Boards change most weeks. If a line has gone, it has gone.
Our own, brewed two streets away. Grapefruit, soft finish.
Cask, on the hand pull, cellar temperature and no apologies for it.
Crisp, unremarkable, exactly what half the room wants.
Still, cloudy, from a farm forty minutes away. Stronger than it tastes.
Nitro, thick head, drinks like pudding.
Whatever the cellar found this week. Ask, we will tell you honestly.
Battered in the pale ale, mushy peas, tartare, half a lemon.
Suet pastry all the way round, not a lid on a bowl. Chips or mash, greens.
Two patties, smoked cheese, pickles, chips. Add bacon for £1.50.
The same pastry, no shortcuts, and the gravy is made separately so it stays vegan.
Cheddar, ham, pickled onion, chutney, bread, apple. Feeds one properly or two lightly.
Roasted hard, yoghurt, coriander, plenty of heat.
Sundays only, from noon until it runs out. Booking is sensible.
Pink unless you ask otherwise.
Comes with the same roast potatoes, cooked in oil rather than fat.
Biscuits, celery, quince.