Where we venture into comfortable hostelries and sup.
As we are both sad librarian types, Marsh and I planned a pub crawl around Ambleside using the internet. This research proved invaluable as did the local Camra magazine Lakes and Ale- you know, fail to prepare, prepare to fail, and all that.
So here are our favourites and one to avoid.
Conveniently located at the bottom of our street, and a Good Beer guide regular, we very much enjoyed the time we spent in the Golden Rule. The Rule is everything a Northern pub should be, right down to the velveteen banquettes and cosy snugs. No music, no food, but a good variety of ales, all well kept and served. Marsh opted for Robinson's Dizzy Blonde while I, unsportingly felt drawn to the Grolsch.
First food of the trip was taken in the Unicorn; decent pub grub and particularly good old-school puddings with custard- Marsh was happy! Impressive selection of Hartley's and Robinson's ales, Hartley's XB and Robinson's Unicorn deserve a mention.
The White Lion really deserved a second visit but time sadly got the better of us, which was a shame as they had beers from the Kewsick Brewing Company on tap, Thirst Fall I think. Keswick's Thirst Run one of my Desert Island beers: I love the stuff.
Let's get the one to avoid over with before the final flourish.
In 1999 my local brewery paid for me and a bunch of other school-leavers from the North West to experience life in another country; we went to China for the best part of three weeks. I'd never been on a plane before, never been out of the country, I'd just turned 19 and it was an amazing experience. I've always been happy to pay them back in pints. I've drank a lot of Thwaites bitter in Blackburn and Darwen and wouldn't hesitate to recommend the Keswick Lodge (predictably, in Keswick) for beer, food or a bed for the night, but all these good experiences made the Sportsman's Arms in Ambleside even more of a let down. Marsh and I necked the halves I'd fortuitously ordered as quickly as we could. We were the only souls in there and there was a choice of four draught options, and one of those was Coke. The barman had indicated that the manager had lost interest, they only money they seemed to be making was from the less than inspiring 'party room' downstairs. There was plenty of Sambuca on offer, but we'd come in for a pint of Wainwright. A shame.
Now for some good news. Despite being an outside runner the Queen's Hotel provided our beer of the week. True, it wasn't a cosy or snug, and in some ways it was a bit on the posh side- change out of your boots and waterproofs before you go- but they had a very pleasant and knowledgeable barman. Sporting an excellent range of ales on tap, the highlight had to be the Yates' Bitter: even a dedicated lager drinker like me was itching for a last pint of it before we went. Luckily for us the Booth's in Bowness had a plentiful supply which we bought most of!
Showing posts with label beer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label beer. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Friday, April 16, 2010
Aberystwyth, mon amour!
I've returned, in one piece, from Wales. I was dreading it. Didn't want to go, didn't have time, thought I'd rushed into it, that the course wouldn't be as good as the full-time ones, that people wouldn't like me... you name it: and I was wrong about it all.
If it was possible to be keener and more excited about libraries: I would be. The week left me invigorated, confident, and eager to get stuck into the first module. The other students and staff were so friendly and encouraging and the place... well, I never expected to be charmed by it. Utterly, utterly charmed.
I spent a decent amount of time at the beach, and got my feet wet in Cardigan Bay. Cardigan Bay!- why would you want to do a library degree anywhere else? It has a funicular railway too, and you can't have a funicular without fun... or, icular... you get what I mean.
Beer was also good: Brains Black comes highly recommended, especially from one who doesn't normally venture to the dark side.
One of the real high points was our Welsh lesson, never has a language class been delivered with more passion and enthusiasm. The experience of joining 26 other trainee librarians singing My Hat it has Three Corners in Welsh, very loudly, will never be forgotten. So thank you Aber and Aber folk: you cheered me right up!
Picture
[General view, Aberystwith, Wales]
[between ca. 1890 and ca. 1900].
1 photomechanical print : photochrom, color.
Notes:
Title from the Detroit Publishing Co., catalogue J--foreign section. Detroit, Mich. : Detroit Photographic Company, 1905.
Print no. "10524".
Forms part of: Views of landscape and architecture in Wales in the Photochrom print collection.
Subjects:
Wales--Aberystwyth.
Format: Photochrom prints--Color--1890-1900.
Rights Info: No known restrictions on reproduction.
Repository: Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, Washington, D.C. 20540 USA, hdl.loc.gov/loc.pnp/pp.print
Part Of: Views of landscape and architecture in Wales (DLC) 2001700652
More information about the Photochrom Print Collection is available at hdl.loc.gov/loc.pnp/pp.pgz
Persistent URL: hdl.loc.gov/loc.pnp/ppmsc.07342
Call Number: LOT 13408, no. 006 [item]
If it was possible to be keener and more excited about libraries: I would be. The week left me invigorated, confident, and eager to get stuck into the first module. The other students and staff were so friendly and encouraging and the place... well, I never expected to be charmed by it. Utterly, utterly charmed.
I spent a decent amount of time at the beach, and got my feet wet in Cardigan Bay. Cardigan Bay!- why would you want to do a library degree anywhere else? It has a funicular railway too, and you can't have a funicular without fun... or, icular... you get what I mean.
Beer was also good: Brains Black comes highly recommended, especially from one who doesn't normally venture to the dark side.
Stunning beer shots courtesy of Jessica Holland.
One of the real high points was our Welsh lesson, never has a language class been delivered with more passion and enthusiasm. The experience of joining 26 other trainee librarians singing My Hat it has Three Corners in Welsh, very loudly, will never be forgotten. So thank you Aber and Aber folk: you cheered me right up!
[General view, Aberystwith, Wales]
[between ca. 1890 and ca. 1900].
1 photomechanical print : photochrom, color.
Notes:
Title from the Detroit Publishing Co., catalogue J--foreign section. Detroit, Mich. : Detroit Photographic Company, 1905.
Print no. "10524".
Forms part of: Views of landscape and architecture in Wales in the Photochrom print collection.
Subjects:
Wales--Aberystwyth.
Format: Photochrom prints--Color--1890-1900.
Rights Info: No known restrictions on reproduction.
Repository: Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, Washington, D.C. 20540 USA, hdl.loc.gov/loc.pnp/pp.print
Part Of: Views of landscape and architecture in Wales (DLC) 2001700652
More information about the Photochrom Print Collection is available at hdl.loc.gov/loc.pnp/pp.pgz
Persistent URL: hdl.loc.gov/loc.pnp/ppmsc.07342
Call Number: LOT 13408, no. 006 [item]
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
Lake District Vignettes: Beer- the starter
In Which Marsh and I drink beer solely for the benefit of you, dear reader. Here I set the scene using unecessarily floral language to evoke nostalgia.
Ahh, the Northern pub! Cosy, dark rooms lit by reproduction gas-lamps and a coal fire. Horse brasses and bedwarming pans glister in the firelight as couples supping from barrel glasses enjoy quiet conversation on red velveteen banquettes, but all this is extra, why we're really here is to experience that wonder of the North: a pint wi 'ead on't.
Now I was raised in the North, when my Dad took me for my first pint I was presented with a ruby elixir topped with just a cream of foam, cool to the touch and a treat to the lips. As you drank, the head slid down the inside of the glass; the concoction, I was assured, would put hairs on my chest. In those salad days it never occurred to me that I was one of the fortunate ones, that in the south, particularly in East Anglia, they were bereft of the quiet pleasure of gazing into the foamy shapes left on the inside of the glass.
Here in the East the head of your pint disappears somewhere between the landlord pulling it and it arriving at your lips. You clearly see it forming as the pint is pulled, but so delicate is this head that it swoons out of existence before it's even had a chance to give you a comedy moustache. The East Anglian head, or frog eyes to its friends.
Last year Marsh, myself and 38 other lesbians temporarily took over the village of Castleton in the Peak District. We descended on one of the local pubs without warning; the bar staff wore slightly confused looks on their faces all evening, one young lad's ears burned red all night, but on the plus side they sold plates and plates of food and gallons of ale. Keen to try the local brew Marsh and I took our time at the bar and got chatting with the staff asking for their recommendations. Mid way through our 'try before you buy' session a local came to the bar and eyed up the guest ales. 'Adnams' Broadside' declared one of the pump clips, "I'll try one of those," he said. Marsh and exchanged looks. He left seemingly happy, but soon returned. He thrust the frog eyed pint under the barman's nose, "that's not right!" he said. The barman cleared his throat, "it's from down South; it's supposed to be like that." The man looked at his pint. Sensing the uncomfortable atmosphere, and for some reason feeling responsible, we backed the barman. "All East Anglian ale has that kind of head," Marsh said. "Yeah," I offered, "we call it frog eyes." We might as well have been from Klingon. The barman rushed to the rescue with a sparkler and forced a Northern head onto a half pint of the stuff: it weakly fought for life. By this point all the colour had drained from the man's face 'that's just not right,' he repeated. I could tell by the tone that he didn't mean the taste, he meant the morals of it, the very physics of it. This wasn't a man with a duff pint, this was a man taking his first sup of East Anglian ale. I saw myself nine years ago and shuddered. Ever since then, the prospect of a Northern pint fills me with tears of gratitude.
Join me again soon for Beer- the main course, when I'll actually get round to telling you about the beer we had.
Beer- it'll put hairs on your chest
Emporia (Lyon county, Kansas, United States) inhabited place
Environmental Protection Agency
Project DOCUMERICA
Persistent URL: http://arcweb.archives.gov/arc/action/ExternalIdSearch?id=557043
Repository: Still Picture Records Section, Special Media Archives Services Division (NWCS-S), National Archives at College Park, 8601 Adelphi Road, College Park, MD, 20740-6001.
For information about ordering reproductions of photographs held by the Still Picture Unit, visit: www.archives.gov/research/order/still-pictures.html
Reproductions may be ordered via an independent vendor. NARA maintains a list of vendors at www.archives.gov/research/order/vendors-photos-maps-dc.html
Access Restrictions: Unrestricted
Use Restrictions: Unrestricted
Ahh, the Northern pub! Cosy, dark rooms lit by reproduction gas-lamps and a coal fire. Horse brasses and bedwarming pans glister in the firelight as couples supping from barrel glasses enjoy quiet conversation on red velveteen banquettes, but all this is extra, why we're really here is to experience that wonder of the North: a pint wi 'ead on't.
Now I was raised in the North, when my Dad took me for my first pint I was presented with a ruby elixir topped with just a cream of foam, cool to the touch and a treat to the lips. As you drank, the head slid down the inside of the glass; the concoction, I was assured, would put hairs on my chest. In those salad days it never occurred to me that I was one of the fortunate ones, that in the south, particularly in East Anglia, they were bereft of the quiet pleasure of gazing into the foamy shapes left on the inside of the glass.
Here in the East the head of your pint disappears somewhere between the landlord pulling it and it arriving at your lips. You clearly see it forming as the pint is pulled, but so delicate is this head that it swoons out of existence before it's even had a chance to give you a comedy moustache. The East Anglian head, or frog eyes to its friends.
Last year Marsh, myself and 38 other lesbians temporarily took over the village of Castleton in the Peak District. We descended on one of the local pubs without warning; the bar staff wore slightly confused looks on their faces all evening, one young lad's ears burned red all night, but on the plus side they sold plates and plates of food and gallons of ale. Keen to try the local brew Marsh and I took our time at the bar and got chatting with the staff asking for their recommendations. Mid way through our 'try before you buy' session a local came to the bar and eyed up the guest ales. 'Adnams' Broadside' declared one of the pump clips, "I'll try one of those," he said. Marsh and exchanged looks. He left seemingly happy, but soon returned. He thrust the frog eyed pint under the barman's nose, "that's not right!" he said. The barman cleared his throat, "it's from down South; it's supposed to be like that." The man looked at his pint. Sensing the uncomfortable atmosphere, and for some reason feeling responsible, we backed the barman. "All East Anglian ale has that kind of head," Marsh said. "Yeah," I offered, "we call it frog eyes." We might as well have been from Klingon. The barman rushed to the rescue with a sparkler and forced a Northern head onto a half pint of the stuff: it weakly fought for life. By this point all the colour had drained from the man's face 'that's just not right,' he repeated. I could tell by the tone that he didn't mean the taste, he meant the morals of it, the very physics of it. This wasn't a man with a duff pint, this was a man taking his first sup of East Anglian ale. I saw myself nine years ago and shuddered. Ever since then, the prospect of a Northern pint fills me with tears of gratitude.
Join me again soon for Beer- the main course, when I'll actually get round to telling you about the beer we had.
Mounted Horsemen, One Relaxing with a Can of Beer, Await the Start of the Parade in Cottonwood Falls, Kansas, near Emporia It Is a Part of theFlint Hills Rodeo, a Major Cultural Event of the Area...06/1974
Original Caption: Mounted Horsemen, One Relaxing with a Can of Beer, Await the Start of the Parade in Cottonwood Falls, Kansas, near Emporia It Is a Part of the Flint Hills Rodeo, a Major Cultural Event of the Area. Horses and Cattle Trucks Are the Featured Modes of Transportation. It Is a 19th Century "Cowboy" Town in the Heart of the Kansas Flint Hills Region, and near an Area Designated as a Possible Site for a Tall Grass Prairie National Park 06/1974 U.S. National Archives’ Local Identifier: 412-DA-14591 Photographer: Duncan, Patricia D., 1932-
Subjects:Emporia (Lyon county, Kansas, United States) inhabited place
Environmental Protection Agency
Project DOCUMERICA
Persistent URL: http://arcweb.archives.gov/arc/action/ExternalIdSearch?id=557043
Repository: Still Picture Records Section, Special Media Archives Services Division (NWCS-S), National Archives at College Park, 8601 Adelphi Road, College Park, MD, 20740-6001.
For information about ordering reproductions of photographs held by the Still Picture Unit, visit: www.archives.gov/research/order/still-pictures.html
Reproductions may be ordered via an independent vendor. NARA maintains a list of vendors at www.archives.gov/research/order/vendors-photos-maps-dc.html
Access Restrictions: Unrestricted
Use Restrictions: Unrestricted
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Nuggets from New York : one
Reality (and jet lag) bites
We got back from New York on Sunday night, well supposedly it was Sunday night, it felt more like a morning-afternoon hybrid. I was ready for a nap, but not quite for sleep.
I wasn't sure how to approach jet lag avoidance. The old advice that I had been given the first time I flew long haul 'to just pretend you're in the destination time zone', didn't seem to be cutting the mustard, especially since I was served lunch on the way out at what ought to have been 5am New York time.
When we arrived States-side we had to take on Wednesday again, almost from scratch, it was quite an effort to make it to 8pm when I reluctantly allowed myself to go to bed. We did nothing more taxing than transfer from the airport to the hotel, have a look around a local cathedral and find somewhere good for beer and chow. Excellent brewed on site beer and a fantastic Gothic revival cathedral should have been heaven, but feeling like a grizzly baby bear with a sore head it felt more like pulling my own teeth with rusty pliers. I have honestly never experienced such a foul mood: I was short tempered, abraisive, and genuinely hell to be around. I've never been so tired, I think I would have sold my soul for an early night. Such a weird emotion. The exhaustion left me powerless and frustrated.
The pub was fantastic though, we had a great altbier and something that had been cooked up on the house. I'd like to say it took the edge off the jet lag, but even after a pint and some delicious buffalo wings I was still a miserable bugger.
We got back from New York on Sunday night, well supposedly it was Sunday night, it felt more like a morning-afternoon hybrid. I was ready for a nap, but not quite for sleep.
I wasn't sure how to approach jet lag avoidance. The old advice that I had been given the first time I flew long haul 'to just pretend you're in the destination time zone', didn't seem to be cutting the mustard, especially since I was served lunch on the way out at what ought to have been 5am New York time.
When we arrived States-side we had to take on Wednesday again, almost from scratch, it was quite an effort to make it to 8pm when I reluctantly allowed myself to go to bed. We did nothing more taxing than transfer from the airport to the hotel, have a look around a local cathedral and find somewhere good for beer and chow. Excellent brewed on site beer and a fantastic Gothic revival cathedral should have been heaven, but feeling like a grizzly baby bear with a sore head it felt more like pulling my own teeth with rusty pliers. I have honestly never experienced such a foul mood: I was short tempered, abraisive, and genuinely hell to be around. I've never been so tired, I think I would have sold my soul for an early night. Such a weird emotion. The exhaustion left me powerless and frustrated.
The pub was fantastic though, we had a great altbier and something that had been cooked up on the house. I'd like to say it took the edge off the jet lag, but even after a pint and some delicious buffalo wings I was still a miserable bugger.
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