Priory Tavern, Kilburn, London   Leave a comment



The Priory sits right on the edge of blocks and blocks of council flats most of which have been sold off to middle class wankers although a few natives still linger (most of these will be at the Lillie Langtry at the corner of Abbey Road).  But, the pub is reasonably priced and attractive — if self-consciously hip — and for reasons explained elsewhere it fit into my London A to Z run for ‘B.’




The bartenders are slow, though.  There is a phrase in the Deep South — one I’ve never really understood so don’t ask — to describe such sluggishness: “dead lice were falling off of them.”  Maybe that was the problem with the guy I watched fixing a cocktail for the full ten minutes it took my server to pour and ring-up my beer order.

The mixologist, as I’m sure he fancies himself, was at least working without notes as he filled a rocks glass with too much ice then whisky and bitters (these last drops retrieved from a box of easily 20 exotic looking vials conspicuously displayed and impressing no one in the room besides yours truly).  He spent a minute or so using twelve-inch-long tweezers to retrieve a maraschino cherry from a gallon jar then, squeezing two drops of syrup from this harvest, returned his quarry to its bottle.  Another two minutes were taken up cutting a strip of grapefruit peel for a twist (something any barkeeper should be able to do in seconds without losing eye contact with the customer during some inane story they would inevitably be telling).  Another couple of minutes involved him placing this twist in just the right spot across several ice cubes as though he were plating a 3 Star dinner.

He was still at it when I went outside to escape the din of the sound system.  I hope the customer stirred it with her finger, tasted it, then sent it back as soon as he finished (if indeed he has, yet).




Posted September 25, 2016 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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