Griffin, Danbury

Oh dear, very depressing. Pub carnage. It was a fine pub a year ago. After a change of hands in the summer, according to the staff, no longer. Even the pineapple juice was off - amply demonstrated by the barmaid who ran around the bar after taking a sip of the suspiciously cloudy liquid to spit it out. And then the curse of the carvery: Yorkshire puds were heavy balls of uncooked dough; parboiled potatoes with a coloured tinge masqueraded as roasts and everything else was cold. Then the young manager tried to defend the indefensible. It was our fault for going for a second plate, he said. As if; half a plate was quite enough. Still, the tablecloths were white. One mark for the laundry. Dreadful.

19 Oct 2009 16:03