Another trip west, another stay in the Budget Ibis on Malpas Road, Newport’s great accommodation bargain. As long as you don’t mind a chicken run across the M4 slip road and then a mile walk along the verge into town. I don’t.
Newport isn’t designed for pedestrians, but the underpasses and alleyways contain some of our great works of art.
I got a few stares taking shots of the architecture and tiling, but you can’t be arrested for that yet.
I had time for one pint before the train to Bristol for the Lambchop gig. The Tiny Rebel Tap may have the best beer (certainly best chips) in Newport, but that pint was always going to be in the Murenger. A bit like opting for the Boar’s Head over the Magnet, really.
A pub ticker rarely goes back, but this was a fourth visit over the years, and it’s never looked better.
More than that, the welcome was cheery and genuine from a Landlord who may be Newport’s only Lambchop fan.
A typical glorious “Symphony in brown” of a Sam Smiths, multi-area if not multi-room. It’s closer to Peterborough’s Wortley Almshouses than the Stockport boozers, with an unobtrusive food trade which had the decency to stretch to sticky toffee pudding.
You can look up the pub history yourself, I care only for the present (though apparently it has photos from Bass days).
Bass would be nice, of course, but at its best OBB is unbeatable in a proper pub.
The post-work “five at the bar” discussed Rick Stein’s Padstow restaurant nonsense, and the pronunciation of lingerie and Ypres. I’d expected nothing less.
I could have stayed there all night, but Newport Railway Station gets scary after 7pm.
I have only one concern about the Murenger.
Not the provision of the Quinoa Burger itself, but I’m sure someone said Keane-wa. Everyone knows it’s Quinn (as in Niall) oh-a.