The Eagle in Farringdon used to be next door to the old Guardian offices. I remember eating there back in the early 1990s, when it was offering something of a new approach to dining. A Portuguese-influenced menu was scrawled on a blackboard, and it was exciting and fresh. Placing your order was always a bit of a pain – you had to jostle your way to the front of the always crowded bar, then struggle to make your order heard over the noise endemic to pubs with no soft furnishings – and the many people intent on prioritising drinking over eating. But The Eagle became an institution and (although I’m not sure this is the case) it is reputed to have been the UK’s very first gastropub.
Nowadays, there are of course gastropub awards and even Michelin stars bestowed upon the likes of The Sportsman in Kent: a place with excellent, inventive food, and the atmosphere and décor of a caravan site.
As a rule, I am not a fan of pubs. But if I have the misfortune of finding myself in the English countryside (the type of godawful place where what pass as restaurants are closed by 8 p.m.) and in the absence of any phone signal to look up where else might be open nearby, then a nice, old-fashioned pub with a friendly landlady and the ubiquitous fish and chips on the menu will do the job. I do get why foreign tourists will fawn over a 16th-century country pub with a roaring fire.
But words like ‘beer-battered line-caught cod, twice-cooked chips, and crushed minted peas’ (fish and chips, in old money) are all it takes to lay claim to gastropub status. Well, that, and the fact that the only bread on offer is the dreaded sourdough. The difference between a local pub serving decent, home-cooked grub and its gastro counterpart is snobbery, achieved by the liberal application of ‘sustainably sourced’ ‘local’, and ‘heritage’ to ingredients. And bizarrely, the (many-times-fried) chips are often served in miniature chip pan baskets.
A restaurant should have table service, preferably tablecloths, and an atmosphere that is convivial, without being so noisy that you can’t hear a word your dining companion is saying. Much of the time, people are out to eat as a way of spending time with friends and catching up – not just to fill their faces and scarper – that’s what the greasy spoon is for. Paying to order food at the bar is a bit like going to Nando’s: perfectly fine if that’s what you fancy – but not a restaurant.
I’m not saying it isn’t a good idea to serve food in pubs – it has probably prevented a few trips to A&E for those who would otherwise sit and drink all day on an empty stomach. But a cheese sandwich or a Scotch egg is as far as it needs to go.
Posh dining in a pub setting just does not work
Entering a gastropub invariably means hovering around the bar until there’s a pause in the pint-pulling and someone leads you through the throng to a table. Then there’s the ordering: back to the bar, always behind the bloke ordering five pints of Guinness.
People who say they like gastropubs because of the informal atmosphere and leisurely dining experience are clearly going to the wrong restaurants. If you want to read your paper and eat a sandwich in a pub, fine – but restaurants should always focus on the food and offer conditions conducive to conversation. Formal meals are awful: the best restaurants help you relax as soon as you are through the door.
The cost of a gastropub meal often exceeds that of a decent restaurant but the fact is that posh dining in a pub setting just does not work. To attract tourists, pub-lovers and people who consider themselves ‘foodies’, the menus are almost always kept ‘safe’. This being so, blokes with sleeve tattoos and beard oil end up serving oysters, some kind of terrine, twice-baked cheese soufflé, rosewater panna cotta, pies or lamb shanks.
M&S has a gastropub range. It’s a cheap way to eat the same food and avoid the disappointment. Or just go to a restaurant.
Comments