A rare night in Sheffield, amazingly. How dull.
On Sunday night the crafties had left town after Sheffield Beer Week (ugh !) so it was safe to go to a pub again. Mrs RM picked the Rutland Arms, as it has good food. Or perhaps because it’s in my Top 100 Pubs, who knows.
It certainly has one THE great pub interiors, and I’ve been in a few (and a few duffers).
This might very well be my favourite view from a pub seat, and Mrs RM went for it.
My priority was getting fed (ironically after Bath) and with the website saying food stopped at 18:00 I simply went to the bar at 17:58 and pleaded.
“You’ve got two minutes to order” said the barperson, who I liked immensely for such precision.
I had the curry; it was superb trencherman stuff. No idea what a trencherman is, but neither have you.
Pints of Blue Bee murk and something else local for £3.60 remind you why you live in Sheffield and not Sherfield (on Loddon).
But she got her own back when I mixed up Tatu, presumably banned because they’re anti-war Russians, with the Cheeky Girls of Lembit Opik fame. But Lib Dems ARE banned in Sheffield, surely. Life is so confusing, I had another beer.
At the bar, a foreign student was trying to blag a free pint of the 10% keg.
“I am not paying for it. HA HA. Only joking. HA HA”
Perhaps it was subliminal advertising, because I bought myself a half of that Imperial stout with a badly stuck-on label, and a Kernel sour, because dinosaurs.
There really is a tremendous keg selection in the Rutland, as good as anything in London or Manchester.
But it’s all about the jukebox, oddly. No Kangaroo Air Force Elevator, but pretty much anything else to enjoy while sipping your sours and stouts.
Where else can you hear Duran Duran non-ironically ?
Mind you, the scream at the end of Costello’s “Man Out of Time”, playing as we left, might well have been a comment on the Gents.