BITE user comments - DarlesChickens
Comments by DarlesChickens
Excellent beer, and strong variety. An exceptionally good wheat beer from the London Fields Brewery; cask ale Beavertown(?) Jaipur IPA? The staff, I found to be VERY helpful, efficient and not tediously over-familiar.
Decor is dark mixture of brownish-black treacle and equally dull sea-green coloured paints that adds needless decades to a newly renovated pub; a setting that contrasts with those inhabiting it; wealthy 40 year-olds, trying to strip themselves of their decades, wearing expensive glasses, clothing and footwear. The Chequers poor decor appears to be the work of those with whom it is now frequented; the affluent, South-West London artist - from whom all measure of suffering has been kept. Looking to recreate the dilapidation of an old East End public house for other middle-class people of no financial constraint, the Chequers clientele is entirely educated and well-dressed, and presumably secretly thankful for the complete absence of the poor, working-class Walthamstow resident, whose house their parents bought up 12 months earlier. Like the Private Eye cartoon 'It's Grim Up North London' (with only 'north' substituted for 'east') "Oh, eating sea bream whilst watching all the tradesman outside, it's like being back in Marrkech!"
The Chequers' customers' well-to-do and generally superficial presentation of their whole character through their clothing, means that one fears not unprovoked violent attacks from strangers, since those at whom you 'stare' are pleased to have their jumper or haircut looked at continually by the lesser-presented you. Twenty-something boys, frightfully handsome and coy, show off dark beards, whilst their pallid and plain looking girlfriend thumbs dispassionately at a phone.
Now, the real question is whether it is better than the reopened Bell. For beer, the Chequers; for decor, the Bell; for clientele, both are good; for food, I hear the Chequers. I'd strongly recommend both. 9/10.
31 May 2013 23:18
An excellent pub; the Timothy Taylor is very moorish.
Friendly staff, comfortable, and cosy setting, down a residential road leading to High Beech.
One does get a bit of attention from the extremely wealthy, former-criminal-turned-property-developer regulars who enter with wideboy son, BNP voting friend, and attractive, reluctantly-ageing wife, but the attention is not hostile, more curious.They all stand in a space 'tween door and bar making it difficult for customers to enter or exit.
For such a picturesque, leafy part of rural London/Essex, Loughton does have a slightly uncomfortable feel to it. The odd gang of teens whom believe themselves to be extras from 'The Football Factory', clad in designer tracksuits and oiled side-partings, walk the street standing at an imposing 6"0+, and all born of stick-thin, perma-tan mothers (whose obsessive gym-routine has given them a dishonest appearance of youth akin to their son's demographic); unnecessary, customised 4x4s selfishly parked on the pavements by attention seeking, Heat-magazine-reading men, before they're driven 50m back to the house and parked on 100ft driveways clad by the owner's tax-evading company; there is a ubiquitous vanity that is worn on the faces of all those that spend their day not engaged in: cultural, emotionally or morally stimulating work, but instead vacuous beauty treatments, such as having fish eat dead skin off their toes...
The Victoria does feel like an oasis in this nouveau riche town, aspiring towards greater, and greater levels of celebrity culture and materialism. Certainly the best pub I've visite don the Lodnon Essex borders.
9/10.
20 Feb 2011 18:12
The Duke of Wellington, Bourton on the Water
Good pub. Picturesque setting. But there is truth abundant in emsy_babes1234 words...
Though I know emsy not, poor thing, I know that only the most mistreated of young worker would make such a public declaration of their mistreatment. And I will spread your message, for I believe that any publican that can treat his workers and patrons, so cruelly, is not deserving of help, nor custom.
I drank tea in this pub, but as I drank the tea by the weir, I did ponder upon composing a story; a story about a parochial purveyor of alcohol, who scares away all tourists...
A publican from Bourton on the Water, who one evening falls into his fast-flowing weir, and cries out for help. And his poorly-treated staff and rudely-served customers come to his aid. They wag their fingers: "Oh your screams are muffled by the icy waters, but your heart is colder yet! If we save you, you must change, you must help the starving!" And in his vulnerability, his anger disappeared, he cries out "Anything! Just save me!"
Then when he is rescued, he keeps his word: sells his pub, moves to Niger, and helps the masses. One day, realising that he is living a fulfilled, loving existence, he remebers his past. A past lived in such contempt for mankind; a past running a public house in Bourton on the Water, and he feels shame.
22 Mar 2010 19:21
The Rochester Castle, Stoke Newington
Church Street. Sweeping gentrification in the last few years, has passed the Castle by. Multiple blonde graduates, whose working day amounts to contacting thousands of unseen third-parties via handheld telecommunication devices that spread information, like bubosis, via social networking sites.
But these blondes wisely fear to tread the Castle walls, for despite lack of social awareness, even they know, that women customers are punched in the face.
Punched in the face by brutal men, whose working day is equally as empty as the privilaged graduates on Church Street (but lo! these mens' lack of employment is due to a firm lack of qualification and civility); punched int he face for being the 'fairer sex', for being physically weaker yet emotionally stronger, punched for challenging their drunken male companion's paranoid accusations of infidelity.
The beer is good, but what is good beer if the taste in one's mouth is sour? How could any gentleman taste the beer when their palate is covered in waves of disgust, as they witness another woman get assaulted?
For the previous comments are most true! And I beg all women (even these blondes, whose relevance to humanity is minute) to avoid this public house, and go to one of the establishments on Church Street.
There you'll find gentlemen. Young gentlemen who know how to treat a lady; handsome, witty, charming young men. Handsome young men, who will charm you and then when their attention drifts... will contact thousands of unseen third-parties via handheld telecommunication devices, spreading information about their lives (like bubosis) via social networking sites.
22 Mar 2010 18:25
Ah and so I came to be at this den again last week,
A hovel thats walls are stained with more misery than the slums of Calcutta, a
building more ravaged with madness than High Beech's asylum, a castle
whose king has called for a shepherd boy to play soothing song, only for
the king to eject the poor herdsman for 'causing trouble' as he walked
to the castle walls...
The Barmy Arms' pet dog, the River Thames, gently licks its
master's ruddy face, watching his owner's snarling jaws and alcoholic
fury rise up at its loyal pet; still stand on the shores of the Thames
at Twickenham.
And like the slums of Canning, the Barmy Arms remains a riverside
dwelling that sailors pass, with trepidation similar to the fear they
first feel in the swells of Cape Horn. And the sailors who watch, watch
the public house's swollen corpse belch out the fetid; the denarian
workers, the semi-retired quadragenarians , the quinquagenarian
millionaires; all adorned with distended, sanguine noses and thick
unfastened cheeks that radiate contempt for the less articulate and
those with upbringings less fortunate than their own.
And 'pon my last visit I found that the landlord doth still exist (although less so), and so too do his friends like Frodos_Mum, and his male grouping of weary years; lost hope that still drink and stare, and stare and
drink - and they still do not welcome you or any other 'Pond Life', like cyclists, shoppers and troublesome, law-abiding couples who should unwittingly try to enter its doors. I beg all denisens of the local area to avoid this establishment and try the Eel Pie, or the Fox...
22 Mar 2010 10:30
The Jerusalem Tavern, Clerkenwell
Disinguished little pub offering a sophisticated range of St. Peter's ales; all of which, bar the Honey Porter are excellent. In my opinion, the beer is an undobuted 10/10.
A short walk from Farringdon, this pub is delightful and a good way to spend a Monday night. The mannerless staff, with their uninhabited expressions, expect prompt orders from the confused newcomer. Questions such as "Which of the beers would you recommend?" and "You look rather upset, has something terrible happened?" are met with equal disinterest. If you be a newcomer then order one pint of each ale when you arrive, which will save yourself any more contact with the barmen.
The clientele is good but there is one type of dangerous drinker: the 'Honey Porter Eulogiser'. These few fall into two categories:
1) The Embarrassed - Those like myself, who say that they like their Honey Porter because they are deeply mortified that they have just spent money upon an undrinkable drink.
2) The Pretentious - Those who like the idea of liking the Honey Porter but do not like the Honey Porter. These individuals have a lot of friends on Facebook, they dress very agreeably and they also work in the Media. The Pretentious recognise a window of opportunity that the repulsive Honey Porter flavour offers; a window through which rolls wide meadows of respect from those in their extended social network. The consumption and appreciation of a beer that does not taste of beer. The Prentious recommend it to their impressionable friends, safe in the knowledge that this recommendation will be remembered by all for its unorthodoxy.
28 May 2009 16:58
The Horse and Well, Woodford Wells
Yet again I found myself inside the four walls of hell, lying in the squalid rookery of Woodford Wells. Generously remunerated working men climbed the walls with their tales of basic wit, pawing at the pumps like unrestrained hounds.
And like the captives of Plato's cave they gawped hopelessly at images of men kicking a football, thrust upon one of the walls. And they filled this hellhole to the brim, striding back and forth to the toilets in agitation, like animals addicted to a working-class ethic. For these men they did drink the establishment's lager and then imbibed, told many a dull story, interspersed richly with irrelevant laughter.
21 May 2009 19:53
The Horse and Well, Woodford Wells
To further my previous comments I visited his pub for the Champions League semi-final 1st between Manchester United and Arsenal. The patrons were made up largely of Woodford Green's most stereotypical males; men whose attendence is not only to watch football but also to impose their loud, working-class intonation upon other drinkers.
The service was terrible but this was not the fault of the over-stretched staff of two, rather it was the fault of the deliberately obstinate customers, who felt the need to provocatively obstruct the bar, whilst holding a wholly predicatble discussion about how much money they make.
The atmosphere was more a kin to Chingford's 'Greens Gynasium' where handsome, well-toned insecure young men stand around eyeing up other angry young men both admiring and envying their identical haircut. If the Horse and Wells were to intorduce a set of weight machines, fenced in by a wall of mirrors then the clientele would not change but they would arrive with even tighter t-shirts.
4 May 2009 23:19
Lovely pub with ample room. Not particularly engaging choice of beer, only Abbots was on. Pleasant atmosphere with mostly couples drinking away a bank holiday Monday.
But beware, there lurks a barman-cum-manager most weighty in demeanour. Fore this unprofessional South-Londoner attends his employment merely for the pleasure of consuming his employer's food and reading their tabloid papers. The thoroughly unnecessary contempt he displayed towards my order of drinks led me to conclude that either he was unhappy with his job, or that his parents had done such a poor job with his upbringing that he did not know how to greet customers with an appropriate civility.
Suffice to say I shall not return to his establishment. Fore his mould are adept only at displaying a welcoming attitude towards attractive females of an impressionable character. I hope that his forthcoming weeks are met with similar discomfort from the reasonable requests his cultured customers make, and that he rethinks his career; opting to return to his previous joyless position as a nightclub doorman.
4 May 2009 22:46
Dear comrade BITE,
One of our fellow reviewers, going by the name of 'NicktheBMW' or 'DaveCourtneyfan1' or 'BeardAleLad' complained about my last comment and had it removed. On reflection I realised that my words may have offended someone. They appeared to be provocative and unnecessary; chosen to cause offence to the landlord and his well run business. Hopefully they did.
I wanted to point out to you all that this is a fantastic pub in a fantastic part of London (That is the review for any of you too thick to have extracted it from the previous one of mine that you deleted). But I also wanted to echo the comments of countless other reviewers when I said that the landlord's own paranoid and strange behaviour may be the result of his constant drunkeness. Illogical expulsions of law-abiding drinkers may be caused by the imaginary problems he creates from his alochol sodden mind.
And I hope that the person who had my previous comment deleted, yes that's right: you... I hope that that person is filled with an immense sense of grandeur at their heroism. May I suggest that that human being treat themselves to a drink of alcohol to reward their quick thinking?
I know a terrific little pub in Twickenham by the river. One that falls onto the rolling waterway, watching peacefully over Eel Pie Ait. They can go there with their beautiful wife; the wife who finds everything they say witty and everything they earn equally attractive, go there and order a drink of alcohol. And as they recline in the orange light, watching the evening leave they can look up and see a kind barman. A shortish nervous barman of two-month employment, one who shall ask them to finish their drinks and leave. Many a patron will stare in adopted-embarrassment, every drinker will observe with pity in their eyes.
And as that person, the one who deleted my comment, walks home searching hopelessly for the reason as to why they were ejected they may think,
They may think back to my post that they deleted. Think about their heroism and how the feeling of pride has now been replaced with a feeling of humiliation at the publicness of their treatment.
And I hope that the person who deleted my post, the same one who themselves has fallen victim to the landlord of the Barmy Arms will continue to reflect. I hope they log on to BITE and post a critical comment about this pub. And as the feeling of catharsis descends over their beareded face they will watch as another reviewer reports their comment for deletion.
30 Apr 2009 17:28
The Horse and Well, Woodford Wells
Essentially two breeds of drinker. The aforementioned 'Builder' and the barely legal 'Sixthformer with girlfriend'. Both groups are harmless enough, adding a certain expected Essex character to this pub. I went here to watch a game of football and was impressed by the cheap and tasty menu. Didn't drink anything so wouldnt be able to pass a comment on the beer.
Do not be put off by the scary looking men sat outside, they are merely tradesmen absconding from their employment in a self-imposed 'lunch hour' which lasts the whole afternoon. And yes, the transit with a barking fighting-dog in it does belong to one of them.
29 Apr 2009 13:01
The Travellers Friend, Woodford Green
The beer is good but the frowns worn by the locals, whose gender is oft indistinguishable from their partners, is not that welcoming. Having said that if you wisely select the time of day, you may be lucky enough to be greeted by those same regulars, who in a state of drunkeness will warmly encourage you to play dice games with them.
I target this specifically at the suspiciously defensive 'theploughinn', who one may assume was the joyless wench serving the flat lemonade.
29 Apr 2009 12:44
Back to DarlesChickens's profile
The Travellers Friend, Woodford Green
Reopened after refurb. Lovely paint job on the wall outside. Welcoming, friendly, spacious. Despite new clientele of the unread in convertible Bentleys and withered tan, TOWIE women in face-sized sunglasses and rehearsed bleached-teeth-smile, and waddling tattoo-ees 'drinking what looks expensive rather than tasty', the 'Spivs' is 10 times better than under OLD management, who. are. reading. this. very. sentence. Congratulations to new owners. 10 out of 10.
29 Jun 2017 19:21