After the first three days in Waterbeach (I went back 2 days later for the parents’ jabs) Mrs RM and I returned to find to Sheffield to find an empty fridge, bar the sour milk. Mi
“Just popping out to the shop” I shouted. “Don’t forget the eggs” said Mrs RM.
On Sunday night your options are a bit limited due to our supermarket opening hours being so mean compared to those forward thinking Scots.
How could you resist The Crow ? It’s something about the light. You don’t get entrances like this in Malaga.
Or pints of cask stout.
At 20:46 the Crow was ticking over. It always is. Mixed-age groups, students, lone drinkers (male and female), a great mix.
How relaxing. Lovely rick crisp Marble Stout (NBSS 3+), banter (?) across the room about liver transplants, Black Sheep and Broughty Ferry.
Shazam identified the eclectic soundtrack of Taj Mahal and this fella;
It may surprise you that 10 years before his sexist videos dominated Top of the Pops our Robert was making records with covers like that. Good job he didn’t make beer.
The only problem with The Crow is that while the cask is good, it’s not as good as the crafty keg.
So as usual, I get a half of something strong, in this case the Mobberley DDH, and decant it into the Marble glass (not before I’ve finished it !).
Now, that’s what beer should look like ! A proper head. And it was gorgeous; decanting keg into a cask glass is the way forward.
At 21:26, I noticed a text message from Mrs RM. “Just checking you are OK x”. x means “bring beer”.
Half an hour later, I was home with out-of-date bread, chocolate and a can of Cloudwater.
“What about the eggs ?“. You can’t drink eggs.