Quinno and I pressed on through the mean streets of Bethnal Green,
stopping only to admire Lady Dinah’s Cat Emporium. I doubt that Pub Curmudgeon will be relocating from Stockport to Bethnal Green, but E2 has more cat cafes than micro pubs. In fact, it has more Cereal Cafes than micros. #Depraved.
Not a great choice of pubs for Quinno, a strict craft keg man, but the King’s Arms had impressed Mrs RM and me last year, and has one of the great pub doors. We arranged to meet Sir Doris there.
I reckon it’s a lovely pub, not just a hipster den (they’ve all moved on to Brewhouse & Kitchen). On a second visit, with a bit more light, a bit more space, and some prior awareness of the unlabelled handpumps, it just worked. Tables were being wiped regularly, hardly any food served and it has one of those machines on the bar that I presume turns undercooked broccoli into sour DIPAs.
We know a bargain when we see it, and both had the £4 (5.5%) Big Chief.
And, maintaining the standards set at the Dispensary, it was a cool and chewy pint pushing NBSS 4.
Then Sir Doris turned up, bright and cheerful, and started ordering keg. I fear one of them may have been a 6.7% Porter, which was gorgeous.
It was all downhill from there, as I began to imagine a world where Pubmeister actually hadn’t been here and seen the moth collection.
Talking of moths, the MOTH club in Hackney promised greatness,
offered little beer wise,
but delivered a night of neo-punk that BRAPA would have enjoyed.
Sir Doris took the best shots of FiveHead, a sort of wonderful, incoherent mess, and Prolapse, a sort of coherent Fall, so I’ll copy her tweets. Dustbin man (1st tweet) licked Quinno’s shoes. It’s a Leicester thing.
Great day, great night, great company. No new GBG ticks.