Monday 23 June 2014

Pub grub

Pub grub. 

A spiced and spiked and unctuous and rich and lubricious Moroccan mutton stew or a juicy, Jambalaya-ed Cajun chicken burger or a handsome, pig-sweet pork and apple parcel accompanied by homemade brown bbq sauce or a creamy, pleasingly pungent butter bean, goat’s cheese and asparagus salad. 

Pub grub. 

I took World Beer Awards judges to the White Lion in Norwich last week for food after a weary day’s work, the place a low-ceilinged and old-school looking pub that stands just over the river from the city centre. It’s run by Milton Brewery, which is based north of Cambridge, near to the village where a drummer in the band I was in lived until he was replaced by this chap.

Pub grub.

I’ll be honest, I’ve never been sure about Milton beers and it seemed to split opinions on the night, but I have always enjoyed Marcus Aurelius and I dived straight into a glass of the ringing, chiming fruitiness of Colossus. However, it was the food that raised the flag on the night we were there — all the dishes, according to the company I kept that night, were robustly flavoured and happy to claim kinship to the sort of food you would find in a roadside French or Italian bar. The stew was lush in the way it lolled about on the tongue, while the chicken was pliant and plush as it lay in the bun. Those indifferent pubs that push pub grub could learn something from going to this pub.

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