What you get when you walk through the door

Well hello. I’ve never done a blog before and tend to view them with a kind of sceptical incredulity; can anyone really have that much of interest to say? I really think there’s an unhealthy narcissism to a lot of them. But enough about me.

Pubs used to be easy to pigeon-hole. You had your spit-and-sawdust locals. Your taverns. Your cosy inns, gin palaces. Yes they were numerous, but all had their place in the panoply of social meeting holes for each gradation of class. Not any more. It’s a veritable mess out there; notwithstanding the well-documented decimation in their number. Conveniently, take mine as an example. As a punter walking through the door, your first take will probably be something along the lines of:

1. Christ, it’s small.
2. Quite a nice bar, lots of wood but not clean in the sense of gastropub rustic chic.
3. ergo I bet they don’t have real beer and good food.
4. ergo It’s for east enders (the proper ones). I can see them, over there.
5. ergo I’ll try to leave without being noticed. B*gger, I have. Better get a pint.

To be fair, this impression will most reliably be cast during daylight on a weekday, and is dependent on averting the eyes from the large sign advertising the menu. My point is, the cues are no longer reliable. We do sell proper beer; we do sell (very good, restaurant-quality) food. And it is for proper east enders – but also for young trendies. And old ones. And parents of young ones on a Sunday after a visit to the nearby Columbia Road flower market. The Marksman looks like a ‘proper pub’, but it also serves food to match many a temple to gastronomy; indeed, we’re taking part in the London Restaurant Festival. So, increasingly you don’t know what you’re going to get when you walk through that front door.

It’s a crazy, mixed-up world out there.