How the other half live…
We like to think of ourselves at the BeerCast as being beyond casual stereotyping – but when you deal with ‘real ale’ it can be very hard to avoid. Beer enthusiasts tend to be of a certain demographic, which is why beer festivals can be enlightening when the occasional non-beardy person wanders in. Admittedly, most of us on the panel have sported outrageous facial hair at some point or another*, but on the whole being the achingly cutting edge hipsters that we are, we try and differ from the usual real ale crowd.
But where does the non-real ale crowd hang out? Not in any of our usual locals, that’s for sure. Last weekend, this BeerCaster was forced to go decidedly upmarket and frequent that much loved of institutions – a ’boutique bar’. I’ll not name the particular venue, but readers who are familiar with George Street in Edinburgh will doubtless think of any one of a number of style bars that it could have been. I had a good time – don’t get me wrong – but when someone turned to me halfway through and asked if I like the place we were in…well…
One of the walls in the front bar was completely covered in mirror-ball squares, the other being silver flock wallpaper. You certainly don’t get that at the old men boozers, that’s for sure. And (real) flowers on the bar, something of change from sticky drip trays and yeasty branded barcloths. Getting change given back on a small silver tray is very New Town, rather than a jumble of coins hastily shoved back into the pocket, unchecked (which is how I end up with so many pound coins from Gibraltar).
The staff were glamorous and friendly though, from the striking woman with the clipboard at the door to the Aussie barman who kept referring to me as ‘Boss’. And the toilets…my word. Fresh-smelling, with actual soap and expensive paper towels (I was half expecting fluffy cotton ones). If you read this and think “Well, isn’t that the way toilets are?”, you obviously haven’t been to the ‘proper’ pub I visited afterwards (which I also won’t name), which had buckets under the urinals, blocked sinks, and an aroma that would bring tears to the eyes of a rat.
So would I change my ways, and forsake the humble corner public house for this new lifestyle? Not when I have to resort to Amstel at £3.80 a pint, no.
* I think I account for at least half of them
