Character can take years to create but only weeks to
destroy.
Sadly I have seen this happen to many pubs over the years. Perhaps one
of the few negative results of a prosperous and ever improving beer scene is
that, often, a pub will only get one chance to prove itself to a curious
customer. All it takes is one below average pint and they may be gone, never to be seen again. Luckily, many people (I
would hope) will give a venue a few tries before reaching a firm conclusion,
and by that time the ‘character’ of a place may be cemented within their minds,
for better or worse.
Below is a semi stream-of-conscious piece with only
minor edits on what the character of one particular pub means to me. Visit made
last week.
I am on Mersea Road. It is downcast with the sort
of murky rumblings that make the premise of a pint lurch from one of enjoyment
to an almost necessity. From the outside, to those unaware of what lies within,
it could be seen as an imposing building of blank brick and curtained windows.
The first thing to brush these doubts aside with an almost nonchalant flick of
the wrist is in the pub sign itself. A character from Alice in Wonderland, the
Mad Hatter, is reaching over a bar as if in the middle of a compelling debate
or the climax of an anecdote. Clutching a tankard no doubt containing ale of
most alluring content, his large hat and gesticulating expression is an apt
summary of the pleasing, yet potentially perplexing moments you may find
within.
I go tumbling down the rabbit hole.
Only one step in and it hits me; a tranquil nod of
immediate warmth, both from the open fire opposite and the pockets of
conversation from the people within. All the tables in the first part of the
pub are wooden and well worn. The chairs are those you only ever seem to find
in old style pubs. They are all green or red and are made from a material I
cannot quiet work out with wooden backs and, in some cases, simple arm rests
run smooth I like to imagine from years of being rested on. These are the sort
of chairs you find yourself slowly sinking into as the pints and conversation
flow freely without awkwardness.
Before you
even reach the bar you cannot help but absorb the history of the pub. Above the
fire on a small mantelpiece are numerous awards from CAMRA, some many years
apart. The walls are a faded patterned wallpaper of yellow and are covered with
beer mirrors, beer advertisements as well as a glass cabinet of spirits for
off-sale. I have never seen it used personally.
I see and
consider this all in mere seconds. It is an instant feeling of contentment, of
an inherent character that so many pubs strive for but never achieve. I felt it
the first time I stepped within the pub walls around eight years ago and still
feel now. The sense of history of just how much this pub must have heard and
absorbed over the years is almost staggering.
Moving from carpet to bare wooden boards of the
narrow but central area are six cask hand pulls resting within the middle of
the wooden bar. Next to them are small barrel of still cider. I may love my huge hop bombs or enormous imperial
stouts, but in a place like the Odd One Out (affectionately known as the Oddie
by the locals) my mind is on one thing – the simple but very satisfying mild. I
am not disappointed as I find Gannet Mild on tap. The price is £2.98. Pricing
to the penny is another one of those quirks of the Oddie.
The pint pours deep ruby with a nice half finger of
white head made of small bubbles. I sit down by the fire and consider it. The
smell is of earthy hops. The flavour reminds me of dark fruits with a lovely
malt backbone. It is an easy and enjoyable beer with a solid body that goes
against the possible expectation from a beer that is only 3.3%. It transports
me mentally to an almost serene sense of satisfaction, the type of moment where
everything else just melts away to leave the simple pleasure of enjoying a good
pint in good surroundings without a care or worry in the world. A particularly
eager and infectious laugh cuts through this daydream and I cannot help but
smile even though I have no idea what was said.
The pint is gone before long and I buy another.
Sadly this is only a short stop so I avoid engaging in conversation with the
friendly and often gregarious customers of the pub, for to do so would be to
seal my fate that night – only emerging when time is called and the head is
swimming in both merriment of beer and chatter. Instead I choose to sit and be
content, soaking up the atmosphere in almost parasitic fashion.
I could ramble on more and describe the rest of the
pub, of John the owner, or the numerous antics and stories I have enjoyed and
delighted in retelling, but this piece was to describe the character you feel
on a visit and so I will bring this to an end.
I finish my pint and I leave, a quick nod of thanks
to the barman and out I go, already wishing I was still inside and feeling
guilty I do not make it there enough anymore
Perhaps one day I won’t get the chance if current trends of pubs
continue.
That is what the Odd One Out means to me, and what I
think of when people mention ‘character’ in regards of pubs.
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