retiredmartin

April 2024. Sheffield.

From the Globe I headed determinedly home for, no doubt, an exceptional lunch expertly cooked by Mrs RM, except I knew there was no food in the house. Again.

So, pizza in Perch it was.

Tucked away in the steep back streets from the Cathedral down to Kelham, Perch has seemed a nice pizza option with inconsistent home brew and decent Belgian stuff.

And now they were advertising something sour and German…

And pricey. Just a half of the Kennedy and in complete contrast a pint of their Jet Stout.

“Can you stand at the side of the bar and wait for the pizza please” asked the hardworking barperson. Twice.

And of course I took no notice, taking a perch at which to perch my beers and start drinking.

So a rather exasperated bar person had to come and find me with the pizza, and I can only apologise (again) for the inconvenience caused on a day they were packed with Sheffield runners. Honestly, I blame that pint of cider.

Perhaps that jogging turnover helped, as that stout was by some distance the best Dead Parrot beer I’ve had here (3.5). A poor match for the Berlin sour, mind, or perhaps a brave one.