In praise of gastros

For some purists, if a pub serves any food more elaborate than three flavours of crisps or, for special occasions, slippery eggs fished out of a jar of pre-war brine, then it's not really a pub. The presence of flavoursome meals and cutlery, the argument runs, is a desecration of a sacred institution, worthy of derision, boycott and, worst of all, the terrible label of gastro, the pub purist's equivalent of accusing someone of drinking lager.

It's true that some instances of gastrofication are, in effect, restaurants taking over pubs, with the existing premises remaining but the atmosphere and experience being totally transformed so that if you're after a drink and a chat you'd be better off at Starbucks. But such cases are relatively few. Far more often, providing good food and the space in which to eat it does nothing to diminish a pub's character and welcome to non-diners, while doing a lot to boost the pub's chances of survival without any appeal to the local community or the government, which is surely a good thing. And, rather than, as is often the complaint, the offering for non-diners being reduced, my experience is that it usually improves, with a better selection of beers and greater attention to their condition.

Take the Anglesea Arms, tucked away in a residential street on the borders of Hammersmith and Shepherd's Bush. Reportedly one of the earliest gastro-pubs in West London, it should in theory be a hostile and unrewarding environment for the visitor with nothing but a thirst. Instead, it offers a small range of excellent beers, with regular changes of guest ales, and a pint of Harveys Sussex Best I had on a recent visit was in superb shape. The staff are friendly, the atmosphere is cosy and easy, and there's plenty of room to sit and drink and talk all evening without any hint of pressure to order hand-fed octopus in maple syrup with sun-dried chitterlings. Yes, a pub going gastro can mean a few changes. But if they're the kind of changes that create a place like the Anglesea, there's nothing to complain about.


 

Punters like good beer shock

Pubs in decline, beer yesterday's drink and the whole country off to hell in a themed handcart serving only WKD? Only up to a point. The new issue of CAMRA's redoubtable Good Beer Guide, published yesterday, brings the excellent news that there are now more breweries in Britain than at any time since the Second World War, with no fewer than 71 opening in the last year alone.

Yes, pubs are closing at a formidable rate and beer sales in general are down but, it seems, real-ale sales are going the other way, and some pubs facing oblivion are finding that they can pull themselves back to health with the radical innovation of offering good beer.

Could it be that the crisis in publand is less a catastrophe and more a beneficial shake-out? Too early to tell, no doubt, but either way, if real ale is selling and small breweries are spreading like rabbits across the country, something's going right with the world.

More of those cheerful details here.

Local heroics

The Old Crown in Hesket Newmarket in the Lake District is earning itself a name for more than being an excellent pub with a fine little brewery out the back. It's also been the site of a small revolution that could have a big impact on publand, with the locals buying the establishment rather than seeing it close. It's one small blow by a local community against the big machines of the market, and it's unlikely to be the last. Best of all, the new arrangement is working very well indeed. Read about it here.

Punters doing it for themselves

Being a pub landlord must be one of the most thankless jobs around, but some pub-goers are prepared to do more for their local than buy the odd pint and complain about the decor, and actually give it a go. The Jolly Farmer at Cookham Dean in Berkshire is just one pub where the locals have banded together to buy the place rather than see it closed and  turned into a bank or something equally useless. It's a promising trend.