What a place Bewdley is. But what a shambolic report from it these posts are, the result of (I presume) losing my notes at the bottom of the Severn, to be poured over by aliens at the End of Time like that scene in A.I. Artificial Intelligence.
Dick and Dave had had quite enough beer, being Americans subject to strict limits. But I was determined to get to the Mug House.
Oddly, my American guests found enough energy for a return visit to Bewdley’s GBG stalwart.
Fair to say the Mug House is one of the best located pubs in the country, as long as it’s not flooded.
It’s a homely little smart pub, less foody than the neighbouring Cock & Magpie, and akin to the Turk’s Head in Alcester. And certainly at its best after food service.
Like the Turk, not the sort of beer range to set the craftie’s pulse racing, and a bit pale for my liking.
But the Tim Taylor’s gave me the opportunity to test my hypothesis;
You can tell a great pub by the way it keeps a pint of Landlord.
It was startlingly good in the Mug House; cool, dry and rich. On a par with the Bathams in the Waggon & Horses, in fact (NBSS 4), and sort of justifying the much discussed price premium it seems to command over mortal beers.
We reminisced about the quality of the Harvey’s, another bellwether beer, in Jeff Bell’s London pubs, and were then kicked out, to retire to the mystical charm of the George.
In the morning we trawled town for a suitable site for Stonch’s new pub venture, deciding that the “Cask Castle” would be a great name for a micropub* just here.
How Bewdley has just three entries in the Beer Guide is a matter of debate; I’ve had pints of NBSS 3.5 or better in six pubs there in the last year. But of course, more for Bewdley would mean less for Kiddy and the neighbouring villages. It’s an unfair world.
*It seems Mr Bell has been seduced by the less ancient attractions of Rye. All the best Jeff. I’ll be down to sample your Harvey’s.