Archive for the ‘Public Houses’ Tag

Red Filly, Mill Hill, London   Leave a comment

Horse racing and the Irish go together like stout and the Irish.  In fact, I watched a few races with the assembled fellows at the Red Filly as I sipped my Guinness.  One guy was picking up everyone’s stake and running over to the betting shop; even though you can do this on the Interwebs, this is really how it should be.


Posted May 22, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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Weaver’s, Barnett, London   Leave a comment


By pure coincidence, I was listening, on the mp3 player, to Automatic For The People by REM as I trundled up to Weaver’s.  I couldn’t contain my smile and couldn’t be asked to find a more appropriate pub for this stop on the N for Northern Line runs (read a bit about Weaver D’s in Athens, GA if none of this means anything to you).

The rain had been oppressive so I got a double Jameson and a coffee which came freshly made on a tray, in a cup the size of a Jacuzzi with a cookie on the side.  I had to drink down half the coffee before pouring the whiskey in, but it was a lovely way to take a short break and a wee walk down memory lane.


Posted May 22, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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Surrey Arms, Mitcham, London   Leave a comment


There were two guys at the end of the bar plus the bartender when I arrived at the Surrey Arms.  I got my beer and was left at the bar as the three went out for a smoke.



They returned and behind them another customer.  “What are you doing here this time of day?”

“They switched our hours from 8-4 to 7-3 so and our lunch a half hour earlier.”  Lunch beers.  I love these guys.

Halfway through my cider, a cut I recognised from Screamadelica (but my copy doesn’t have a track listing) came on and I felt compelled to nurse the rest of the beverage until it finished.  I think I love this bar, too.

Posted May 22, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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White Bear, Kennington, London   Leave a comment


Back in Kennington for the A2Z: N for Northern Line runs, I braved the rains to reach the White Bear, not really knowing what to expect from a place that pushes its upstairs theatre and a foodie’s delight of a menu.  I needn’t have fretted as the forward section of the house was a perfect recreation of an old-time pub-cum-gentlemen’s club (the posh people version, not the one with lap dances).



The back 2/3 or so seems set up for dining although I think the membrane between bar and restaurant is gossamer thin.  The theatre is upstairs that are accessed by a closed door next to a taxidermied bear.  The gents has a leak that is reminiscent of a current plot device on Eastenders:



There are five or so real ale taps and the beer is good, well kept and cheap.




Posted May 22, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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Royal Oak, Chingford, London   Leave a comment


The day’s run included a typical, unexpected route change (maps and explicit directions only help if you are any good at using them, I’m beginning to realise).  The additional mileage and the lack of any nourishment — save for 4 beers at other pubs and an experimental algal soup at the Greyhound a few miles back — left me famished as I climbed the hill toward Chingford spotting the 3-dimensional pub sign at the Royal Oak.   For once, the siren song sung by the pub sign was voiced by the ‘GRILL,’ not the “PUB &.”

I hobbled my way to the door expecting to be shown back to the street.  Instead, I was greeted as a long-lost relative.  “You look hungry, sir.  Are you dining?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.  But, let me grab one of these, first,” I said moving toward the bar.

“No need, we’ll bring it over to you.”  Christ.  Good service and I’m welcome here in my sad state of decay and dishevelment.  What is WRONG with these freaks?




The choices that interested me were beef steaks and at the lower price range I had to vote between rump (generally to tough for shoe leather) and sirloin.  “How would you like your sirloin cooked?”  I said as rare as legal and she returned in a moment saying, “you can have grey, pink, or blue,” this last option being where the steak is shown the grill as a threat and to bring it to room temperature.  I went for pink with a jacket potato.

I would have inhaled the plate in less than a minute once it arrived but the first bite was so succulent and perfect that I lingered a bit.  There’s nothing special about the menu, here, but a good kitchen makes a world of difference.  And, had I just hit the bar I would have thought (and probably written) that this was a typical, family style restaurant with a pub theme.  It’s not at all typical…and I bet it was packed an hour or so later (in more traditional dining hours) as it had already started to fill by the time I used the potato skin to mop up the last of the dish residue and washed it down with the last of my pint of AK.

Posted May 21, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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Greyhound, Enfield Lock, London   1 comment


“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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Prince Albert, Enfield, London   Leave a comment


The Prince Albert just appeared as I was running to get back on trail and I figured, “I’ve tried the White House and the Sun & Woolpack…maybe this is like some hybrid of the two.”  It was.

I asked if there was a garden.  “Out there,” someone said and four people pointed without looking up from either the racing form or a smart phone.  This was the garden:



Posted May 20, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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