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There was a time when the words pub or inn meant something, and I’m not talking about beer that was the result of a dubious tryst between dishwater and a sparklet or even food that would get dogs and the RSPCA inspector in a lather. No I’m talking of a time where was ale lovingly made by experts and tendered with passion by a barkeep, where Mrs barkeep knocked up some scrumptious nosh that filled many a hole and where short trousers half way down your back side were something you couldn’t wait to get out of.
Well here I am in pub run by the White Brasserie Company, and blow me if there isn’t some mighty fine ales and some lip smacking grub. They claim the idea of a pub is not just British (preposterous I know) apparently the word means brewery and that they came into being when some nasty disease had the French’s precious vineyards Having no wine to drink, the good folk across the pond resorted to beer. And because you have to admit they can cook over there, they added some nice nosh.
So what to make of a pub run by the White Brasserie Company?
I feared more murder most foul was once more going to be committed but no, the place is warm and welcoming and curiouser and curiouser; looks and feels like real pub. They have a top notch 2-course and a glass of wine deal and the food itself is not what I have read described as ‘gastro pub. No, there is food I recognise on the menu and really does not disappoint when it arrives. A real success then. After all, a chap can’t exist on beer alone, old boy.
The Bounder.
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