At last, you say, a pub I’ve heard of.
Actually, the Dolphin is Plymouth, in the same way that Coopers is Burton and the Ale Wagon is Leicester, in a world where towns are defined by pubs.
It had been 22 years since I’d set foot in the Dolphin. 22 !
That’s odd, as I was here in 2011 and seem to have just forgotten to do it, but then Plymouth does have about 372 GBG entries.
A lovely night in the Barbican, with the high quality busker treating us to “Sara” by Dylan, a real toe-stomper there.
Look closely and recoil in horror though.
NINE real ales. Nine ?
Last time here, I remember it was banter, Bass and Beryl Cook.
This is a Bass shrine, after all.
Seriously, which chump went in the Dolphin and said “I love this pub but it would be much better if you added eight other mainstream beers so I had a choice of BBB” ?
Everyone seem to be drinking Bass, anyway (actually Thatchers rules but ignore that).
And I have to be honest and say this; the Bass isn’t what it was.
Still NBSS 3+, and it got better as I sat there letting the atmosphere sink in, but it won’t compete with Tywardreath or Gweek or Bath or Buzzard or Burton for Britain’s best Bass.
But as a pub, it was just wonderful. Really great staff, friendly locals spanning the ages, and that buzz you get from the very best boozers (SEE: The Dove in Bury St Edmunds).
Purists might balk at the cricket on TV or the fruit machines, but it’s a pub not a National Trust property.
Should have stayed and had a Tribute.