This is not the Xmas issue...

Though not for PC reasons . Rather it is to celebrate an older tradition, the Midwinter festival. At this dark time of year folk living in northern Europe, and probably anywhere else far from the equator, have for millennia needed a knees-up to help them through the winter. The pagans were doing it long before anyone else, and I’ve a soft spot for them, we hedonists should stick together.

In this spirit I’m looking to recommend the best bars and other drinking holes for this time of year. This can mean the cosiest, the warmest, the most comfortable, or just those that have an appropriate atmosphere for when it’s cold, wet, icy and generally vicious outside. It’s obvious to think of country pubs and wayside inns in this way but city hostelries also have charm this time of year.

Glasgow

In either town or country big windows are out. Sorry all you modern pub designers following this trend. Big windows are for summer. For letting in light. In winter they are largely useless. Condensation makes them even worse. For example, Uisge Beatha although never a huge favourite of mine, had a winter refuge feel with tiny windows, fireplaces, old paintings and stag heads. Now it’s The Dram, a tasteful refurb with little character and floor to ceiling windows.

There are plenty of good alternatives in the Woodlands Road area that do deliver in the winter. The Caernarvon on St. Georges Road with its two rare snugs is a esteemed traditional howff, whereas newcomer The Drake in a corner basement nearby is a modern hybrid with food as important as drink. It has the feel of a large front room though, complete with fireplace.

Further west, The Belle (previously The Western) on Great Western Road is a new-fashioned local, which is small and warm and stocks a varied beer selection. It’s a casual joint, in contrast to Oran Mor’s Wine/Cocktail Bar just up the road. A fairly recent addition to the mega-venue’s repertoire it packs a better atmosphere than the jaded main bar, mainly due to its small size, curved bar and creative winter cocktails.

Down in Partick, the Liosmore (one of Colin Beattie’s earlier works) continues to show the newer Highland-derived bars in Glasgow the way. Traditional materials shaped into a contemporary, non-faddy interior. And a good mix of old and new Partick. Christmas (there, I said it) is a good time to re-acquaint oneself with old faces and old stories.

The Victoria, a few hundred yards along Dumbarton Road, may seem an odd choice. But its small, smart front bar and interior colouring just somehow fit with the sights, smells and tone of this time of year.

In town itself, the Renfield Bar is the ‘genuine’ article re. the Highland look. I’ve stayed in a few bothies in my time and this place replicates them as closely as is possible in a city centre. But perhaps it is just too couthy (and dusty) for most punters even though, or perhaps because, it is well appointed with fireplaces.

The Tolbooth at Glasgow Cross has one of the best-preserved Edwardian gantries in the city, and at the right time and the right night you may get a glimpse of how Glasgow used to drink and be merry. Once again, for some reason of conviviality, a corner site somehow fits with the theme I’m endeavouring to explore.

The Old Smiddy in deepest Cathcart, has more obvious claims to be included. Looking for all the world like a coaching inn, if you ignore the cluster of housing adjacent, it could (at a stretch) be straight off a Christmas card, if you add snow, a full-to-bursting horse-drawn coach and period costume. Inside, the timbered ceiling and window seats are good but the rest of the design is a little disappointing.

Up North

The Moulin Inn in Perthshire actually is, or rather was, a real old coaching inn. Claiming origin of 1695 it is at the heart of the village of Moulin just beside Pitlochry. It has many great features, see my earlier blog post, and worthy of visit for food, drink and fireplace.

Remaining out of town and city, I also recommend the Cluanie Inn. At least fifteen miles from any population it proclaims the virtue of isolation. A comfortable wee bar on two levels has provided walkers, motorists, cyclists, and all-round adventurers with sustenance and cheer for many years. And it sits at the side of the best long road in Scotland.

Edinburgh

Moving to the Capital (one day I might if I get desperate) I will ignore The Royal Mile and environs. Principally because almost all the pubs round there are good in winter. It’s the history you see. But I will mention the Bow Bar. Mainly because it is on Victoria Street, the curved street with a number of little shops straight out of Dickens (think of The Old Curiosity Shop). And Dickens means Xmas, surely?

No, the New Town is where I’ll look. The Star Bar is a hard to find tiny wee place with a compact beer garden. Outdoor areas might seem redundant this season, but still worth a mention. Kay’s is, like The Star Bar, situated by a mews, but it is a more sophisticated bar, specialising in speciality(!) drinks particularly real ale. Another tiny space, warmth is guaranteed. The barrels bear testament to its previous incarnation as a wine importing premises. If I hadn’t picked these two I could have picked any number of other little boltholes in this part of Edinburgh.

Over the other side of the mountain sits Duddingston’s finest, The Sheep Heid Inn. The capital’s oldest hostelry will get a blog post all of its own some time soon, but suffice to say it has a special atmosphere, only enhanced by snowy weather.

Down in Leith, Carrier’s Quarters qualifies because of its quirky shape, snug and back room. And along to the west on Commercial Street past the Michelin-starred eateries, Bond No.9 is one of the places I would teleport myself to if I needed a festive drink right that minute.

But it doesn’t really fit with the understated and traditional nature of most of the bars above, so it may appear in my next blog, which will feature a bit more glitz and celebration in the run up to Hogmanay. That is, time and BT permitting…

Jackson's Drinkmonger

Jackson's Drinkmonger/Dog House, 95-101 Cambridge Street, Glasgow G3 6RU


I like provocative names: Chesty Morgan, Dita von Teese, Gloria Globes...oops, sorry, wrong blog...

But I am thinking about names that irritate the powers that be, or the people that tut-tut at anything they don’t deem healthy. “Drinkmonger” sounds just like the kind of badge those folk would stick on to publicans, in a similar way to how they would apply other labels of notoriety like “drug peddler!” or “womaniser!” or even “loan shark!”

It takes what the Americans call big ‘cajones’ to name your new place this, either that or blissful ignorance. Whether Walter Smith and his business partner, Paul Burns, in Pub Enterprises Co. possess the former is unknown, but I’m reminded that Mr Smith never did like bad publicity in his more famous occupation as manager of Glasgow Rangers FC.

Its other name is Jackson’s Doghouse, a reminder of an old pub that used to sit on Dundas Street and reputed for its stylish interior including mock dungeon!

Jackson’s used to be Mackintosh’s. A wee place I liked, as you can tell from the tone of my blog from last year. A mock-Tudor curio really but healthy for it, and a good spot of welcome for local imbibers, many of them regulars for countless years.

The main difference from before is the visibility factor. Mackintosh’s had small, stained-glass windows, whereas Jackson’s has huge ones, windows that is (see above).

This is the vogue right now. Transparency. Apparently. People are no longer ashamed of being seen in a pub, as they are reputed to have been in the past. But the allure and the mystery are lost with these huge panes. The place is disrobed before one even enters its chamber.

The interior also follows present mores with a quasi-industrial look, metal ceiling struts that have no function, exposed bits here and there, a look I’ve seen everywhere recently, from Epicures in Hyndland to Brewdog. But they have exposed back far enough to uncover the original ceiling (thanks Borrachneilda for first noticing this), the ceilings in Mackintosh’s presumably having been false.

Another wee thread is the juxtaposition of the old and the new. So the stained-glass partitions remain and a Benny Lynch tribute-night poster and the grey pillars (although they are probably a structural necessity). Beside all that are the new couchettes and stools, and chic transparent chairs. Flock wallpaper and fish tank (a la Variety Bar, Berkeley Suite) also.

And the clientele mix reflects this too. Faces from before are here and there, alongside newcomers. Couples in attracted by the food, mostly served in the left half of the place, a phenomenon not really seen in here before, neither the menu boards on the pavement.

Attracting probably two different types of punters side by side. Just as the two TV screens were showing the football alongside Sky News one of the occasions I popped in on a Saturday afternoon. Two different types of visitors catered for at once. And again with the line-up of traditional brand optic spirits behind, just as traditional, long counters, while a suspended blackboard lists wine recommendations.

One slightly strange thing that seems outwith planned themes or conscious selling points are the toilets. These have a false ceiling and are tiny. Everything, urinals, basins, dryers even, scaled down. And the cubicle, in the Gents at least, is long and thin. So long that it reminded me slightly of the cubicles in the Dragon I uber-style bar in Hong Kong, minus the mirrors, personal washbasins, fancy lighting and sparkly tiling.

Returning from the conveniences, as we all must eventually, I felt that Jackson’s hasn’t yet established its own style. Everything is a little too planned, demographically and in fashion terms. And it has no real controversy either, nothing to get passionate about either way. Maybe the only thing that is risky or edgy in here is the name. And that’s not enough.

The Parkhead Shuffle

O'Kanes, 174 Westmuir Street, Parkhead, Glasgow G31 5BS 0141 550 3154
The Prince Charlie, 89 Westmuir Street, Parkhead, Glasgow G31 5EU 0141 554 0420
The Old Black Bull, 1318 Gallowgate, Glasgow, G31 4DR 0141 551 0400

I was halfway through my journey. From one train station, Shettleston, to another. The trip had had its interest already, some new places surveyed, and some old re-visited. They had been on and around Shettleston Road, now I was on Westmuir Street approaching Parkhead Cross. It was late afternoon and the light was going. A decent half-mile walk had got me here and now it was time for my next stop.

O’Kane’s

O’Kane’s the name of the pub. Punter power got this pub returned to its original title after a name-change to the Two Bells. A plain exterior and the first pub I’ve entered through a front fire-door, the actual main door seemingly out of use.

As in most East End bars there’s not a huge range of trendy drinks like craft beers, obscure malts or exotic spirits but there tends to be a good selection of draught beers, lager to heavy to special to light and with a Sassenach like John Smith’s thrown in.

I went for a half of 60 shillings or light. Lighter in colour and strength and very smooth and drinkable. A drink hard to get in the city centre. The half got a raised eyebrow from the lady host and I almost took out my medical diagnosis to explain my wimpery. But what was the point? I just admired the extra shiny beer pumps instead. Quite remarkable they were, “like fucking mirrors,” as Billy Batts from Goodfellas said before he got stamped to a pulp.

The interior in O’Kane’s is a square room roughly sectioned, with a few tables mostly against walls. Over to my left as I stood at the bar were tables near to a wall. Seven or eight folk sat at them. They looked like an extended family, because there wasn’t much chat but they were comfortable and content with each other.

What was strange though was the way they all sat with their backs to the wall, all of them in a row together, not facing each other, but all facing out towards the rest of the room, the bar and me. I retired to the toilets and here I discovered a business opportunity. Supplying U-bends to Glasgow pubs. This was the third pub today with a leaking U-bend, the dirty drips ending up in a old bucket underneath. Not very nice, but where there’s muck there’s brass…

The Prince Charlie

I left the happy family to it and crossed the road to the next beckoning lights. The Prince Charlie. Significantly with no Bonnie. A wider frontage to this one with a deep lounge-bar half to it that was deserted as lounges often are. The other half was reasonably busy for the time of day, demographics mostly in the 54-63 grouping (honestly, I’m not looking to get in to marketing).

Another long counter here, on the left as you look from the door. Long, because I reckon in a traditional bar like this and most of the rest in the east end, quick customer service is the priority over any ideas of style or maximising floor space. The longer the counter the quicker the service, as long as your staffing is adequate.

At this time of day, 5ish on a weekday, speed of service isn’t an issue, the drink in my hand within 30 seconds. Vivid green seating grabs one’s attention in here, a sheen off the leather. This mainly because of the harsh strip lighting that’s been a common denominator in pubs all day. Pub operators should know by now that bright lights and imbibing don’t go together. A far cry from around 100 years ago when bar designers actively factored in the effect of lighting on their interior and elegant fittings.

This wasn’t going to be a long stop. A welcoming enough place but things were happening elsewhere, I was sure.

Parkhead Cross

Out on the street again, walking up towards Parkhead Cross. I paused, thinking about turning left onto Tollcross Road, an area with a couple of unvisited joints. Instead, though, I kept going west. Parkhead Cross like many old meetings of the way in the East End has seen better days, the tenements frayed a little and shops mainly consisting of take-aways, beauty salons, solicitors, bookies etc The pubs, so far, the handful there are, are also well past their heydays.

Round onto Gallowgate I peeked into the Anchor (very quiet) & The Five Ways ( a reference to the amount of roads that meet here), whose claim to fame is that John Gorevan, Glasgow’s pub historian, describes it as “still the clattiest pub in Parkhead”. Quite an accolade.

The Old Black Bull

I crossed to the other side of Gallowgate and entered the famous Old Black Bull. A pub of this name has been here since 1760, but despite this it does not qualify as Glasgow’s oldest because the original was demolished.

Most pubs, no matter how ‘traditional’ will have had refurbs of sorts at some point in the last 30-40 years but in here, even though this is the ‘new’ Old Black Bull, I don’t think so. The red beams seem to have been here from the start, and the layout is completely unaffected by any recent trends, just a long counter on one side of the room.

Quite a few locals were in, including an older chap with three Asda bags clinking together unmistakeably. Probably getting in a draught drink before the real session later with the contents of his bags.

Off to my left, sitting at a table, a younger guy, rather dishevelled, was holding this big blue board. It looked like a wibbly, bendy thing you could play tunes with a la Rolf Harris. But to make sure, I whispered a question to a guy on my right, asking what the board was. “A dominoes’ board” was the answer. This showed up my lack of knowledge on pub games, a gap certainly. My guess, apart from the musical one, might have been shuffle, sorry, shove ha’penny.

A few minutes later and I was down to the dregs on another of my half pints. I Needed to check out the toilets, for the U Bend survey, and a review isn’t complete without this aspect.

Walking past the cubicle I nudged its door, I have to check out every inch you see. It gave a little, obviously unoccupied.

I did my business at the trough, washed my hands, observing an intact U Bend and moved back towards the toilet exit. This time I pushed open the cubicle door fully, to check on the plumbing and cleanliness.

There was the guy, the board fellow. Trousers at ankles. With maybe another kind of shuffling going on. He didn’t seem to register my presence, me probably getting more of a shock than him.

I was out of there like a flash, mortified. Because I hadn’t even apologised to the guy. No stopping either for the last of my drink, out the door and into the night. I had more work to do, you see. Bridgeton Cross was next. The walk ahead a long dark mile. I would spend the time thinking of a business plan and a name. How does BBUB Plumbing Services sound?

The Finnieston

The Finnieston, 1125 Argyle Street, Glasgow G3 8ND

Gentrification.

A journalist acquaintance of mine first used that word in the Finnieston context about 15 years ago. He said it was one of the only areas in the West End that hadn’t yet succumbed to the G word. Has it now, eventually, with Crabshak, Brass Monkey et al?

Pondering that question I entered the newest arrival, The Finnieston (why hasn’t someone though of that name before?), and almost tripped on the down steps- a dangerous thing for someone in my condition. I stumbled because, unusually, it is set a couple of feet below the level of the street, Argyle St, facing Kelvingrove St, in the incongruous cottage that used to house a café. I believe the owners of this new venture are the folk behind another of the (relatively) new wave round here Lebowskis.

Quite enjoyable this lowered perspective, feels more cosy. And the low ceiling, at least in the front part of the establishment, enhances this feeling. This wooden ceiling is how one could imagine a galleon’s to have been, and the nautical theme is writ large in here. An anchor etching on the window by the door and images of the seashore and landed catch on the wall in the back area complete this.

The white walls and higher ceiling there create quite a different atmosphere from the bar area. This is a strictly foodie zone, which although clean and fresh lacks the welcoming nature of the front.

Out the back there is an attractive smoking/al fresco eating area with smart white furniture and a Moet Chandon umbrella but so far I haven’t been out. Twice because it was just too cold, and the last time because the bar staff informed me it was too messy for patrons to use. Strange. Unless there had been a mad party the night before, a lame excuse.

That disappointment aside, most of the fittings feel right, with a few unexpected bonuses. Stained-glass insert partitions – normally only seen in traditional booze palaces – for one, and pew seating around two of the tables, for another. The rest of the seating is bluey turquoise within booths, the accompanying wooden tables are very well varnished and black wall tiles are equally well-sheened.

As I said, everything fits. Apart from the books on a shelve. What’s the problem with that, goes with a ship’s cabin feel doesn’t it? Not if they are Readers Digest condensed books they don’t.

Clientele-wise, as is the nature of this corner of the West End, there’s a fair mix of ages, something The Muse appreciated. Maybe my lectures on the benefits of eclecticism are getting through.

At the bar itself they have a decent wee range of beers, early teething problems with pouring nozzles seem to have been overcome. First time I tried to order the Samuel Smith’s stout but they couldn’t supply it so had to go for a West Red instead. Now the stout is up and pouring, there’s the West Brewery offerings and some Blue Moon, as well as various session ales. And their Finnieston Lager which a barman informed me is brewed in Germany, maybe he meant the aforementioned West, with its German connection.

They concentrate, though, on spirits, quite expensive ones, and cocktails. As to be expected in this a seafood joint, have I mentioned this already? I’ve had the soup. Enjoyable. (That shouldn’t go beyond my brief as a pub reviewer). Along with the soap (of the day) I had water in a jug with brandy glass. Nice touch. As are the test-tube-thin ½ pint glasses. As are the head-high till screens.

But returning to the food (am I allowed?), it creates a problem in here. For the drinkers, that is. Their space gets squeezed. I’ve noticed it on a Saturday evening, the only real standing area is by the bar, and stools are a premium. You could sit at a table but the feeling is that these are sequestered for the eaters.

This feeling is confirmed by a Yelp entry I saw recently. I don’t normally pay any attention to these pseudo reviews partly because most of them are rubbish and partly because I know how Yelp works, removing unfavourable comments once a pub or restaurant pays advertising. But this one was worth noting. A group enjoying drinks for a number of hours at table were moved on from their seats because diners had arrived. No reservations had been made and no proper explanation was given by management. Result: justifiably disgruntled drinkers. Profit was obviously the motive but goodwill and reputation have suffered.

I suppose the perpetual jazz and the numerous wine buckets had given the game away already, the money to be made from fine food and wine is the priority. Not unusual, but what matters is how this affects all the other patrons.

Still, The Finnieston does have a drawing power just because of its cosy appearance. On a recent visit of mine, two ordinary passers-by stopped and peered in, and one said: “Looks like a good wee pub”. The other nodded. They moved on but will surely return.

If that’s not recommendation enough I’ll leave the last word to the ‘hardest man in Finnieston’ aka (after my departure) ‘the new man about Kelvingrove’ aka @sundancemckid, who summed up the place’s attraction with the tweet: smart enough to feel fancy, but still relaxed enough…

That’s good enough for me.

A Dry Spell

In no time I was wondering about licensing issues downstairs in the foyer. Other independent businesses were operating freely in the public space frequented by hundreds of passing customers every hour from early morning till late evening. But if the concession were up for grabs who would have the nerve to bid for iti

The drugs must have been more powerful than I realised. Making me operate in some sort of parallel world where the authorities would even countenance the existence of a bar in a hospital.

Because that’s where I was. In Gartnavel General. Good view though. Out the back, looking over the grounds surrounding the old Gartnavel Royal. Panning left to the virtually dry Broomhill I knew I be unable to spot any bars through the thicket of respectable tenements, so I looked further, to the Clyde and beyond.

Partick and Thornwood sit too low for sight even from the sixth floor of the hospital but over the river I thought I glimpsed Govan landmarks. In and around are the unreconstructed pubs of the old parish and neighbouring Linthouse, places worth an afternoon’s sojourn and longer if you’re feeling optimistic and/or bullet-proof.

Further south becomes indistinguishable, Pollok running into Barrhead seamlessly. Neither are particularly blessed with attractive licensed premises but probably better off than peripheral estates like Castlemilk, Easterhouse and Drumchapel.

Paisley, sheltering beneath Gleniffer Braes, is well provided, and is home of the Bull Inn, an Art Nouveau delight, complete with original back snugs. However, I think Renfrew actually offers a better concentrated drinking experience, the main drag of Hairst and Canal Streets down to the river holding a handful of interesting wee dens, including the enviably placed Ferry Inn. Even the large Glynhill Hotel up near the M8 is a decent option.

That was all I could see south of the Clyde, and the trees and the already crumbling Gartnavel Royal itself obscured any view due west bar the distant hills. But Anniesland, or its college and high flats at least, were there for my eyes. In between those two landmarks lies The Esquire House. Once a house of midnight mayhem as well as housing a Family Department, better known as an Off Sales.

I can remember watching from a friend’s second floor tenement window as the fun spilt out into the car park and the main road, and seeing the action up close inside the pub as a martial arts expert showed his expertise.

Chain operators sanitise pubs, and the biggest operator of them all, Wetherspoons, has done so to The Esquire. In flights of romance, though, I imagine that at least some of the former patrons are still active and are enjoying themselves elsewhere, in places like the nearby innuendo-laden BJ’s Bar and opportunistic mini-club upstairs.

The hospital building prevented me scanning any further to the right and it had begun to rain anyway, so I retreated to my bed. Present condition and a gloomy medium-term prognosis mean bars and their contents will be kept from my lips for a wee while, but they will never be far from my thoughts.