Pub 30, Day 10 – The Beehive

By Andy

The bell rang.

Unlike at school, where this was always a joyous occasion; when you're sat in a pub, it is a moment of despair. It can only ever be followed by two words:

“Last orders!”

We had run out of time. Our planned pub crawl around Hillsborough had come crashing to an inescapable halt. In order to continue, we once again had to head to town.

Luckily, The Queen's Ground is on the tram route. With West Street being the obvious stop to disembark at, we ended the night at The Beehive.

Pleasingly for West Street, The Beehive is still undeniably a pub – with carpeted floors and wooden chairs, you could be forgiven for thinking you were in the suburbs. Not to worry though, as a quick glance out the window will soon bring you back to reality, where the local entertainment includes drunken kebab juggling and high-heeled gymnastic routines.

All too many “pubs” in town have abandoned their roots and morphed into pub-bar bastards, unthinkable hybrids of J.D. Wetherspoon and Peter Stringfellow. This is undoubtedly an attempt to tick all the boxes, but all too often ends up pleasing no-one: an impressive array of guest ales and 4 Jagerbombs for £5 do not belong under the same roof.

The Beehive hasn't fallen for such populist nonsense, and it is all the better for it. Strangely, this seems to manifest itself in improved decorum – whereas at many city-centre drinkeries, punters crowd around the bar until the person at the front can no longer breathe, The Beehive retains a more orderly system, pleasing everyone who values an intact ribcage.

Don't be mistaken into thinking it's less lively than its neighbours though. When we arrived at almost midnight on a Thursday it was still buzzing with students, and on a Friday night it maintains its colony until closing time.

Getting into the spirit of things, we selected two pints of Freshers Ale, a fruity beer whose logo awakens nostalgia for anyone who spent their pocket money at the sweet shop.

Thankfully, Freshers (the ale) wasn't quite as sour as Refreshers (the sweets), although it did possess a tangy kick in honour of its inspiration.

Glancing around, we noticed something always sure to arouse our interest: the pool table stood idle. Although we had both proved our worth against formidable opponents so far on Pubquest, we were yet to play each other. That was about to change. Being of a similar ability, we agreed that the only way to determine who was better was to compete at every Pubquest pool table we encountered. With scores to settle and change to waste, the pool marathon began.

As most of the clientele at this time seemed more interested in drinking games than cue sports, we managed to hold on to the table for quite some time. This was bad news for Rob, who was woefully out of form. I took the first five frames, before he reduced the deficit to 5-1. However, just as he was announcing his comeback, he was rudely interrupted.

The bell rang.

“Last orders!”

The Beehive pool score: Andy 5-1 Rob

Pubquest pool score: Andy 5-1 Rob

Pub: The Beehive (240 West Street, S1 4EU)

Rating: 8/10

Pint: Freshers 

Brewery: Naylor's Brewery (Cross Hills, North Yorkshire)

NEXT UP: The quest for the 50p pool table, at The Cavendish...

Pub 29, Day 10 – The Queen's Ground

By Rob

As the doors of The Shakey closed on the sounds of merriment and celebration, so too did they close on one of the lowest periods of Pubquest so far. We hadn’t expected to win the quiz, but even in our darkest moments – during the popular culture questions, for example – we had never envisioned being subjected to public ridicule.

Nevertheless, with the exception of several debilitating diseases and a host of other potential misfortunes, we reminded ourselves that whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

With a newfound resolve, strengthened by two pints of beer and half a packet of protein-rich peanuts, we headed to the next pub. Leaving Hillsborough Corner behind, we walked down Langsett Road in the direction of the city centre.

Before long we arrived at The Queen’s Ground Hotel. From the outside it looked like a very nice establishment indeed, set inside a sizeable stone building with large bay windows looking out onto the street.

Inside, the pub was very typical of the older gentleman’s drinkery, with a heavily patterned red carpet and walls the colour of Dijon mustard. However, I should say that it was by no means unpleasant. There was an eye-catching stained-glass feature above and behind the bar, which looked as if it had been there for a good many decades, advertising ‘Ward's Fine Malt Ales’. There was also a billiards room at the back of the building, which will always be a welcome addition as far as we’re concerned.

Unfortunately, despite the statement to the contrary, there were no fine malt ales on sale. In fact, there was not an ale in sight. As such, we elected to imbibe a pint of John Smith’s Magnet.

While it’s understandable that a few of you non-existent readers might have some doubts about whether, say, John Smith's Extra Smooth and John Smith's Extra Cold are different beers, there can be no such doubts surrounding the categorisation of Magnet.

Although Magnet can be bought right across the UK, it is now heavily restricted to the North East of England and Yorkshire. It is easily the least well known of the John Smith's products and, for whatever reason, unlike the other variations it gets absolutely no promotion from the business. In fact, if you look on the John Smith's website, you will see that they only list two products: Original and Extra Smooth.

With its continually decreasing territorial range, Andy and I have long been of the opinion that Magnet is a critically endangered species and will, in the foreseeable future, cease to be.

Why do we care? Well, mainly because it’s a nice pint. The strongest of all the John Smith's beers, Magnet also has a much richer, fruitier taste. Without a doubt, it deserves far more recognition than it gets.

Sat there, nursing the beer equivalent of the Sumatran Tiger, I found that my desire to like the pub was greater than my ability to do so. The interior was nice enough, it had a snooker table, and it served Magnet; it was ticking the right boxes.

Unfortunately, the place was virtually empty. Worse still, the few people that were stood around the bar managed, deliberately or otherwise, to exude an air of unfriendliness that was only encouraged by the barman – you would think he would be pleased to welcome two more customers to his sparsely populated pub.

So, despite drinking Magnet in an old pub with a snooker table, The Queen's Ground gets an uninspiring 4/10.

Pub: The Queen's Ground (401 Langsett Road, S6 2LJ)

Rating: 4/10 

Pint: John Smith's Magnet

Brewery: John Smith's Brewery (Tadcaster, North Yorkshire)

NEXT UP: The pool marathon begins, at The Beehive...

Pub 28, Day 10 – The Shakey

By Andy

Not knowing Hillsborough too well, we opted to wander round aimlessly until we found another pub. Luckily, this took all of ten seconds: The Shakey is located diagonally across the crossroads.

Having just left one Spoons, we could have easily mistaken our new location for another: The Shakey is a large, spacious pub with a range of regulars who span from unwelcoming alcoholics to over-friendly party-goers.

An eclectic mix of furniture contributes to the pub's modern decor – canvas prints and patterned wallpaper complete the contemporary vibe. However, I couldn't help but feel The Shakey is a pub failing to reach its potential: despite its attractive interior, the pub failed to offer any ales to complement its indie feel.

(I have been informed by a friend who frequents this pub that we may have simply caught them on an off-day, as ales are part of their line-up, but certainly there were none available for our visit – we did two laps of the bar to make sure).

With only the usual suspects to choose from, we selected two pints of Ruddles Smooth.

I know what you're thinking: “But guys, you already drank Ruddles Smooth at The Penny Black! This will ruin your attempt to have a different pint in each pub!”

If you truly were thinking that then I applaud you – you have better Pubquest memory than me and Rob. Needless to say, upon realising our error a few days later we were truly mortified, and will be making a return visit to The Penny Black to correct this anomaly.

As we supped our Ruddles – a pint I've always been quite partial to – the barmaid glanced in my direction. It was only fleeting, but our gazes definitely met. Without a word, she sauntered over and placed a piece of paper and pen on our table. My eyes lit up. It was pub quiz night.

Rob (correctly) pointed out that we had planned to visit a few pubs that evening, and stopping for the quiz would significantly slow our progress. I countered by saying that we had embarked on a journey to assess every pub in Sheffield, and to leave halfway through a pub quiz would be bordering on heresy. He agreed, and we began the daunting task of coming up with a team name.

When planning pub quizzes in advance, we always make sure to bring our girlfriends along. The four of us make for quite a formidable team – our girlfriends know all about celebrities and current affairs, while us men answer questions on the important things in life – which football team plays at which ground etc.

Without our girlfriends, this was going to be a true test of our intelligence.

On this occasion, we lacked the feminine touch when asked celebrity-obsessed questions about irrelevant Z-listers such as Angela Merkel and Vladimir Putin, whereas we exchanged a knowing glance when quizzed on pressing global issues such as the Snooker World Championship. Unfortunately, there are only so many questions about Ronnie O'Sullivan that can feature in one quiz.

Alas, The Shakey is one of those pubs that likes to name and shame its gallant losers.

And so it was that, to the soundtrack of cheers laced with schadenfreude, the barmaid read out our score. Worse still, she ensured the entire pub knew exactly who we were by bringing us a wooden spoon prize – a packet of Nobby's Nuts.

Someone once told me that food tastes better when you don't have to pay for it. That person has clearly never munched their way through a packet of Nobby's Nuts while the regulars at The Shakey howled with derision. Each and every mouthful tasted of despair and defeat.

***

A few days after our visit, and with the resulting social anxiety still keeping me firmly indoors, I remarked to my dad what a strange name “The Shakey” was for a pub. Seeing that I had piqued his interest, I mused a couple of my logical deductions:

Perhaps it was named in honour of some historic Hillsborough earthquake, long-forgotten in the mists of time. Or maybe it was in this very pub where Ian Fleming decided he didn't like his Martinis stirred.

My dad glared at me as if I had brought shame on the entire family and growled: “It used to be called The Shakespeare you bloody half-wit.”

Pubquest: striving to solve even the most complex etymology.

Pub: The Shakey (196 Bradfield Road, S6 2BY)

Rating: 5/10

Pint: Ruddles Smooth

Brewery: Greene King Brewery (Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk)

NEXT UP: A gallon of Magnet, at The Queen's Ground...

Pub 27, Day 10 – The Rawson Spring

By Rob

Now, as the more diligent readers will have noticed (I am, of course, working under the delusion that people are reading this) we had so far been fairly unadventurous in our visits. Most of the pubs we had been to were either near the city centre or situated within reasonable walking distance of our individual abodes.

So, given our rather gingerly progress thus far, we decided to go a bit further afield in search of our next public house.

We hopped on a tram and didn't get off until we reached Hillsborough, a suburb borrowing its name from the nearby Hillsborough House, an eighteenth-century dwelling built for a local landowner who named it in honour of his patron, Wills Hill. Not only was Hill a prominent politician, but he also happened to be the Earl of Hillsborough, a townland in Northern Ireland.

The first pub we visited was the Rawson Spring. Originally an old swimming baths built in the early 1920s, it now represented the second Wetherspoons of our pint-filled pilgrimage.

The Rawson Spring is typical of a Sheffield Wetherspoons, occupying an impressive building of not inconsiderable age and playing host to the usual mixed crowd of customers, with the standard Wetherspoons decor. That being said, the shape of the former baths makes for a large, open-plan, and striking interior.

Like every other 'Spoons, we had no trouble whatsoever in selecting a drink we hadn't seen before. We each had a pint of Young Henrys, a nice – but quite bitter – ale from Australia.

The exciting topic that consumed our attention was the possible return to Sheffield of Andrew Wilson. Naturally, the fact that Andy lived in Howden was slowing down our Pubquest progress. As such, he had decided that he needed to uproot himself from village life and return to the fold. There was also the small matter of a job in Sheffield, for which he had attended an interview that very afternoon.

Suffice it to say, we were both crossing our fingers and hoping for his success.

Pub: The Rawson Spring 
Rating: 7/10
Pint: Young Henrys Real Ale  
Brewery: Young Henrys (based in Newtown, Australia)

NEXT UP: An embarrassing pub quiz performance, at The Shakey... 

Pub 26, Day 9 – Noah's Ark

By Rob

The Earth’s orbit around the Sun and the tilt of the planet’s rotational axis are what, in a very real sense, make our summer. They guarantee that everyone’s favourite season is an annual event as inevitable as the next Monday morning. And yet, despite the assured schedule of the seasons, here in the north of England hot summer days are very much like my early sexual experiences: eagerly anticipated, yet distressingly rare and disappointingly brief.

With that in mind, it comes as no surprise that when a day rolls around that brings with it genuinely nice weather, we Brits rush outdoors to bathe in that pleasant, carcinogenic warmth. Andy and I are no exceptions to this, so when such a day finally made an appearance, I received a phone call from my fellow public house connoisseur requesting my presence on yet another leg of this cultural voyage.

However, before heading to the nearest beer garden we decided to finally finish our mammoth game of snooker that we had been playing for a very, very long time. (After all, on a scorching hot day, there’s nothing quite like being indoors, in a dimly lit snooker hall with no windows).

We were playing the first to 18, and the score stood at 17-16 in favour of Andy. It was a game we had, quite literally, been bashing away at for years. I’d like to be able to say that I won the first frame, thus pitting us against one another in a gripping winner-takes-all finale.

But I didn’t.

Thus we closed the door on an important, but ludicrously lengthy, chapter of our lives.

Seeking a place to celebrate Andy’s victory and commiserate my defeat, we headed to the Noah’s Ark in Intake. It’s a family friendly venue with plenty of outdoor seating, a nice beer garden, and a good-sized children’s play area – although given the dazzling weather, we could have been provided with a soiled mattress and an upturned bucket and we would have still enjoyed our visit.

Inside, the pub resembles a typical elderly gentlemen’s drinking hole without much in the way of striking decor. That being said, the Noah’s Ark has seen a notable improvement in recent years. At one time the drinks on offer reflected the furnishings, with just your standard lagers and bitters. However, upon our visit we had the choice of a couple of guest ales and the option to order food. There was also a pool table, which is always a positive.

We decided upon a pint of Directors. This ale, despite its undeniable malty and fruity notes, was hardly the best drink to be sipping in the heat of the sun. As such, we each bought a vodka and coke to have alongside it.

We were joined by our friend Danny, who had just finalised his upcoming travel plans. In just over a month he would be flying out to Thailand, from where he would travel down through Asia, nip across the water to Australia, and then hop over to America before finally landing in Manchester a full six months later. He was very much of the opinion that his fortunes with members of the opposite sex would improve when on foreign soil. I was inclined to agree – the language barriers would certainly work in his favour.

As professional travel bloggers ourselves, deeply committed to cultural exploration – albeit of a more local nature – we wished him every success on his journey and looked forward to his return when we would no doubt be inundated with tales of how he managed to get ignored by women in at least three different time zones.

Sitting there in that very pleasant beer garden, drinking a pint of real ale, it was quite easy to see why the Noah’s Ark was apparently still going strong while other local pubs were struggling. For many years, the Royal Oak had stood just across the road from where we were sat. Unable to compete with its rivals, it recently closed its doors for the last time. In its place now stands a funeral parlour.

A more fitting image would, I think, be hard to find.

Pub: Noah's Ark (197 Mansfield Road, S12 2AL)

Rating: 7/10

Pint: Directors

Brewery: Wells & Young's Brewery (Bedford)

NEXT UP: A post-job-interview-pint, at The Rawson Spring... 

Pub 25, Day 8 – Kelham Island Tavern

By Andy

For me this sums up what Pubquest is all about. You know how sometimes you pop out for a quiet pint and before you know it you're playing a professional snooker player? Well read on...

***

Avid readers will no doubt remember that my uni friends were in town for the week. After an unforgettable night the previous evening at The Fat Cat/Players, we decided to stick with the tried and tested formula and begin in Kelham Island, before heading to town. With The Fat Cat already ticked off, it was over to its long-time competitor, The Kelham Island Tavern.

A duopoly to rival Celtic and Rangers, these two clean up at the CAMRA Sheffield Pub of The Year Awards each year, with the Kelham Island Tavern currently establishing somewhat of a dynasty, winning back-to-back titles in 2014 and 2015. It has also earned national recognition, being crowned CAMRA National Pub of the Year in 2008 and 2009.

A bit roomier than The Fat Cat, the Kelham Island Tavern has the same commendable commitment to great ales and pork pies. Although the decor would give the Changing Rooms team nightmares (its yellow and red interior fails to match its homely feel), the beer garden is the stuff of Ground Force's dreams – a rainforest of plants compete for your senses, making even the darkest of beers dance with a floral flavour. 

Being easily convinced folk, we all opted for a pint of Magic Sponge – an eye-catching pint which chose to forego the typical cardboard logo in favour of sticking a sponge on the pump.

A wise man once suggested to not judge a book by its cover. Presumably, if you bumped into this fella down your local, he would also extol the virtues of not picking a beer by its logo. Happily, on this occasion he would have been wrong – Magic Sponge was a light, golden pint with a subtle toffee taste.

It was at this point that Conor – an aforementioned uni friend – got a phone call: did he want to come to The Common Room for a few frames of pool? With our Magic Sponges absorbed, and with town on the night's agenda, we jumped at the chance.

I should probably give you a bit of background information about Conor: he's a semi-professional snooker player. While the rest of my friends were spending the week on my floor, he was crashing at the Star Snooker Academy, whiling away his days on the baize. 

A few months after our fake trip to Bulgaria, Conor made the journey for real to play in the 2014 European Tour in Sofia, triumphing 4-3 in the second round before bowing out in round three (in a tournament eventually won by Shaun Murphy). So when Conor gets a phone call inviting him for a few frames of pool, you go. You never know who's gonna be there.

We were met at The Common Room by three of India's finest snooker players: Rahul Sachdev (ranked 20^th in India), Himanshu Jain (ranked 17^th in India), and Aditya Mehta (ranked number 1 in India and 49^th in the world). Now I wasn't too bad at snooker either (ranked 59^th in Howden & District Division Two), and as such, I deemed myself ready to compete against the world's best.

Unfortunately, any dreams I had of taking on Aditya Mehta were foiled by the Argentina vs Netherlands World Cup semi-final on the big screen, which he was immersed in. 

Luckily, Himanshu Jain was less of a football fan, and agreed to a frame of pool. Unbeknown to him, after our visit to the Kelham Island Tavern, I was ideally intoxicated – drunk enough to believe I could win, yet sober enough to still see straight.

Despite trailing initially, I sank the last six balls in one break, rolling in the black to receive a pat on the back from a disbelieving Rob. The man whose recognition I truly craved though was still facing the other way, his eyes locked on Lionel Messi. With no desire to waste his time pummelling no-hopers, he again declined my challenge.

Next up I played Rahul Sachdev – a player with his own page on the World Snooker website. Once again I fell behind, only to emerge victorious. This time though, my own ability had nothing to do with it – it all came down to luck. While Rahul was in the middle of a break, he accidentally cannoned into the black, potting it ahead of schedule.

Etiquette dictated that my celebrations remained muted. Rob, apparently unaware of such procedure, sprinted over and hugged me. A win by default is a win nonetheless. 

This time, Mr Mehta couldn't ignore my challenge. Having beaten both of his practice partners, I had earned the right to take on the 49^th best snooker player in the world. 

The parameters were too close to call: he has his own Wikipedia page, I have a profile on the Howden & District League website. His career winnings total £106,233, I once won £8 in a tournament at college. 

After a cagey opening, Aditya left me a half-chance. My common sense urged me to play safe; unfortunately, my imagination was in overdrive. If I potted this, I would be in a commanding position. Would beating Aditya Mehta make me Champion of India?

Me vs Mehta

Predictably, I missed. Even more predictably, Aditya Mehta won. However, he only beat me by two balls, which I was secretly quite proud of. 

And just in case anyone's keeping count, after my exploits against India's finest, and Rob's impressive victory over our Chinese friend Cowboy Keith at Barry's, the Pubquest pool score stands at:

Andy and Rob         3-1         Asia

[Population: 2]                     [Population: ~4,164,252,000]

Not bad. 

Pub: Kelham Island Tavern 
Rating: 8/10
Pint: Magic Sponge

Brewery: Thwaites Brewery (Blackburn)

NEXT UP: Knocking back drinks two-by-two, at the Noah's Ark...

Pub 24, Day 7 – The Fat Cat

By Andy

Anyone who has ever tried organising a holiday for a group of friends knows the problem.

For a year now, me and several mates had been planning to jet off to Bulgaria together in the first week of July.

The eagle-eyed amongst you will have noticed however, that the date and location of this post does not place me in Bulgaria during the first week of July. It places me at Kelham Island.

Admittedly, to an outsider, Kelham Island may sound exotic. It may even sound like you need to book a flight to get there. It is not and you do not.

It is however, home to the greatest concentration of fantastic pubs in the world.

***

With six months to go, there were 6 “definites” for Bulgaria. However, when it came to booking the thing, 2 had failed to get the week off work and one had decided he couldn't afford it after all. Our numbers were halved.

Bulgaria for three seemed like a waste of time. However, seeing as we had all booked the week off work, we decided we may as well meet up for a few drinks. And seeing as Pubquest needed a kick up the backside, I invited Rob along.

Paradoxically, in eschewing Bulgaria for the Fat Cat, we had ticked off number 22 in The New York Times's 52 Places to Go in 2014 (seriously). And I bet nowhere in Bulgaria offers a better pork pie.

The Fat Cat is a brilliant pub. Opened in 1981, it kickstarted Sheffield's ale tradition when it broke away from the breweries. In fact, it's probably fair to say that without The Fat Cat there would be no Pubquest – all pubs in the city would be nigh-on identical and visiting each one would be an exercise in the mundane.

Mercifully, The Fat Cat helped start a revolution which many pubs across the city joined. This is particularly true of the Kelham Island area, which is positively bursting with terrific ale houses. If all pubs offered the variety of beers found in Kelham Island, the Pubquest Bonus Challenge of having a different pint in each pub would be a walk in the park. On this occasion, we opted for Dukeries Gunsmoke, a dark yet strong bitter which kept us coming back for more.

If you visit the Fat Cat, make sure you're hungry. Having already consumed a pork pie, I then opted for a steak and ale pie, before passing up the opportunity of a pie hat-trick by choosing apple crumble. Although the menu is somewhat “pubby”, the food is worthy of a restaurant.

However, all this aside, I do have two complaints about The Fat Cat. My first issue is that it's not very big – on a busy night you can often find yourself trapped, unable to move due to the crowds. My second issue is that it's not in Bulgaria – it isn't surrounded by Sofia's historic buildings, you won't get a tan if you pop outside, it isn't a short journey from Sunny Beach.

Or is it?

You see, it had dawned on us a few days previously that we had never actually told the drop-outs that we weren't going to Bulgaria. One by one, they had cancelled by text, and it was simply presumed that the trip was not going ahead – “no man left behind” and all that. But this was never actually stated – for all they knew we could have continued organising the trip without them.

Miffed that they had cancelled last-minute, and wanting to teach them a lesson, we had formulated a plan. After buying a Bulgarian flag from eBay, our task was now simple: make Kelham Island look like Bulgaria, take a load of photos, and send these to our soon-to-be-jealous friends.

It may come as little surprise that this was no mean feat. Kelham Island, a sprawling industrial estate, is not the most photogenic of places. Now I'm sure there are sprawling industrial estates in Bulgaria too, but these were not the locations we had been planning on visiting.

Our Bulgarian itinerary had consisted primarily of beaches and bars. As there were no beaches within walking distance, we were left with no alternative but to make the Fat Cat and the Kelham Island Tavern look as Bulgarian as possible. This invariably consisted of draping our flag over the fittings, all-the-while attracting angry stares from passing members of staff. Below are our efforts:

Kelham Island Tavern, Sofia

 

     Independence Square, Sofia       Drinking at a bar by the beach

I should probably take this opportunity to remind you that, as convincing as those pictures seem, we were not actually in Bulgaria. If you look very carefully, the middle picture contains yellow lines by the side of the road, which is not a system employed in Eastern Europe.

Ignoring that minor slip-up though, I agree that our pictures were top rate, and unless our friends are experts in Bulgarian road markings, they are bound to have been fooled.

As the night wore on and our photos became steadily more ridiculous, we walked into town and headed for a dancefloor. For some unbeknown reason which baffles me with hindsight, we selected Players as our venue of choice.

(Now here I must state that Players is undisputedly a bar, so merits no entry of its own on Pubquest. If you are upset by this, please feel free to begin Barquest.)

One advantage Players does hold over Kelham Island is that it actually looks like it could be found in touristy Bulgaria – an American-themed bar, barmaids wearing very little, homeless men offering to sell you a plastic rose for £5. With this in mind we redoubled our efforts, waving our flag around and snapchatting all we could to our presumably bemused friends.

The most ridiculous aspect of the night was yet to come though.

It turns out there are only so many times you can unfurl a Bulgarian flag before people begin to presume you're from Bulgaria. Before we knew it, people were inquiring as to what we were doing in Sheffield, and what we made of the British weather. With the speakers far too loud to explain the situation, and with beer coursing through our veins, we opted to play along. However, as none of us had any idea what a Bulgarian accent sounds like, we could only respond with a sequence of grunts and nods, which would no doubt have been deeply offensive had any actual Bulgarians been present.

Then this happened:

Ladies and gentleman, so concluded the most ridiculous night of Pubquest thus far.

Pub: The Fat Cat (23 Alma Street, S3 8SA)

Rating: 9/10

Beer: Gunsmoke

Brewery: Dukeries Brewery (Worksop)

NEXT UP: Playing pool against professionals, at the Kelham Island Tavern...

Pub 23, Day 6 – Frog & Parrot

By Rob

For those of you keeping count, you'll note that by the time we left the Heeley & Sheffield we had each drank four pints. Now, that's not nearly enough to warrant a drunken haze, but four pints do have the cumulative effect of making the recipient a little merrier than usual.

As such, I wanted to stay out. Living in town, it would be ideal to get a tram into the city centre, have a drink, and then walk home from there. For Andy, living just five minutes away from Gleadless Townend, it made sense to end the evening where we were.

So, given our conflicting views on what constituted the best course of action, we did what I wanted.

However, any fantasies I harboured of a wild night on the town transpired to be wildly unrealistic. Instead of hitting the clubs and bars, we found ourselves inexorably drawn to – you might have guessed – a pub. Maybe we were developing a supernatural sixth sense for public houses? Maybe we'd just come to love pubs beyond all measure?

Whatever the reason, we ended up in The Frog & Parrot. A trendy pub on a trendy street, the Frog & Parrot is delightful inside. Smartly decorated, with just the right amount of quirkiness to not be pretentious (a difficult balance to strike), it had a great feel to it. We ordered two pints of Lord Parrot Ale – a drink we could be certain we would not come across again as it was brewed by the pub, in the pub, for the pub.

The increasingly blurred certificates for Roger and Out

When it first opened in 1982, the Frog & Parrot (then called the Prince of Wales) was one of very few Sheffield pubs in which the landlord brewed and sold his own beer on the premises. When it was later bought by Roger Nowill, the brewing process was expanded to five ales. One of these, labelled 'Roger and Out', was so strong that customers were permitted only three glasses a day before being cut-off, with each glass holding only a third of a pint.

After your first drink, you got a certificate. After the second, you were issued with a yellow card. Once you'd downed your third and final glass you had precisely one full pint of the stuff inside you. That earned you the red card.

In June 1988 the ale entered the Guinness Book of World Records as the strongest regularly pulled beer in the world, apparently attracting people from right across the globe.^[1]

The ale we had was considerably less lethal, but enjoyable nonetheless.

While there wasn't any music playing during our visit, from previous attendance I know that the pub often hosts live bands and also serves good food.

Just one of the quirky seating areas in the Frog & Parrot

After sitting on public transport for twenty minutes in order to get to town, we had the pint and then Andy endured a further twenty minutes in order to get home.

That, ladies and gents, is dedication to the cause.

Pub: Frog & Parrot (94 Division Street, S1 4GF)
Rating: 7/10
Beer: Lord Parrot Ale 
Brewery: Frog & Parrot (Homebrew) 

NEXT UP: A trip to Bulgaria, at The Fat Cat...

References:

[1] Peter Tuffrey, Sheffield Pubs; Landlords and Landladies, Fonthill Media, (2012), p.61

Pub 22, Day 6 – Heeley & Sheffield

By Rob

Leaving The Red Lion, and putting the snooker score firmly out of our mind, we stumbled across a rather striking realisation: we were hungry.

While ingesting food is a biological necessity fundamental to the practice of not dying, it takes on added importance when you are drinking pint after pint of beer. So it was that we, in our limitless wisdom, decided to pop into Gleadless Townend’s premier dining establishment – Viva Tequila. Seemingly the brainchild of an entrepreneur who was torn between opening either an Italian restaurant or a Mexican bar, Viva represents the hybrid offspring of this surprisingly fruitful union.

Upon our arrival we secured a table for two, having no trouble seeing as the place was even less busy than the pub we had just left, and settled in for what looked set to be an intimate experience.

The date, for that is essentially what it was, was wonderful. The food was both good and very reasonably priced. The waiter did an excellent job of hiding his initial disquiet and subsequent disbelief when we decided to engage in the charade of pretending we were in a homosexual and deeply romantic relationship with one another.

NB: (For all the women reading this who are between the ages of 20 and 30, I would like to point out that no genuine intimacy took place during our enactment and that I am entirely heterosexual. Alas, I will not say the same for Andy as I just don’t feel comfortable discussing his sexual orientation without his prior permission, so it is probably best to assume that he is unavailable and just message me instead)

If I did have a boyfriend, I'd want him to make more effort on a date

After we had finished our meal and left, we headed over to the Heeley & Sheffield.

I would like to say that this pub was warm and cosy, with a friendly atmosphere and pleasant staff. I would like to tell you that the customers were all jolly old men who shook our hands and welcomed us into their local public house with earnest smiles and fond hellos. I would like to write these things with a sincere hand, but then I’d need to have been inside a different pub.

The pub is obviously too big for purpose. Its six customers were huddled around the bar in the centre of the room, while the rest of it stretched away into dark disuse. They all made a point of turning to look towards the door as it creaked open and we stepped inside. One could be forgiven for thinking the entire scene was being secretly directed by Sergio Leone, as we elicited stares upon entering the old run-down saloon. Fortunately, the pistol duels and bar brawls were kept to a strict minimum.

We ordered two pints of John Smith’s Extra Cold.

Now, you might be thinking that John Smith’s Extra Cold is essentially the same beer as John Smith’s Extra Smooth. You would be thinking wrong. One is marginally colder than the other. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it was extra cold.

Sitting in a corner of the pub, away from the central nucleus of activity, we didn't hang around for very long. In fact, the amount of time we stayed was precisely the number of minutes it takes for a person to drink a pint of John Smith’s.

The Heeley gets a dismal, yet deserved, 3/10.

Pub: Heeley & Sheffield (781 Gleadless Road, S12 2QD)

Rating: 3/10

Pint: John Smith’s Extra Cold      

Brewery: John Smith's Brewery (Tadcaster, North Yorkshire)

NEXT UP: The strongest beer in the world, at the Frog & Parrot...