Pubs of All Types
8 years since my last visit to the the town where the planners finished what the Luftwaffe started. A ring-road to replace the medieval walled city.
After this length of time - there have been changes. My favourite - The Town Wall Tavern - is no longer a going concern. Which is a crying shame. Several new entries and a bit of a smorgasbord of pub types.
Starting with the obvious - The Flying Standard - a Wetherspoons.
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| Mock Tudor |
Absolutely packed at 2:15pm on a Saturday afternoon, with the most obvious tribe of drinkers Fulham fans. They either do not realise how far the ground is out the centre or have faith in Uber. Not a single seat to be had downstairs, I try my luck with my less than £3 pint of Exmoor Red upstairs. A single stool and shelf (happily marked with a number for app ordering) on the way to the ladies loos found. Easy to get into a conversation but not recommended. You feel like you should be on a register.
Hops D'amour is a converted shop micro pub. If I was forced to bet on what the shop was, I would say sowing machines. There has to be a reason for the huge singer signs and the tables fashioned out of ex-machines.
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| Micro Ahoy |
What always amazes me about this country of ours is that you can travel 40 miles and no-one will understand you. In the first of two "lost in translation" moments today, I ask for a serviette to wipe the rain from my navigation aiding mobile phone. The barman, who bore an amazing likeness to Paul Calf, had genuinely never heard the word before. Napkin didn't work either but tissue produced the required item.
The beer was excellent, doing what micros should, by offering the unusual and/or international.
Out of the City Centre and I am thankful to the Good Beer Guide for pointing out The Broomfield Tavern. I would never have found this back street gem on my own.
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| What's behind the red door? |
My hat manages to set one of the resident dogs off, who provided a sustained verbal assault against my sartorial choices. Which was unexpected when the majority of other punters were dressed as Morris Dancers. Zoom in to the bar and you will see how their performance is paid for.
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| All lined up |
Hat removed, Fido silenced, this place will be memorable for two things. Drinks-wise - and I may have missed it but I don't think I did - this has no keg fonts at all. The choice is glorious cask or a bewildering choice of boxed cider. I cannot say I have ever seen this before, but with bottled Madri in the fridge, I am sure my eyes were not deceiving me.
A gloriously unusual Top Rat was taken to the real fire. A plum place to sup, as two elderly gentlemen waited to jump in my grave when I buckled up to face the elements. A phrase that has never travelled to Coventry, in my second conversational confusion today. I had to repeat three times before he understand what I was trying to say.
I ummed and arred about the Hearsall Tavern - it's away from the railway station but taking inspiration from the other pub tickers sharing their Storm Austen travel woes on this grim day - I decide to plod on.
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| Doesn't convey the internal mayhem |
I never knew Coventry had an Irish Quarter but it's not the only authentic Irish Pub in the area. Mid terrace and like the Flying Standard (but for different reasons) absolutely packed on a Saturday afternoon. Full of blokes enjoying the sport in the main room.
A spot at the bar secured to admire their famous Guinness - best in Coventry according to the reviews.
The Bass - whilst you can still get it - not too shabby either.
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| Bar hanging |
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