So I’ve had to find a new favorite pub. That’s no easy task here in the colonies where “pub” generally means “restaurant with a drinks license” and if you aren’t ordering food, the wait staff make it clear you’re taking up valuable real estate and it would be nice if you would bugger off.
While Irish themed bars (“theme” bars of any sort, really) generally have me looking around for a vomit bucket, I thought I’d struck it lucky with my regular haunt for the last few years; a cool, dark, rabbit warren of a place where the cares of the day could be soaked away with a pint or 4 of slow-poured Guinness. Yes, it served food but the place was a pub in the purest sense of the word. A long bar, rickety furniture, friendly staff, and a marked lack of yuppies. When I was in town and thirsting for a bevy, this was where I went.
So you can imagine my distress when I drove past it (on St. Patrick’s Day, of all days) and saw that the recent ‘renovations’ were not simply a lick of paint and a vacuum round (which was all it needed) but a full on transformation into something new and horrid. My favorite pub is now a “Bar and Café”, serving “Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner”. It was bright orange, utterly charmless and I hated it on sight. The fact that the parking lot was full of SUVs simply added to my anguish.
What to do, what to do, what to do? It’s not that I hit Denver’s bars all that often; I don’t drink and drive and 50 miles back up into the mountains is one heckuva walk. However, I do occasionally take my bike into town and one of life’s simple pleasures is a long ride with a pint at the end to wash the dust off. Clearly, I needed to find a new watering hole, and soon.
I usually avoid ‘British’ pubs for the same reason I do their ‘Irish’ counterparts. Man Utd scarves tacked to the ceiling, a mug shot of the Queen on the wall and The Clash on the jukebox, do not a pub make. That said; Denver has one with pretty good ale, made on site. Problem is; the service is sketchy. The last time I was in there, I had to track down the waitress to explain that when I gave her a $20 bill for a $12 tab, I didn’t intend her to keep the change. She seemed genuinely surprised and was more than a little graceless about it. Being British, I’m still not used to the idea that I have to pay (certain) people extra to do their jobs and I really don’t like it when they assume I’m tipping 67%.
But as none of the ‘American’ bars I’ve been in (so far) have the ambience I’m seeking, I decided last weekend to check out another ‘British’ place. Although I knew of its existence, I’ve avoided it up to now, partly from my aversion to the concept, but mostly because it’s in an area of town I don’t often find myself.
However, a warm, sunny Saturday saw me engaged in one of my favorite pursuits, on my bike, getting deliberately lost in a neighborhood I hadn’t explored before. I wasn’t paying attention to street names so when I popped out into recognizable territory; I was pleasantly surprised to find myself right beside the aforementioned pub.
I’d ridden a long way and a pint was in order so after chaining my bike to the railing, I stepped inside and was utterly charmed. Dark wood, booths, a homely atmosphere and friendly staff. It was like going home. And better yet, the (British) beer was served just the way it should be. No, I don’t mean warm, I mean cellar temperature rather than with the flavor chilled out of it. And as if that wasn’t enough, happy hour had just started so the prices were reasonable too.
OK, it had some World War 1 propaganda posters as artwork, as well as a Nike advert showing a face-painted football yahoo, and the music was a tad loud for my taste (oh dear, when did I turn into my Dad?). Plus the name, “The British Bulldog” is straying dangerously into cliché territory. However, there was a distinct absence of Union Jacks, no Man Utd memorabilia and not a mug shot of Queen Liz in sight. This was my kind of place.
It’s a long way from home (my actual home, here in Colorado), and not really on the way from or to anywhere I normally go, and I’m not sure how often I’ll ride my bike up that way. But it’s good to know that once more, I have a favorite pub.
So if anyone’s looking for me...that’s where I’ll be.
4 comments:
The important questions are:
1) Do they serve Strongbow?
2) Do they have Walker's available? Cheese & onion, please.
They do indeed serve Strongbow. Out of a can unfortunately, but you can't have everything. Not sure about the Walker's crisps though. I'll check next time I'm in.
I hear we have a Something and Firkin that's opened near us. I don't frequent bars much these days (for the reasons you mentioned) but I might just have to give it a try.
I don't frequent bars almost ever (since the establishment I work in has two now, and my dealings with some of the 'lads and lassies' tend to turn me off to the venue away from work). But on those very rare occasions I do, I like the quieter, more laid-back venues, to the ones overrun with yuppies.
If ya found ya a good 'un, savor and enjoy it, Andrew!
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