ARAPA - Australian "Real Ale" Pub Adventure Pt 2 ("Pubs" 6-11)

Tuesday was the day I was most knackered in Melbourne, only 3 hrs sleep despite being exhausted can only be a result of jet-lag confusing my brain into not knowing what timezone it should be in.

East of the city where the posher clothes shops were, I'd actually found a brew pub so it obviously needed to be visited.

6.  Crafty Squire, Melbourne

Despite the constant championing of the hopelessly optimistic Outdoor Roof Terrace, it was a freezing cold day and a porter in front of the fire was more the order of the day, perhaps not the kind of image that a Brit would get of Melbourne but if it works for me in Knottingley on a Tuesday night, it works for me here too.  Plenty of James Squire ales were available of all style, and the chap who looked like he could be called James Squire seemed happy to run through the selection even if I had made my mind up pretty quick about the porter.  For Alanna, it was lemonade time and a look of bemusement that beer can be black - not sure I'll be converting her to ale any time soon.  Two businessmen were enjoying a 17 hour lunch break over a few dozen pints, and a woman who'd lost her child was propping up the bar with an air of Prisoner Cell Block H about her, but all was quiet otherwise.  We had a 4pm work start and wanted a coffee to wake us up so even I didn't linger to try a different beer.

At least 11 ales on, I'd have tried them all if I'd not been working!

A not very real but still welcoming fire.

Me in front of the brewing equipment, very Sheffield Tap

After a better night's sleep, Wednesday was probably the highlight of my time in Melbourne.  A bright sunny morning, a nice breakfast, a walk around Southbank, a terrifying trip to Eureka Skydeck 88 and most importantly, the Neighbours tour.  Just two regrets of the tour, sadly I didn't get to meet Carla Bonner, as I could have told her I once described her as being like Reading.  Travis Burns seemed a nice chap, but I guess he's probably more Newbury.  Just don't ask me which character Maidenhead is.

A pigeon shat on my head just as this photo was taken - it is a sign of good luck!

More Newbury than Reading.

After all that palarva, we were more than ready for lunch and Alanna had been recommended this great sounding place by an old friend .....

7.  State of Grace, Melbourne

Despite being on auto-pilot to find bar, ales and drink (and then ask awkward questions about dining later), Alanna made sure we were shoehorned into a back room where a sullen waitress with a British accent served me some crazy Oz fish and I'd just about remembered the name of one of the ales I'd seen, something about a rabbit I think.  The place was quirky, highlight being a giraffe head sticking out from the wall, a hidden underground cocktail bar, and the doors disguised by so much decor, it was impossible to find the toilets.  If you've been to the Duck & Drake in Leeds with the acoustic guitar as a door handle, you can understand what I mean.    All this quirkiness made the miserable staff attitude harder to take, when you think how generally amazing the customer service is in Melbourne.  Whilst i gulped down my amazing fish risotto thing (meal of the week) and drank my weird dark ale, Alanna moaned about goats cheese so I listened to the "power business couple" next to us who seemed to be champagne and wine bloggers, the absolute scum.  Very clumsy too, dropping glasses and pepper pots at any given opportunity.  I thought beer bloggers were annoying, but at least their attitude was 'people are allowed to like what they like' which was refreshing.  Weird place.   

I kinda wanted a pint of Fosters after seeing this

A very nice meal indeed, no idea what it was!

By Thursday, me and Alanna decided to separate so she could go shopping and I could have what was more of a 'traditional' BRAPA experience, albeit in a very untraditional way.  After brekkie at favourite 'go to' place The Bank on Collins, I did some touristy shopping of my own before 12 noon opening time.  

Down a little snicket, I was nearly mown down by an Aussie Iain Duncan Smith (AIDS) but managed to circumnavigate so very enthusiastic smokers outside to find this little cracker .....

8.  Penny Blue, Melbourne

This was a dimly lit but very classy little bar with some amazing furniture, a "World of Beer" wall like a bookcase but with bottles, and a periodic table of beer styles in the gents, perfect for someone struggling with Chemistry A-levels as I did.  The welcome I got from the young chap was verging on "manic", but in a good way and when he said "let me start you off on this beer", I was quick to say "woah, hang on, you say 'start me off' as though I'm staying for more!".  Bad mistake, he was sulking with me after that and joined the others in smoking aggressively though the open window, whilst the ghost of Steve Irwin wheeled in a beer barrel and nearly ran over his own feet. In other news, my emergency beermat was required for this first time this holiday which shows how well Aussie bars/pubs do for beermats.  But it was a mere blot on a good experience, one of the most relaxed I'd felt all holiday - errrm, I mean "business trip!"  As a postscript, I brought Alanna here on the Saturday knowing it was more her style, an equally manic barmaid played a good selection of 00's ska-punk before letting herself down with an Aqua double A-side!  Got chatting to a really passionate beer man half working behind the bar, and after a couple of bottled recommendations went well, he casually mentioned he had a CASK ALE PUMP ON!  What?  Well, it was hiding at the far end behind a menu ala the Deuchers in Largs JW Sharps Bar, with a grimy ink blotted pump clip.  It was a german style, but unmistakably cask, chocolate, smooth, nearly room temp, not fizzy.  Heaven.  Cask ale in Melbourne, it can be done!  

An amazing bottled ale from NZ I was recommended on the Saturday.

Emergency beermat gets an airing, but where is Coton? 

The Museum of Beer.

The Periodic Table of Beer Styles

Peculiar furniture was a big feature.

Buoyed by this experience, I hot-footed it down to the Flinders Street area which I hadn't really seen - it was the best weather so far, almost roasting in the 23 degree sunshine!  

A seagull eye-balled me from the pub sign, but it was time to go in......

9.  Beer DeLuxe, Melbourne

Finding the entrance was weird, it felt like some kind of arts centre cum cinema cum burger restaurant with an astroturf 'red carpet' style walkway and a digital sign welcoming you, not quite the Anchor Anchor it has to be said.  A stressed out looking bearded chap tried to remain patient as I tried to take in the huge amount of beers, and I got the impression that this is a small chain pub, perhaps like a Market Town Taverns of Oz.  I had a pee and went to sit outside next to a huge group of Asian suit wearers who were making such a lame attempt to finish their burgers, even I was annoyed and I'm the smallest eater ever!  They'd only left a matter of seconds before seagulls, sparrows and some weird foreign birds with curvy beaks were all at the table, feasting themselves.  It was appalling, it felt unhygenic, but it was properly fascinating.  Not since I saw a rat steal a chip at the Horniman at Hays by London Bridge have I felt so revolted in a pub.  A sparrow struggling to take off as it took a huge slab of tomato covered in mayo back to it's nest is one of my abiding Melbourne memories.  The beer was amazing, the sun was great, and Flinders Street was chaotic with lunchtime commuters but it had a real vibrancy about it.  I felt very Melbournian.

"Tipping not just for cows"  errrm, what?  Aussie humour.

Hello Mr Pink Star toilet cleaning block thing!

Can just see pub 3 across the road.... not far to walk then.

10.  Young & Jackson, Melbourne

In some ways, this was the most satisfying pub visit of all eleven.  I think the reason was it not English themed, not touristy, yet still an actual fair dinkum boozer.  As I said at the time, you could really have mistaken it for a Holt's pub in Greater Manchester's finest.  Carpetted, beermats, nervous looking men watching horse racing and then placing hurried bets at some contraption just over my left shoulder, a good range of ales served by bored staff, and an old man with one eye even used his stick  to wave me away from his table because it was occupied by a "soon to be arriving group of Sheila's", though not sure that is a direct quote as he just gargled at me.  This felt like BRAPA - possibly my only issue being that they treat it's 1860's opening date with huge pride, very much like we'd afford a 9th century church.  Anyway, after singing "you've got no history you silly convicts" under my breath, I settled down to watch a bit of Perth Glory v some team with Coast in their name, and it may have switched to Melbourne Somebody v Wellington Sheep (which I think is in New Zealand so not sure why they are in the same division!)  Very confusing but a cracker.

I assume Princes Bridge Hotel is it's old name

A pleasing pub view in any country

Perfect.

If Thursday had been fantastic, Friday was the flip side.  Appalling weather, lost in shopping centres, and the pub we visited, well, I can still smell the 10 year old chip fat .....

11.  Charles Dickens Tavern, Melbourne

You enter down this staircase, but it was a very modern soulless one which made me think they'd missed a trick with the whole Dickensian theme, they could have at least had a few cobbles, drips of water, urchins laying in the gutter, and a youthful Aussie pickpocket who brandishes a switchblade knife but returns your wallet at the bar with a chuckle saying "I was only kidding mate!"  I walked in drenched, brandishing two huge boxes of doughnuts in a huge green jacket with a hood up.  The staff clocked me, and a friendlier place would have made a joke out of this spectacle.  Well, it was heaving with lunchtime drinkers and diners, reminded me of a York tourist pub such as Ye Olde Starre Inne on a summer weekend raceday when they can't cope with the amount of trade.  Dirty plates everywhere, the smell of grease, just awful.  I tried to defend it to Alanna at first as being "properly pubby" but once I'd sent her away with the doughnuts (put her out of her misery) so I could get an unbiased picture, I realised she was right, this simply was a shithole.  So much so, I almost started to enjoy it.  The highlight being an old bloke, who looked EXACTLY like the type you'd see propping up the bar in Rochdale Spoons at 8am, he actually OWNED the place despite looking extremely Dickensian with the snarl and face to boot.  My out of date (Dec 2015) Oakham Bishops Farewell was lovely, Alanna correctly identified my glass was filthy (not since Blacksmiths Arms in Naburn have I seen one so bad) so I supped from the bottle.  "THAT IS THE LAST BOTTLE OF THIS!" snapped the Eastern European lesbian, what was I supposed to say?  'I'm honoured to be drinking your 10 month out of date ale?'  I went back for a Sam Smith' s Pale, and sensing this made me a regular, the two barmaids started being civil to me, and then someone came along with a cloth and actually cleaned my table.  The magic had gone!  I drank up and left.

Saturday was our last day, we revisited Sherlock Holmes and the Penny Blue as mentioned, then it was about a 2 day journey home.  Fantastic experience, the whole week.

Plane home in my regulation Qantas pyjamas.

Now back on the BRAPA trail tomorrow for some Hallowe'en fun in East Yorkshire.

Si

ARAPA - Australian "Real Ale" Pub Adventure - Part One ("Pubs 1-5)

Me learning about Australia whilst supping a glass of plane lager

G'day Cobbers, dunno if I mentioned I was flown Business Class to Melbourne for a week?  Oh I did?  Are you sure?

Bad news from a BRAPA point of view of course, but hardly grounds for complaint.  Time to take the kangaroo by the tail and make the best of it beer-wise, imagine a future Aussie Good Beer Guide, and try and get to the best places outside of the weird 6pm-1am working shift!

1.  EMIRATES FLIGHT EK022, Somewhere over Tehran

I'd just hit two goals as my Grimsby Town side beat Southend Utd 4-2 away in a 4th round FA Cup clash, when travel buddy Alanna popped her head over my seat and suggested we try out the Business Class bar.  Perfect time for a celebration!  Two small areas of leather bench seating surrounded a semi circular island bar, reminiscent of some of Edinburgh's finest (well, in the most plastic way possible) as I baulked at the lack of ale on offer and joined Alanna in the most disgusting Mojito cocktail ever made.  "I don't know how to make these" stated our terrifying 6 foot tall Russian beauty barmaid, "I won't be offended if you hate it - I have thick skin".  I lied that it was delicious, as I know Putin reads my blog.  Just as we were about to sit down, an old ginger colonel insisted on kneeling on the entire seat like some schoolboy with ADHD, getting excited by the clouds outside.  He later stole an entire platter of sandwiches off the bar, giggled, and ran back to his seat.  Proof that no matter what "pub" you are in, there's always one tosser.  We resorted to an embarrassing tourist photo session, our Russian friend made me have photos of me working behind the bar, I even had to pour a rich English businesswoman a real life glass of red wine.  She argued I hadn't filled it up enough, and made me go right to the brim!  Alanna suddenly went a bit green, I thought it was my pro-Eurovision rant,  but it turned out she had chest pains and thought she was having a heart attack (not that she's a drama queen or anything!) so in true BRAPA spirit, I was left alone in t'pub.   Next up, I went for a breakfast martini - this time served by the lovely Toma from Lithuania.  She had to raid the breakfast cupboard in search of a marmalade jar, needed to make said drink, and then persuaded me to have a strong measure just cos she wanted to finish off a bottle of gin, or something unconvincingly Eastern European.  I had to take it back to my seat as afternoon tea was being served!

Shit mojito, but don't tell our Russian barmaid that.

Keep topping up that wine!  Note the sandwiches about to be pinched.

2.  COOKIE, Melbourne  

For some reason, I was still buzzing when we arrived at the hotel 11:30pm on Saturday night despite the 14 hrs from Dubai.  It was straight to bed for Alanna, but as encouraged by our taxi driver, it'd be wrong not to see Melbourne on a Saturday night.  Quite a daunting experience, and as I dodged unconscious or puking Japanese girls on benches, a man shouting "walk away!"at a homeless girl (was he in Cast?), and 5 young Aussie lads singing something that sounded vaguely like Waltzing Matilda, I considered that this was a bit like a more welcoming version of Wokingham.  It was a good half hour trek to the pub, allowing for Melbourne's stupid road crossing system, and a bouncer (not the Neighbours dog) asked me if I was meeting friends here or what I was looking for?!  My "I've heard this place serves interesting beers, so I just want a drink, is that allowed?" stunned him into silence and I walked down a darkened staircase into this dimly red lit bar, bouncing with music that sounded very much like Kid Creole and the Coconuts on acid.  I was served by an incredible hipster with handle bar moustache, but he was ultra friendly and gave me so many tasters of 7% overly hopped beers, I almost didn't mind that my pint was 14 Aussie Dollars!  An equally friendly cockney barman had to help me identify exactly what I was drinking (something with carrot in!) and with two young Scotch men farting on my leg at the bar and a selection of 5 different types of beermat, I felt pretty much at home perched at the bar in the reddy gloom.  I was going to enjoy Melbourne.

3.  IRISH TIMES, Melbourne

Sunday evening then, and after a day of top touristing, we were amazed to see that a torrential rainstorm had brought Melbourne to a stand still - EVERYWHERE WAS CLOSED.  Is this a thing in Melbourne on a Sunday?  It was very strange to us.  About my 5th choice on Google Maps, we stumbled in here but got lucky, as food was being served by an Australian Stephen Quinn,  and a few beers were on tap which weren't too boring.  We sat in a raised area and not for the first time this week, I tried to impress on Alanna the difference between a pub and a restaurant i.e. it is ok to go up to the bar, order your drinks and food there, open a tab,and wait.  Besides, service here was tardy to say the least and we'd have been waiting all evening.  Only a group of jokey students behind us seemed to get any proper service, and they were basically idiots.  Cottage pie seemed like the perfect comfort food for me, but the ultra thick layer of mozzarella combined with the richest red wine and guinness style middle was just too rich for any man with jet lag to enjoy.  Ugh.  Alanna felt a bit ill herself, but I (selfishly) made her stay so I could order a pint of each ale and work my way through the bar.  Any guilt feelings were short lived.  An old Irish wastrel kept wandering around as though in search of a seat/friend, but kept returning to the bar for another Guinness soon after.  The pub lacked warmth, and I'd have to say that whilst it did a job and felt 'pubby' to an extent, it was never going to win any awards for pub of the week!

Note the discarded cheesy layer removed from the top of the pie

Pub was busyish, though you wouldn't know.

The beers I tried in order.

Monday dawned bright and sunny if a bit chilly, and after brekkie we hot footed on down to a Cat Cafe where we chilled with some waifs and strays but sadly no ale was available ......

Looking for pigeons

Just do something you boring bastards

It was time for lunch, in a "English themed" pub that had been recommended to us.  I'd bought my deer stalker for the occasion.

4.  SHERLOCK HOLMES, Melbourne

So the miserable old locals didn't appreciate my hat, but I'm British in a British themed pub so fuck 'em was my general attitude, made more vitriolic by having to persuade Alanna that we didn't have to sit in the shoehorned-cattle-restaurant area to eat, and the raised seating by the bar with a shitload of chips (in a hopelessly impractical wicker basket when it comes to gravy pouring) was a far better solution.  Staff were lovely too, the confused man with "pie of the day" concerns, and the homely landlady - plus there were some top Aussie beers on to save me braving the likes of London Pride and Hobgoblin, which I wasn't convinced would taste that good on keg.   But seriously, were the chips supposed to be a starter?  No way you could make inroads into them (well not with my sparrow like jet lagged appetite!).  It was a lovely pub though, one of the gems of the week - pubby, homely, warm, friendly, clean.  So much so, we came back here for dinner on our last day where I did a lot better with a corned beef hash covered in the most ridiculous mustard dressing ever.  You know I normally hate dining in pubs, well the rules are different in ARAPA before you say anything, so there!  On this occasion, we got chatting to a lovely couple from North Berwick who were on an Aussie tour.  At one point, a surfer dude came in and ordered what seemed to be a schooner of "chips" (crisps) and I had to overlook the fact that crisps are crisps and are served from the bag without any pouring required, but who can stay mad with a pub like this?

Elementary my dear Everitt

View to the bar

Sherlock Holmes and Oliver Hardy

Too many chips arrrggghhh.

Monday night had been our first day at work, and knackered on Tuesday morning, we missed breakfast at our new "go to" place, so we had lunch there instead, meaning I could have a beer and review it for ARAPA - hurrah!

5.  Bank on Collins, Melbourne

This place then, was almost perfect for us as breakfast venue - how many poached eggs did I eat over the week?  Is that a Martin Taylor style blog question?   Let's just say good job I bought a huge bag of prunes to even it out!  I say "almost perfect" because the staff were hilariously slow.  Whether it was seating us, serving us (especially drinks) or bringing us the bill, they were comedically woeful.  When we interacted with them, they were personable, funny and warm, so it seemed a strange discrepancy.  One young lad who realised we were regulars complained what a busy morning it was one day when we were the only customers, tending to "ghost" customers at imagined reserved tables, all the while neglecting the real life customers, us - so bizarre.  Ironically, it was on a busy Tuesday lunchtime that we got the best service, and i had an amazing bit of fish n chips with a pint of some mystery Monteith's beer from NZ which the waitress would not be drawn on, despite my "blood out of a stone" efforts.  The place, a former bank as you can guess by the name, drew obvious comparisons with a really clean and ornate Wetherspoons and still had old features, plus an upstairs walkway leading to guest rooms - would be interesting to stay here if I come to Melbs again!  Almost brilliant, they even had their own extra thick beermats, which I stole one as payback for the service.

Inside at the Bank.

So that was the first half of the week, I'll be back for the final 5  'ticks' I managed from Wednesday-Friday.

See you soon ya flamin' galahs.

Si

BRAPA - Returning to the South of Sheffield

What felt like my five billionth trip to Sheffield on a Tuesday night in 2016 proved a classic, but didn't start out too comfortably.

Convinced I was coming down with a lurgie on the eve of my trip to Melbourne, I drank this horrific Green Tea & Peach restorative pink thing on the train in one gulp, only to feel like my insides were about to take leave of themselves before we'd even passed Meadow-hell.  The train conductor then charged me a £2.10 excess, though probably not for this reason, so I hid in Sheffield Tap to recover for 5 minutes, ditching the bottle in the process.

I could have walked to Heeley at less than two miles away but I'd bought a PlusBus ticket and didn't want to waste any more money, besides walking past Bramall Lane always makes me come out in a rash.  After traffic jam mayhem, I jumped off the number 25.

Green tiled exterior indicated 'my type of pub'.

922.  White Lion, Heeley, Sheffield

Me and Tom tried to come here in Aug 2015 only to find it closed 1:30pm on a Sunday (we'd already gone in the RED Lion by mistake which seemed awful and we even both thought "is this really a GBG pub?")  So I felt like the White Lion owed me.  Well, walking in through a narrow corridor was a good start, it was like the best of 'Liverpool Heritage' from Saturday had been carried into Tuesday.  I ordered a strange strong white stout called "Roobarb and Custard" which seemed to earn me some respect from barmaid and the two locals "good choice!", but in particular, a dog which started jumping up and clawing me.  "He's nosey, don't mind 'im" I was told, as it edged my bag to one side and bit my arse.  I sat in the front bar and listened to rumours that the dog had been pacified with gin in the water bowl.  Was this true?  Well, it might have explained why, by the time I left, it was slumped disconsolately on the floor sobbing "why doesn't anyone love me?"  Sort of.  It was one of those pubs where you could just feel occupied gazing wide-eyed at the interior, and it's many nooks and crannies (I think a band came in with their equipment to set up a gig but no idea where they actually disappeared to).  But I couldn't help feel the pub lacked a bit of warmth and wholesome charm, something along the Hoyland/Hoylandswaine lines of interaction/pub banter.  Instead, the best I heard was "oooh I've just had a bowl of sweet potato and coconut soup".  "Oooh, that is unusual.  Soup must be hot"  "Not when it's gespatcho" "Haha, so true haha".  Utterly appalling.  It was time to leave.

Forcing down a very alcoholic Roobarb & Custard.

View into the corridor

The front bar

923.  Brothers Arms, Heeley, Sheffield

Initially confused by the huge Olde Shakespeare signs, I realised the pub must've had a recent name change when i saw a few 'flappy' (not a technical term) signs hanging off the pub (some tenuous link to the local ukelele band being called the Everly Pregnant Brothers from what the GBG says).  It had the homeliness, warmth and good atmosphere I'd been craving earlier.  Two young bar chaps were genuinely friendly, happy to let me take my time and NOT look at the blackboard (I'd rather look at the pumps).  Ok, so the one who served me had a weird curly back hair bit which I'd love to have taken a pair of scissors to, but you can't have it all.  I was probably lucky to find a recently vacated table in the lounge, complete with much needed wood burner as the rest of the pub was a bit sporty and/or sparse.  But this was where the action was, and three friendly young metaller dudes nodded at me, a sinister Sheffield version of Jack the Ripper appeared (he was disappointingly normal looking beneath hat and leather bag.  Obvious serial killer).  A silent man next to me plying his Thai bride with Scotch whisky suddenly burst into life and asked the bewildered barmen what the gossip was.  "It is a Tuesday, you should know by now the gossip happens on a Sunday!" was the reply.  Though they then contradicted themselves with a confused tale of a man crashing his car into the pub earlier on.  "He went unconscious for about a minute which is serious, so they say".  In unison, the room then slagged off the forthcoming Oktoberfest.  "We've got no German bands on, no umpapa music, I'm certainly not dressing in Lederhosen, I don't see the point of it!" With my superb pint under the gaze of the strange man now asking about my portable charger, and some nice old posters of British holiday resorts like Bridlington and Filey, I almost stayed for another!

Ye Olde Shakespeare Inn - whattttt? 

Sketchy evidence it is the Brothers Arms

Woodburning fun in the lounge area.

Friendly barstaff preside over great ales and fancy pub snacks

The Sheffield Ripper (don't call me Ched) pops in for a pint.

I just got to the bus stop in time to extend a weary arm and had enough time to pop back into Sheffield Tap for a swift half, though I had to stand dangerously close to the ladies toilets and in the gents in the intervening 2 or 3 hours, my empty drink bottle from earlier was still on the sink,  Someone needs a Wetherpsoons style cleaning wallchart, I think!

They probably thought it was a fancy soap in truth.

Corridor drinking, sorry ladies, piss away, don't mind me.

I got back to York direct which was a nice boost with no further drama, after last week's farce, and wasn't too late home.

And there you have it, my last BRAPA ticks pre-Australia.  I'm off to research some real ale bars in Melbourne and I'd like to say I'll be back on Tue 25th for another trip to the outskirts of Sheffield, though jet-lag may play a part so we'll see.

Bon voyage ya flamin' galahs,  Soi