You Fill Up My Senses,
Like A Gallon Of Magnet,
Like A Packet Of Woodbines,
Like A Good Pinch Of Snuff,
Like A Night Out In Sheffield,
Like A Greasy Chip Butty,
Like Sheffield United,
Come Fill Me Again,
Na Na Na Na Na…OOOOHH!
SOURCE: Sean Bean, probably
I had a more cultural version of the South Yorkshire night out, though I did leave my car overnight outside Bramall Lane (it wasn’t nicked, which says more about my car than Sheffield).
No sign of life in the closest pub to the Lane, but there are others.
Under close review the Greasy Chip Butty Song allows no appreciation of the varied delights of the street art scene,
or the industrial heritage near The Moor, an area that has excaped the gentrification of Kelham Island so far.
I had an hour or so to kill before meeting my son James, fresh from one of his eight hours of lectures.
Sheffield hasn’t changed much since the dawn of the millennium. Either of them.
But I like that. The fountains and flowers are free and wonderful.
But if the Sam Smiths is closed, the obvious substitute is surely the Devonshire Cat, the exemplar café bar.
Well, not really, but the Devy (?) is actually attracting a better mix of custom than you’d expect.
Suits, students and soppies (couples) all in at 5pm. And loads of beer being served. A group of crafties said “Oooooh, ABC” when they saw the keg fonts, a level of beardie excitement not seen since the Belle & Sebastian soundcheck at End of the Road.
It still feels like a canteen, but sometimes you can let that feeling go.
When the Devy opened in the 2000s I enjoyed superb Abbeydale cask, but I couldn’t resist the bargain Voyager on keg with it’s Boddington impression.
I know I’m supposed to tell you cask is the pinnacle of the brewers craft, but this Voyager was the best thing I’ve drunk all year, accompanied by “Dirty Old Town” by the Pogues.
My son has yet to discover the joys of the Sheffield pub scene, but after six months knows his way around town. I’d let James choose a restaurant, and was impressed he avoided the usual chains in favour of somewhere that focused on large portions of meat.
Smoke Barbecue has Meantime on tap for a fiver, but I was done with keg, and invested my energies in the brisket plate. Nick would be impressed.
The night continued in City Hall is a proper neo-classical gem, let down only by the lack of Magnet (or Bass). Compare this;
with the grim functionality of Cambridge Corn Exchange or Maidenhead Municipal Hall.
An evening of political with Jonathan Pie, perhaps as good as political comedy gets. Just a shame the warm-up track was Kylie’s “Confide in me”, as bad as music gets.