An enlightening guide to the best (and worst) of the
licensed trade from our own correspondent.
“There is nothing which has yet been contrived by man, by
which so much happiness is produced as by a good tavern or inn.”
Dr Johnson
Dr Johnson
~ Introduction
It is with great pleasure that I humbly present to you, earnest
student of Ataraxia, a new and hopefully regular contribution to this august
publication; my own small attempt at penning for you, a guide to that singularly
varied and fascinating subject, the public houses of Britain.
This disparate collection of buildings both humble and grand
forms one of the most defining features of both the social and cultural
landscape of this nation, spanning its great divides between class and wealth,
urban and rural, modern and historic.
Any true follower of the Ataraxian club will be all too aware of the importance we attach to the serious
business of drinking, conversation and occasionally having a decent plate of
something hot to prevent the onset of malnutrition. As a result, I will
endeavour over the coming weeks to highlight some of the venues, both in our
glorious Capital and around about in the sleepy provinces of our Kingdom, where
a noble tweed clad gent can find a warm and understanding
welcome. From the soaring majesty of our Victorian gin-palaces to the sleepy
village local inhabited by toothless, badger baiting locals, I hope you, dear
reader, will follow where I lead, and perhaps you too will discover some of the
feeling of sheer contentment and restful satisfaction that can only be brought
about while in the confines of a really good pub.
- Where to Avoid
Before we begin proper on our quest for perfection, perhaps it is
prudent to spend a moment discussing places no proud follower of the Ataraxian
ideal should ever be seen. Loosely, these places are anywhere which describes
themselves as a chain of ‘family eating houses’, ‘pub and country dining’, or
anything with the words ‘carvery’, ‘sizzling’, ‘grill’ or ‘OAP discount
special’ mentioned on its signage.
These hideous, mangled attempts at
traditional pub hospitality are a concept dreamt up by the fevered imagination
of a PR firm in the heat 1979, yet they continue to inflict themselves on the
unsuspecting general public. Their vile over lit neon glow, their stained swirly
carpets and the ubiquitous presence of horse brasses, faux paintings of rural
idylls and corporately ordained ‘quirky’ artefacts clumsily adorning their
walls, should be enough to bring the bile to the throat of any enlightened
individual. If not, then stay awhile to partake in their unkempt tasteless
beer, their mass produced imitation ‘Largurs’ or await the arrival of vast
plates of deep fried beige food, presented by disinterested staff dreaming of a
better future away from the hot embrace of the ‘pub chain’.
Never, I repeat
never should any like-minded fellow enter these places, there is nothing here for
people such as us. A proper pub, befitting the title of a ‘genuine all-rounder’,
will be able to cater for the needs of the hungry and the family inclined as
well as the thirsty, without allowing either party to encroach upon or
undermine the other. A pub can be known for its food, as well as its drink and
its welcome for all; no one should have to suffer in a noisy overblown licensed
crèche with pretences of adequacy.
Equally shunned here at the club are the overweening middle class gasto-pubs that have
been inflicted upon countless once perfectly adequate drinking houses. I repeat
the mantra that food in pubs, if done correctly and sympathetically, can
perfectly complement the wet trade environment and bring those who would not
naturally venture into public houses into their welcome arms. What is
objectionable to us, is when a pub severs its connections to its own earthly
existence; it suddenly considers itself better than the majority of its long
standing clientele. Black paint, stripped walls, modern sculpture, Gerbers and
an ungainly, off the wall name are the order of the day, as a once welcoming
local is painfully augmented to that dreadful highbred somewhere between high
end restaurant and clumsy cafe, with a single lonely hand-pull left ironically
on the bar. ‘This used to be a right grotty little dive’, you hear their
hateful yuppie patronage with bourgeois pretentions,
spout from the segregated outdoor seating area. Protected by purple velvet rope
interspersed with low box hedging, they consider themselves removed from the
prolls walking the streets beyond, ensconced in their little black cave eating
platefuls of deliberately incomprehensible food, all reassuringly expensive of
course.
Also included in the
category of avoidance, for obvious reasons, are those yobby little hell holes
found in the hopelessly deprived parts of our land. These sad taverns once were
the mainstay of so many a working class way of life, but many are now often the
preserves of the leary unemployable sons of better fathers, drenched in
overpriced ‘Largur’ with football played on a continuous loop and at a volume
which precludes any level of conversation. That is not to say all working class
pubs are included in this category. Far from it, after all it is in the simple
working class beer house that all pubs find their common ancestor. Indeed, some
of the most enlightening and enjoyable pubs this correspondent has ever had the
pleasure of discovering have been in areas wracked with social deprivation, and
which sharp intakes of breath and general incredulity are the norm when their
names are mentioned among more prurient company; ‘Ooo, you don’t go in there, do you?’.
Those pubs debarred for
our purposes are those where the old guard of real pub people have been driven
out by the young and unimaginative who have taken charge of the asylum,
enforcing the banishment of decent ale, conversation and social cohesion. These
places are the playgrounds of overgrown children with a pint clasped in their
hand. Pity them. It is a blameless phenomenon form both those abandoned by
government and society, and the businessmen willing to put up with their misdemeanours
for the sake of regular trade, but they are like all the other pubs mentioned
in this section, too much of one particular thing. Balance between all and for
all is the key to running a truly inspirational pub, and in the coming weeks I
hope to share a few of these with you.
