A couple of days in Paris with Mrs RM, mainly so I can moan about it on my blog and upset my French reader*.
The highlight is always going to be the Sunday morning pint at St Pancras, isn’t it ?
I failed to squeeze in here when it opened before Christmas, but 9.45am is the perfect time to seen how well the Pride’s drinking.
Pretty well (NBSS 3.5), even though its suffers visually in a half-pint glass. The Otter Bright was so good that Mrs RM didn’t even complain about me not buying her a Punk.
Credit where it’s due; Spoons has been consistent of late, and the Pride in another London Spoons was decent recently. Of course, according to many
xenophobes sentimentalists it’s actually rubbish now Fullers isn’t owned by “family” brewers.
An uneventful Spoons, an uneventful journey under the sea (you can’t really see the fish as Eurostar claim).
Unclaimed baggage at Gare du Nord meant a delay in hitting the capital.
We headed straight for the first authentic French craft beer bar we saw.
Hippopotamus is actually a cross between Aberdeen Angus and Pizza Hut. Decent steaks, a choice of 1664 or a carafe of red. Mrs RM had two of those.
No spacings to speak of, but my first ever 1664 was a bit of a treat; foamy and refreshing. First Cobra now Kronenbourg. Will CAMRA expel me ?
*That’s a lie, I don’t have any.