You were due a post last night, but things went downhill after Weaste. I’ll stop there.
This is my last dip into Sheffield before picking James up from Uni. I DO hope the last pub I need in Sheff is open when I take him back in mid-January. Some pubs seem to think it reasonable to close for the whole of the month, to combat Dryanuary presumably.
I suspect the Wisewood in Loxley will be open.
It’s what we call a “destination” pub with all sorts of dining options; the ones you “dress up” for and the ones where you look like me. Space for parties, space for pool. A great all-rounder.
And a newish brewery in the downstairs room, coincidentally open in the year it gets in the Beer Guide.
It was just warming up on a Friday lunchtime before Christmas with pashmina wearers from Oughtibridge, a protected species.
I was seriously tempted by tapas, but can always judge when I might be in for a long wait for food. And my eye hurt looking at the board.
So just a half. I nervously point at the one in the middle.
“Ooh, that’s our newest one !”
Rarely have I heard bar staff speak with such good cheer and enthusiasm. Is it a Sheffield thing ?
And she charged me £1.10. You read that right, £2.20 a pint. In a smart part of Sheffield where I guess £3.50 is typical. It was well-presented, smooth and drinkable (NBSS 3.5) but left me hankering for the Bradfield Farmers up the road in the Nag’s Head.
My seat was being eyed up by the gentlefolk in twice-a-year suits making their way to the bar.
“Where do you want to sit?” was a harder thing to solve than Brexit.
“Oh no, we’ll just all stand around at the bar and block folk ordering drinks. It’ll make great cynical blog material for retiredmartin” they seemed to say.
Never mind folks. Only 9 more days of the amateur drinkers. Then our real work begins.