes best use of the minute available space, and has led the regulars to develop an innovative purchasing arrangement. This usually involves a designated orderer being sat at the bar and taking the money from and the products to those sat at the window end of the table.
We were in early enough ( anytime before 21.30 ) to get a seat at the table, with myself occupying the seat against the window, luckily I chose an early point at which to go to the toilet. I had a pint of the Tennents Light, which just to make things clear is a dark beer, and settled down to listen in on the topics of conversation of the evening, including leeks and potato growing, highland blizzards, and catching up on the daily lives of the locals.
All night the blokes who I remembered seeing in there on my first visit were all drinking virtually the same drink - a half a beer and a whisky, sometimes with a cheeky lemonade or ginger beer added. Perhaps this cuts down on disruptive trips to the gents when the bar gets busy. Time passed very quickly even though we were there over an hour, but we had to head off all too soon to get a well earned kip after our lengthy first day.
Next - Loch Leven castle, some Dundee N.I pubs, Dunottar Castle, Stonehaven and Banchory.
Wee Beefy
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