I know for a fact that there are people who read this blog purely for the pictures of cheese and onion rolls in old pubs. This is for them.
A trip underneath the A52 to Long Eaton, a town that thinks it’s in Notts but is clearly in Derbyshire, judging by the cobs in York Chambers (top).
Regular readers will no doubt recall last year’s trip to Sawley, which might as well be Long Eaton. There’s still a healthy string of trad pubs along the B4540, interspersed with the fun pubs that don’t look much fun.
You’ll notice that I called it a cob in Sawley, a bap here, and probably tomorrow it’ll be a roll. Take your pick with the English language. In Canada it’s probably a muffin.
The Tourist Office in “L’Eaton“, as the kids call it, has plenty of material to work with.
There’s not much of a budget for street art, so they just nick random letters off shop fronts and see what happens.
A sturdy town, a bit like Hinckley before the glamour set in, with all the cheap shops you could ever want (and a Spoons).
York Chambers is yet another new entry in a changing pub scene, and a splendid pubby conversion of a long-standing café.
It still has the feel of a genteel café, aided by the Rennie Mackintosh stylings at the front.
“Lager isn’t sold here” it screams, but oddly Prosecco is. Discuss.
So with no Bud Light, I made do with an Ashover Font, which was just what you’d expect a micro in Derbyshire to sell, and as you’d expect it was superb (NBSS 3.5+).. Almost as good as the cob.
Only two things of note happened, though that’s two more than in some micros.
A chap came in and ordered a LARGE glass of Chardonnay. At 1pm. Only Mrs RM is allowed a large glass of wine at lunchtime.
And then the delivery van from Black Iris Brewery came looking for one of their barrels, eventually finding it in the cellar with the aid of the cheery owner.
OK, it’s not Fight Nite at Maidenhead Conservative Club.
On the long walk back to the station I was nearly run over, twice, by the fastest mobility scooters in the east Midlands.
Feeling shaken, I thought about taking refuge in “The Bass House“. It’s a con, folk. It doesn’t sell Bass.