Greyhound, Enfield Lock, London   2 comments


“Are you here to take our picture?” the wit on the porch intoned.  Wow, these guys are brilliant, I thought.  I’ve NEVER heard THAT one before.  I stopped under the sign, lifted the camera, lowered it, frowned, lifted my glasses and squinted at each one in turn for an uncomfortably long time,

“Don’t think so,” I said as I disappeared through the Greyhound‘s door.

Inside, I waited 5 minutes for a bartender and when she arrived she seemed determined to be unfriendly.  I ordered an AK, McMullen’s flagship brew that I’ve taken quite a liking to since finding this stable of pubs (mostly in Northeast London, Hertfordshire, and Essex as far as I can tell with a few further afield).  It looked okay and tasted first like metal then a bit like mould.  I thought maybe it was just me so I went to buy some crisps to wipe the taste palette clean but couldn’t get any attention — almost as if the staff knew that the real ale lines were only half rinsed of the cleaning solvents (if indeed they have ever BEEN cleaned).

By the time I gave up, I had finished about half of this atrocity and left the rest on the bar.  In an uncharacteristic act of grace, I also left it in the glass.

As I walked back to the tow path to continue my run, I paused and glanced over at the Algonquin ‘Tard Tables, closed my eyes and shuddered, then ran off to the south.



Posted May 21, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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