a.k.a. Kentish Town the easy way Vol II
20 years ago NW5’s Pineapple looked the business and sold Bass, though it wasn’t great Bass on my visit.
These days it’s dropped the Bass, but the beer it does sell is some of the best in London. So, in a bit of a good beer desert between the M25 and the Thames, there is at least the Southampton, Dukes Head and Pineapple in my Top 100 pubs. You can walk between them in half an hour, as I did in November 2015.
From the Junction I crossed into a little bit of cobbled London magic in Leverton Street. Few pubs can look as welcoming as this;
“Community pub” is as misused a term as “Craft”, but the range of custom here is in stark contrast to the gastropubs of N1. A mother and son having the sort of conversation I never had with my mum (thank goodness). Hip Mum was much the hipper of the two, even when she called him “My cherub“. I’ve never been called “My cherub“.
I chanced the beer with a homemade sign. “IPA OK” and “Hazy Green” were the only things I could make out, and that’s all the staff could tell me as well. It was astonishingly good though (NBSS 4).
“Are you one of those CAMRAs”
“Yes, yes I am” – I’m slightly disappointed that I look like CAMRA if I’m honest. I wonder if they’ll detect Simon.
Last time here I stood at the bar chatting rubbish with an Irish lad who couldn’t be persuaded off the Guinness onto the cask stout (admission: I was, I’m sorry to say, very drunk). This time I found an ideal table near the bar to soak in the banter.
The seating here is some of the best anywhere.
It was far enough from the bar to be safe when the obligatory drunk came in.
“I want to apologise to the landlord for my abusive behaviour”
“I’m a lover, not a fighter”. (It wasn’t Kevin Rowland)
Decent music at a decent volume too, Robyn by Robyn I think. None of your usual 1994 North London obsession here.
And finally, the pub cat. As someone remarked during a gap in service, if he could pour pints he’d be perfect.
It’s hard to describe how cosy the Pineapple is. Even the Thai food looked unobtrusive. And best of all, no pub quiz !
I would have popped in the Camden’s Daughter, but oddly that was shut on Sundays, despite the gig-goers custom. Frankly though, you’re spoilt for choice round here. Even the ordinary pubs look tremendous.
By the way, both boys survived the gig, and were safely back home by 12.30, only 3 hours after their bedtimes.