Category: Other stuff
Date: 28 April 2002
I always hated grubby pub grub. I'd rather be sick. I despised ghastly gastropubs, why not just go to a restaurant I reasoned. But the other night, perhaps with my critical objectivity poisoned by poverty and the swill of a quart of beer, I saw some rationale in those dreaded pub blackboards. Instead of sitting rigidly conversational in a restaurant you can be in a noisy lively pub eating! The food was better than I would ever have imagined, my bold decsion to order a steak vindicated handsomely, by a rare rib eye, tender and bloody juciy, and spicily browned on the outside. With decent frenchfries, a reduced piquant sauce from whole tomatoes to mingle with the steak juices, and a not unpleasant salsa, I had no need for ketchup or down, I was practically licking the plate. Good pub food: eight pounds or 13 euros. A dog will eat an onion they say.
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