My first serious foray into Oxon earlier this month yielded 32 ticks (well one was in Bucks but it is near enough to the border to be included).
In true BRAPA tradition, I'm ranking them from worst to best across the next five blogs.
Probably too early in my BRAPA career to rank all counties in a similar order, but if you imagine the current Championship league table, Oxfordshire probably represents Luton Town (I nearly said Oxford, but that seemed too obvious). Hull City is the the Kingdom of Fife if you wondered.
It was Daddy BRAPA I felt sorry for. He'd travelled down to join me for the day, kindly volunteering to drive me around some of the not-too-far-flung village inns before our evening match at the Kassam. You could see the sludgy pint of Hooktober as soon as she starts pulling it. I tell Dad to keep an eye on it while I go for a pee! When I return, I'm reassured to find mine ain't too bad, but Dad mutters that his is vinegary. He ain't wrong! Yuck. But she's not having it. "New barrel on today, pulled four pints already, no one has complained yet, you'll probably get used it!" she retorts. She's a cocky individual, boasting loudly to a bunch of chilly posh diners of all she does to make the pub great. Yet there's barely a light on in the gaff, the fire isn't lit, it is freezing cold. "We are open 7 days a week" the blackboard outside says. What they don't tell you is Mon/Tue it closes 3pm and doesn't even open for an evening session. Beckley is a beautiful village - I read how the villagers banded together to save this place, they deserve better. Evelyn Waugh was a regular and Lewis Carroll was inspired by the chessboard patterned neighbouring fields. I'd gone through the looking glass here and it wasn't pretty. We'd ordered a couple of homemade sausage rolls at the same time as our beer. Weirdest spices & herbs ever! Thai green? Whatever, not something you'd associate with an S.R. Dad brightens briefly .... "I tell you what, it is such a weird flavour, it makes my beer more palatable!" It was nice to see his winning smile flicker briefly. And Colin's, he always smiles. Funnily enough, I overheard her boasting about the rolls & pies to an old couple. The word 'vegan' was used. Could ours be surprisingly meat free? That really would've been the tofu cherry on the experience? Rarely have I disliked GBG pub so much in 2024, and I spent a week in Dumfries & Galloway.
For a four tick town, plus a fifth walkable through nice woodland, Wantage was hugely underwhelming for the most part. If ever you needed evidence to suggest 4,500 pubs is too many in the Good Beer Guide, Wantage is your man. I know what you're all thinking 'Nice try Si, you don't get away with it that easily!' The Blue Boar was the worst, boar by name, bore by nature. Utterly soulless. Evening peak pub time in most towns & cities, but only one other bloke came in, and he had an air of Chris Martin from Coldplay. Roaring fires were often my saviour this week in the absence of carpets, bench seating, central heating and beermats. But this fake fire offered zero heat. Guy behind the bar sounds vaguely Spanish, he's utterly astonished when I don't ask for a 'try before you buy' on the VPA. Three bad pints this week, you think it'd be sensible, but I've got my principles! I thought his reaction didn't bode well for the beer quality, but it was a decent drop. They had a 14.5% keg Caterpillar Cake beer on. I wonder how high this pub would've finished in my rankings had I glugged down a pint of that?!
Nag's Head on the Thames, Abingdon
Award for most depressed I felt in a pub all week goes to this mean-spirited grim gastro hell hole. It was like if Brunning & Price merged with Ember Inns, and put a Corporate CEO front of house. Bloik. Staff and punters alike, I've never seen such a purse-lipped miserly unwelcoming bunch of clones. I smiled a lot like I do, to no avail. I despise almost every second I was here. The location is the main draw, situated on its own 'Nag's Head island'. Gimmicky bollocks in my opinion. The beer was called Abingdon Bridge and it cheered me up, though it took five minutes for a staff member to appear behind the bar to serve me. No apology of course. 6pm on a weekday, jeez, and you should see the amount of traffic in Abingdon. Makes Maidstone feel like the Isle of Whithorn. Other bright spot was when, in injury time, a bloke with ZZ Top beard and Gallagher bro swagger waddles in with "hi mate, alright, how's it going". He kept it out of the bottom two. Abingdon, three GBG ticks here, and even makes Wantage look a fun pub town. As we'll see, Witney would kick the shit out of both. I return my glass, smile one last time, 'THANK YOU!', but barman looks at me like I've pissed on his grandma.
Big leap from the bottom three to this one. I actually feel slightly guilty for ranking it so low. After all, it did nothing wrong. It is just incredibly limited. They call it a 'Nanopub'. Bottle shop really, with cask functionality. Indoor market, but when I say 'indoor', hat, scarf and gloves are required. One bench outside, nice to see an old boy already enjoying a pint, and I'd arrived 11:10am, but I'm too cold and wrapped up to strike a conversation. The European accented lady seems pleasant enough, serves me a pale. Two third measures maximum! And if you need the loo, you must use the public ones out in the street. To their credit, there's a 9.99% imperial stout and a 9% 'strong beer' on too. But in my view, this is stretching the outer limits of what should be considered for GBG inclusion. My mate Dave from Exeter says there's a tonne of these places in Riga. Remind me not too move there when I retire.
I love a thatched pub. Always unfairly lifts my expectations. It'd been a surprisingly long yomp from the bus stop in East Hanney, only 20 minutes in reality. Here is the first of many indistinguishable dining pubs which I'll have no recollection of in three months time. Even now, I've had to zoom in on my photos and re-read my TwXtter post to refresh my memory. The reason this ranks the lowest of them was an awkward atmosphere. Three paint-stained overall blokes doing some work just over the road are in here for a pint. There's no real chat between them, or with the two barmaids. A mute pub, a starey one too, old skool American Werewolf in London. In fact, the barmaids appear to have only recently met because when the blokes leave, one quizzes the other on her love life. "Yes, I have a boyfriend, but it is very on / off". "Oh?" "Complicated!" I was as disappointed as her that the conversation petered out there. Gimme some material, c'mon! At this point, they decide to poke the fire and put on some music (probably a dance remix of Jack the Ripper by Link Wray). But it all came too late for me who was down to my dregs. The beer superb, excellent lacings, get it in the GBG '26!
'Ah, a kindred spirit!' I thought, looking up at the inn sign to see a face as wide as mine's got in 2024. Initial impressions were good. Well, good in the sense that I'd just come from the useless neighbouring Nag's Head on the Thames and this place has life, warmth and smiley happy faces! Oakham Green Devil IPA too. Would be rude not to, eh? But my initial euphoria is short lived. The pub is far too bright. The kitchenette tiling and pink & white dried flower plumage is irritating. All those jolly customers quickly disperse. Suddenly I'm drinking in an empty pub, something I said? Colin scare them off? And it soon becomes apparent this isn't good Green Devil. Not take-backable, but too 'green' or something. Imagine getting OGD wrong. Should be automatic GBG disqualification for five years. Oh well, lack lustre Abingdon was Abing-done, and it meant I could get a bus back to Oxford where the pubs would be an improvement as we'll see, probably in parts 3 & 4.
So there we go, I was going to review seven tonight, but we'll leave it at six as it is already gone 21:30.
Join me (I'd like to say Friday) for part two, where we'll really delve into village dining doom.
Thanks for reading, all uphill from here, promise!
Si
コメント