Pub 56, Day 22 – Broomhill Tavern

By Andy

You've heard of golf widows.

You've heard of football widows.

Meet the Pubquest widows.

Until this article, you probably presumed us both to be single. After all, pub anoraks tend not to be the most socially successful.

Indeed, anyone who read our abject attempts to pull in West Street Live will be convinced that we will die alone.

Quite the contrary though, we could both be accused of punching.

[punching: verb. To punch above one's weight; to bat above one's average; to make a mockery of society's rules and conventions. Synonym: Beauty & The Beast]

"How can they spend their days crafting such delightful pub reviews while
still having the time to maintain a relationship?” I hear you cry.

However, that is not to say our girlfriends are happy. Since our relationships began, they have heard few topics of conversation that do not directly or indirectly relate to Pubquest.

Andy:       “Are you up to anything this Friday?”

Cat:          “Nope, what have you got in mind?”

Andy:       “Brilliant – me and Rob are going to The Red Lion for Pubquest, are you alright to pick us up afterwards?”

Perhaps understandably, the girls wanted to get in on the action. Initially of course, we were mortified. Why not start your own Cocktailquest, we argued, rather than gatecrash our event.

Eventually though, we relented. (Under the thumb, us? Certainly not.)

Personally, after all those evenings apart, I felt I had to prove that “Pubquest” was not just a metaphor for a long-lasting affair with the new girl at work.

Choosing our venue carefully, we opted for the Broomhill Tavern. A friendly pub in a trendy area, it manages to combine the stylish spirit of the surrounding students with the homely feel of a classic country pub.

We selected two pints of Broomhill Tavern Cask Ale (and two glasses of rosé wine), continuing our Pint-With-The-Same-Name-As-The-Pub Rule. The pint was refreshing if a little bland, and I would give it a solid 2^nd place out of the three home-brews we have consumed so far (less adventurous than the Frog & Parrot but tastier than the Shepley Spitfire).

The home-brew and an expansive seating area ensured the Broomy Tav rose to the occasion – myself and Rob were after a good selection of beers, Hannah was keen for “somewhere nice” and Cat was after “somewhere I can sit down” (high standards, as ever darling). Pleasingly, the Broomhill Tavern ticked all the boxes on our somewhat eclectic checklist.

On a previous visit, me and Rob took part in the pub quiz, and our team came dismally last – a sure sign that the pub caters to classy clientele.

Even more endearing, I once ordered a pie, only to be told that they'd made too many pies for that day so I could have two for the price of one. At this point, I clearly faced a moral dilemma – do I instruct the Broomhill Tavern that instead of wasting excess food on me, there are numerous local charities who would gladly accept meals for free? Or do I agree to two pies like the greedy, opportunistic pig I am?

Needless to say, I didn't manage to finish my second pie.

All-in-all: good beers, a homely feel and free pies: we like the Broomhill Tavern.

Pub: Broomhill Tavern (484 Glossop Road, S10 2QA)

Rating: 7.5/10

Pint: Broomhill Tavern Cask Ale

Brewery: Broomhill Tavern (Homebrew)

NEXT UP: So good they named it twice: The Red Lion...

Pub 55, Day 21 – The Mulberry Tavern

By Rob

The Mulberry Tavern, in its present-day form, dates back to the 1970s when the original building was demolished and replaced with the new concrete block. At the time of its deconstruction, the original pub was one of the oldest buildings in the city, having been built around 1725. 

The original Mulberry Tavern
(courtesy of Picture Sheffield)

One theory surrounding the pub’s name relates to the decree of King James I, who considered silk to be ‘the most profitable commodity for the country’ and ordered that Mulberry trees – the food source for silkworms – should be planted wherever possible.^[1] In response to the Crown’s designs, the gardens between High Street and Norfolk Street became home to a number of the plants, just a stone’s throw away from the site of the pub.^[2]

Moving over from The Roebuck, we
stood outside The Mulberry Tavern and looked on at the somewhat uninviting exterior. We knew the pub didn’t have a fantastic reputation and the rundown entrance-way did little to ease our
worries. Steeling ourselves, we headed inside.

Once up the stairs we found ourselves in a reasonably-sized, open taproom. The almost deathly silence of the Tavern was broken only by the occasional ‘pop’ of the cueball on the pool table at the far side of the room. Apart from us and the guys on the baize, the only person present was the barman.

We ordered two pints of McEwan’s Lager Cold, which can only be an improvement on McEwan’s Lager Warm. We were pleased about getting hold of a lager on Pubquest, a treat made startlingly rare by our adherence to the different-drink-in-every-pub rule. The McEwan’s was a crisp and refreshing change from the usual line-up of ales.

Sitting in the pub, with only a few local blokes for company, we didn’t feel as if getting our phones out and snapping pictures of the furniture from every angle would endear us to the punters. However, we knew we needed a photo for the blog and so, like the pathetic cowards we are, we held our phones down at about knee-level and took a couple of very poor pictures, before hurriedly stuffing them back into our pockets. I think you’ll all agree that the result, which represents the clearest and best-angled photograph of the session, was not remotely worth the effort.

Quietly sipping at our pints, it was hard to imagine that the pub had once been a gay bar called Affinity. The public house interior had, not too long previously, been coated in black tiles with glitter balls hanging from the ceiling.^[3] Funnily enough, the incoming landlord had decided that the dance cages wouldn’t fit in with his new theme.

Although The Mulberry Tavern is unlikely to win any awards, its rough reputation appears rather undeserved. It certainly isn’t as intimidating as it looks from the outside, and both staff and customers alike offered us polite smiles upon arrival. We had been to worse places, and there were certainly much darker visits on the horizon.

One thing I am sure of, however, is that the pub would have been much more interesting had it still been standing in its original form – although who knows how a visit to the old Mulberry Tavern might have ended. After all, a travelling businessman once stayed overnight at the Tavern and was found dead in the cellar the next morning. It was assumed that he had fallen through a trap door. Oddly, the man had no identification with him, a large sum of money in his possession, and not one person came forward to identify him after his death.

Thankfully, both Andy and I were a little less dead upon leaving the pub.

Pub: The Mulberry Tavern (10 Arundel Gate, S1 2PP)

Rating: 4/10

Pint: McEwan’s Lager Cold

Brewery: Wells & Young's Brewery (Bedford) 

NEXT UP: Introducing our girlfriends, at the Broomhill Tavern...

---

References:
[1] The Silk Grower and Farmer's Manual, Volume 1, Harvard University, (1838), P.98 

[2] Peter Tuffrey, Sheffield Pubs; Landlords and Landladies, Fonthill Media, (2012), pp.94-95

[3] Sheffield's Tavern is back on top, Sheffield Telegraph, http://www.sheffieldtelegraph.co.uk/news/sheffield-s-tavern-is-back-on-top-1-6444141

Pub 54, Day 21 – The Roebuck

By Andy

Some pubs have good memories. Some pubs have bad memories. While The Nailmakers Arms was the place in which my parents met, and the Nottingham House played host to my incredible Connect Four triumph; The Roebuck was the scene of one of the most traumatic moments of my life.

The year was 2006. I was 16, a slightly awkward teenager yet to blossom into the slightly awkward adult I am today. One day, the unthinkable happened: a girl asked me out. Not only that, but she actually wanted to meet in the evening, as opposed to the usual cinema & McDonald's dates I had been on before. This was it.

“I know a guy that works at the Roebuck Tavern,” she explained. “He'll serve us all night!”

I borrowed my dad's aftershave. I crammed enough condoms into my pocket to last a sexual health clinic for several months.

Alas, the whole thing was a facade. I was nothing more than Plan B.

Despite my best efforts, she spent the entire evening fluttering her eyelashes at her friend behind the bar. Try as I might, she refused to sit further than a yard from him, lest he start talking to someone else.

How could I compete? He was 19, he had stubble.

Eventually, I took the hint and got a taxi home. Alone.

***

“It's been ten years. Perhaps you could give it a second chance?” suggested Rob, tentatively.

I took a deep breath and stepped through the door. Would she still be there, playing with her hair and laughing at an unnatural volume? Would Rob abandon me and finish Pubquest with a member of staff?

Thankfully, the place was quiet, and the barman showed no interest in stealing my companion.

Somewhat relieved, I eyed up the beers. Eschewing the local breweries for once, we chose Oxford Best Traditional Bitter. On my previous visit, I had spent the night drinking pear cider – how times change.

Any further flashbacks were forgotten when we spotted that The Roebuck had not one, but two pool tables! To mix things up, we played our first game on one table, and our second on the other.

I won the first frame. Rob won the next. Clearly, we needed a decider. The problem is, after revolutionising the rules of pool at The Graduate, normal pool just doesn't do it for us anymore. We need a way to get the adrenaline pumping.

The answer was staring us in the face: Double Pool.

The pool tables were both unoccupied. The only thing restricting us to one game at a time was society's expectation. Undeterred, we placed a coin in both tables at once, and so created a sport that's twice as fun.

The rules of Double Pool are a little complicated so I'll talk you through them slowly:

1. You play two games of pool
2. AT ONCE!

Rob was slower to adapt to our radical rule-change, and so I emerged victorious on both tables – and with it became the inaugral World Double Pool Champion.

Perhaps now that we've transformed the sporting world forever, I can look back on The Roebuck with happier memories. After all, the pub boasts a fine selection of beers, ample space (both indoors and outdoors), a pair of pool tables and an appetising food menu.

Having said all that, I wouldn't take my girlfriend along. I might never see her again...

Roebuck pool score: Andy 3-1 Rob

Pubquest pool score: Andy 40-28 Rob

Pub: The Roebuck (72 Charles Street, S1 2NB)

Rating: 8/10

Pint: Oxford Best Traditional Bitter

Brewery: White Horse Brewery (Faringdon, Oxfordshire)

NEXT UP: Murder mysteries, at The Mulberry Tavern... 

Pub 53, Day 20 – Shepley Spitfire

By Rob

With the taste of great food still in our mouths, we headed over to the next pub on our tour. Moving from one well-heeled suburb to another, we found ourselves in Totley, one of the city’s more winsome environs. Teetering on the very edge of Sheffield’s border, this quasi-rural paradise is home to a number of pleasant-looking pubs, including the Shepley Spitfire.

The pub was built in 1978 by a Nottinghamshire brewery. Needing a name for their venture, they launched a competition to find the best suggestion. The winner was a man called Seymour Shepley, who lived in the nearby Woodthorpe Hall.

The Shepley family arrived in the area back in 1926, bringing with them four sons and a daughter. When war broke out in Europe, it sadly claimed the lives of three of the brothers. The third and final of these tragedies occurred in the summer of 1940 when Douglas Shepley, a Spitfire pilot in 152 Squadron, was shot down over the English Channel. His body was never recovered.

After losing so much, the grieving family decided to do something positive, and so they began raising money to purchase a new Spitfire. The people of north Derbyshire and South Yorkshire pitched in, throwing a whole host of different fundraising events. Within 15 weeks the money had been raised and a new plane, aptly named Shepley, joined the ranks of the RAF.

So it was that, decades later, when the only surviving son – Seymour – suggested naming the pub in recognition of this extraordinary story, the owners found their winner.

Fast-forward another handful of decades and, in the first century of the next millennium, two young adventurers clambered out onto the pavement and headed for the entrance.

Once inside the pub, we were a little surprised by what we found. For whatever reason, we’d been expecting a cosy little countryside taproom with a wood-beam roof. Instead, we walked into a very modern, light and airy establishment. In truth, it looked more like a restaurant than a public house.

That’s not to say that it wasn’t nice; it was simply lacking in character. The other thing it was lacking in was customers, as the spacious interior was made even more spacious by the fact that the pub was, unbelievably, almost empty. While the Coach & Horses and The Castle Inn had gone to great lengths to offer food and fun for the local beer festival, the Shepley Spitfire had made absolutely zero effort.

At the bar, we observed that the pub was selling a beer called Shepley Spitfire. Knowing that we were unlikely to see this particular pint anywhere else, we opted for one each.

As the barman began to pour our drinks, we had one of those moments in which we both intuitively knew, right then, just what we had to do. It was another wordless conversation, played out only by our eyes. But in order to make sure that we were on the same page, we then had the discussion using our mouths.

After a brief chat, it was decided that a new regulation had just made its way into the Pubquest rulebook:

The pint-with-the-same-name-as-the-pub rule!

“Wherever a public house is offering an alcoholic beverage that is clearly named after the pub in which it is being provided, then all permanent members of Sheffield Pubquest are required, by statute, to purchase that product and consume it in its entirety.”

Secure in the knowledge that our habit of impulsively legislating would make us terrible politicians, we headed to the beer garden to enjoy the last few hours of sunshine.

Naturally, the last few hours of sunshine appeared to be on fast-forward and we soon found ourselves grumbling about the sudden drop in temperature. After just ten minutes of outdoor living, we retreated to the pool table.

Racing through three games on the baize, Andy won the day by two frames to one. We finished our pints of Shepley Spitfire, which was surprisingly refreshing, and headed off to re-join the rest of my family.

Sadly, the next pub we visited was, much like the Coach & Horses, beyond the boundaries of our beloved city and so it won’t feature on this blog. Maybe when we’ve written about every pub in Sheffield we can start to worry about those in places like Dronfield. However, when that time comes I suspect there will be other things for us to worry about, such as our grandchildren.

Shepley Spitfire pool score: Andy 2-1 Rob

Pubquest pool score: Andy 37-27 Rob

Pub: Shepley Spitfire (Mickley Lane, S17 4HE)
Pint: Shepley Spitfire 
Brewery: Shepley Spitfire (are you sensing a pattern?)
Rating: 5/10

NEXT UP: Childhood traumas, at The Roebuck...

Pub 52, Day 20 – The Castle Inn

By Andy

Continuing our tour of the Three Valleys Beer Festival, our next stop was The Castle Inn in Bradway.

The festival organisers had clearly lucked out with the day's weather – it was a scorcher. This suited The Castle Inn as it has a huge outside area – the sort of space that could be described as drab in winter; it was a veritable suntrap today. Having sat inside at the Coach & Horses, we took advantage of the opportunity to top up our tans.

The Castle had clearly made an effort for the festival coming to town. Picnic tables adorned the car park and a barbecue was smoking away in the corner. There was even an outside bar for those of us too lazy to venture indoors.

Despite having already eaten at the Coach & Horses, we were determined to sample all the festival had to offer. Besides, the scent of the barbecue was becoming impossible to resist.

Burgers and hot dogs were the fare of the day. I plumped for a chilli burger, with a cheese sauce so gooey they had to use a ladle. It was the sort of burger that ends up all over your face – needless to say I approved. Rob assures me the hot dogs were just as spectacular.

The choice of beers was also terrific. We picked Stainless by Stancill Brewery, an ideal golden ale for an ideal summer's day.

With a beer in my hand and cheese sauce on my chin, it dawned on me that everyone was a winner at beer festivals.

Punters get an array of extras to entice the crowds – barbecues, outside bars etc – and landlords are rewarded with sales far exceeding the norm.

For seasoned pub-tourers such as ourselves, it was a no-brainer to take in as much of the festival as possible.

With that in mind, we trundled back to the car in pursuit of our next destination.

Pub: The Castle Inn (1 Twentywell Road, S17 4PT)

Rating: 9/10

Pint: Stainless

Brewery: Stancill Brewery (Sheffield)

NEXT UP: War heroes, at the Shepley Spitfire...

Bonus Blog, Day 20 – Coach & Horses

By Rob

As both Andy and I are extraordinarily busy people, we sometimes find that we don’t write these blog posts as regularly as we perhaps should. With that in mind, writing a bonus blog that doesn’t officially count as a Pubquest visit seems like an odd thing to do. However, trust me when I say that we never make additional work for ourselves without good reason.

The first thing to say is that the pub in question is so close to the Sheffield border that few people would really consider it to be anything other than a Sheffield pub, despite the fact that it’s actually located in the town of Dronfield. To make matters more confusing, the pub is situated on Sheffield Road and sits next-door to the stadium of the oldest football club in the world: Sheffield FC.

The second thing to note is that this was the first pub we visited as part of a fantastic multi-pub event – the rest of the pubs being solidly within the Steel City. In order to introduce this whole sequence properly, we will need to tell the tale of the Coach & Horses.

The Three Valleys Beer Festival takes place every summer around the Sheffield-Dronfield borderlands. The festival is a thoroughly brilliant event in which a number of real ale pubs offer music, food and entertainment to the beer-swigging masses. A free bus service runs throughout the day, ferrying the merrymakers from one venue to the next, making it easy to hop between bars and barbecues.

It had already been confirmed that my parents would be going, as well as my aunt and uncle. In addition, a group of my dad’s old university mates were travelling up north for a Class of 1806 reunion (truth be told I’m not sure what year he left university – it could have been earlier). Keen to meet his friends and spend some time with the family, I happily accepted their invitation to come along.

But wait – an event that involves drinking a range of beers, with a once-a-year free bus service that would shuttle us between a number of hard-to-reach pubs? Let’s be honest: if I hadn’t invited Andy, I don’t think I could have forgiven myself.

The Coach & Horses pub (centre-left) as seen during a match at the Coach & Horses Ground

We arrived at the pub, said hello to my family and then introduced ourselves to my dad’s friends. Having not seen each other in a very long time, they had already made their way through a not inconsiderable volume of alcohol by the time we showed up, and they were more than happy to be joined by two new arrivals.

Straight away we were struck by how homely the pub was. On a hot summer’s day such as this one, the doors were flung open and people spilled out into the beer garden, which hosted a barbecue and live music. Looking around the cosy interior, it was obvious that the place would be even better on a cold winter’s night.

Andy headed to the bar while I listened to embarrassing stories about my father’s younger years, the tales deriving mostly from his best friend Steve – an extremely pleasant man in an extremely floral shirt. Relaxing by the fireplace, I knew Andy would make an informed beer choice and return with an enjoyable pint. We were in a Thornbridge pub, so I was bound to be happy with whatever he bought.

Minutes later, Andy materialised with two pints of Ruin. I listened with fascination as he described the beer to me: a botanical pale ale brewed with kafir lime leaves, orange peel, lavender, rosemary, yarrow, red rose petals and juniper berries. My mouth watered at the sound of it. As I lifted the glass up to my lips, it was as if I could already taste the mixture of fruits upon my tongue. I sipped at the amber nectar and….

…it tasted like someone had just emptied an entire Airwick room freshener into my throat. As the rancid perfume trickled into my convulsing stomach, I knew instantly that this was the worst thing I had drank on Pubquest thus far. The only thing stopping Ruin from making the top of that yet-to-be-drafted list of disgusting beers was the fact that we’d drank it in a pub that was, technically, outside of Sheffield and therefore not on the Pubquest radar. I’m usually a huge fan of the Thornbridge brewery, but this particular concoction was absolutely, unequivocally awful.

We quickly realised that, as this pub wasn’t part of Pubquest proper, we weren’t bound by the usual ridiculous rules that dictate our drink choice. Gleefully ditching the Ruin, which was eight times more florid than Steve’s shirt and about a thousand times less tasteful, we sipped our way through some thoroughly deserved lager.

Now, one thing I should have perhaps pointed out earlier in this post is that my dad was, at this time, confined to a wheelchair. A few weeks earlier he had rather badly broken his ankle and so his movements were constantly supported by either crutches or a chair. On this day he had opted for the chair. As such, everyone piled onto the bus to head over to the next pub while me, Andy and my dad waited for my ever-generous girlfriend to arrive in her car and transport us – and in particular my temporarily crippled father – to the next pub.

The only problem was that the carpark was at the top of a short, but cruelly steep hill. I therefore found myself faced with the unenviable task of pushing my father’s wheelchair up the incline and towards the waiting car. This wouldn’t have been a problem, but for the fact that my dad was, of course, in the wheelchair at the time. It’s also worth noting that my beloved forebear is considerably more heavyset than I. He was also substantially more intoxicated.

This resulted in me desperately pushing my dad, who was cheering and hooting with laughter, up a mercilessly steep concrete slope. About halfway up the path I panicked as my feet started to give way, slipping on the gravel underfoot, as fifty-or-so wildly amused onlookers roared their encouragement. What they didn’t realise was that, as the Earth’s gravitational pull began to defeat my own failing efforts, I was in very real danger of seeing my father roll back down the hill and straight into the busy road at the bottom.

Andy, thank Christ, noticed that the unquestionably hilarious scene before him was about to turn into a darkly comic tragedy. He came jogging over and, between us, we deposited the provisionally immobilised patriarch at the side of the waiting car.

With disaster averted (could you imagine the headlines?) we continued with the festival.

Pub: Coach & Horses (Sheffield Road, Dronfield, S18 2GD)
Rating: 9/10
Pint: Ruin
Brewery: Thornbridge Brewery (Bakewell)

NEXT UP: Messy burgers, at The Castle Inn...

Pub 51, Day 19 – The Swim Inn

By Rob

For those of you with long memories, you may recall our compatriot Danny: a perpetually lonely and unloved specimen, whose relentless romantic failures served as a constant source of merriment to both myself and Andy. He also happened to be one of my closest friends.

When we last encountered him at Noah’s Ark, he was planning to skip town and traverse the globe. For months he’d been looking forward to experiencing a host of new cultures, amidst the exotic landscapes of three different continents.

You may also recall that he was hoping to discover new cultures in the bedroom, getting to know each nation by seducing their women.

Of course, I had long suspected that the rationale behind this expectation of success was built upon a series of questionable assumptions about the erotic nature of travelling, but I was always reluctant to say so. I was firmly of the opinion that it would be better to hide my doubts and quietly hope that, upon his return to England, he would surprise me with tales of his intimate encounters.

So it came to pass that, six months after we’d last seen each other, Danny returned to Sheffield. We agreed to meet at a pub, and seeing as Pubquest was never far from my thoughts, I invited Andy along.

Finding the right pub for the occasion was more difficult than you might think. For starters, Danny wanted to go somewhere that served food, whereas Andy and I simply wanted to visit somewhere we hadn’t already crossed off the list. Danny also wanted the pub to be in the city centre, so that he could get to/from the venue with relative ease.

This left us with limited options and resulted in a visit to the worst Wetherspoons of the journey so far: The Swim Inn.

Like many Wetherspoons in Sheffield, the pub sits within an impressive old building. As its name suggests, people were swimming lengths there long before they were sipping pints. The Glossop Road Baths began life in 1836 as a medical enterprise, built during the height of Sheffield’s cholera epidemic that claimed over 400 lives. 

Prior to the establishment of the baths, the good folk of Sheffield had been washing themselves in the River Don, which was heavily polluted from the city’s endless industrial runoff.^[1] The first of its kind to be opened in Sheffield, this hygiene-promoting brainchild later featured one of Victorian Britain’s earliest Turkish baths.

Sadly, the building’s noble history as a weapon against disease does little to improve the atmosphere or interior of the pub that stands there today. The dimly lit ‘Spoons has a neglected feel to it and plays host to a clientele that isn’t always fantastically friendly. That being said, there is the usual range of well-priced ales on offer, meaning our quest-within-a-quest to drink a different pint each time is made that little bit more achievable as Wetherspoons continue to spread across the city.

Danny arrived only a few minutes after us and we all headed to the bar. Andy and I each ordered a pint of Boadicea. The light, straw-coloured ale had a slight sweetness to it and went down very easily. Danny, not burdened by any self-imposed regulations relating to his choice of beverage, opted for a lager. He also bought himself a pulled pork quesadilla.

Sitting down with our drinks, both myself and Andy waited with anticipation as Danny began to regale us with stories from his multi-continental adventure. He told us about the beauty and rich cultural fabric of Asia. He painted pictures of the magnificent vistas and blistering heat of the Australian Outback. He told us of his time driving an RV across the highways of western America and his night in Vegas.

His story, however, was notable for one very glaring omission. At no point had he revealed anything about his liaisons with the various women of the world. Why, I hear you ask, would he leave that part of the story out?

The answer, of course, was that there were no romantic entanglements along the way. The only time he had come close to anything resembling an amatory rendezvous was when he discovered that a certain German co-traveller was, inexplicably, attracted to him. Unfortunately for Danny she looked, and I quote, "like a man".

The certainty of Danny’s empty, affectionless future was pushed to the back of our minds as the onetime globetrotter’s food arrived.

Now, I like Mexican food. I really like quesadillas. And I love pulled pork quesadillas. But no matter what the staff at The Swim Inn called it, the flat, discoloured, anaemic pancake that they’d slapped onto the plate was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a pulled pork quesadilla.

Danny, exhausted from hurtling through a hundred different time zones in a flying metal tube, didn’t have the energy to send it back.

It says something that, after a journey in which he’d eaten all manner of disgusting food, from fried scorpions to aeroplane dinners, the pub meal upon his return was the worst meal he’d had in six months.

In summary, if you’re desperate to go to a Wetherspoons in Sheffield, this one certainly isn’t at the top of the list.

Pub: The Swim Inn (217-231 Glossop Road, S10 2GX)

Rating: 4/10

Pint: Boadicea

Brewery: Abbeydale Brewery (Sheffield)

NEXT UP: Our first ever bonus blog, at the Coach & Horses...

References:
[1] http://www.spa1877.com/about-us/history