Munro's

Munro's, 185 Great Western Road, Glasgow G4 9EB

When I heard Brewdog had teamed up with Urban Outfitters to open a pop-up bar in one of the latter’s shops it kinda figured. Because they are very similar brands. Both claim to be edgy but, in fact, they just service the egos of the complacent middle classes.

In many ways the selling of craft beer has come to resemble that of clothes. Shops such as UO TELL their customers how trendy the product is before selling it to them at inflated prices. The purveying environment is faux utilitarian/industrial and the product itself is often more worthy than worthwhile, functional rather than fun.

Munro’s is a recent example of the way premium beer selling has gone wrong by borrowing from the high street while neglecting age-old rules of hospitality and entertainment.

It used to be The Captain’s Rest and I didn’t like it, despite/because of the rumours of what went on its corners after hours. A dark, disheveled almost dank place only ever filled by Woodlands students or local bums, the last time I went I fell out with a pal of my pal but I didn’t care because she was a Captain’s Rest regular. Yet on my couple of visits to Munro’s I have yearned for the old place and its haphazard nature and clientele.

It begins as you approach the bar – the earnest enquiry if you are looking to eat this evening. “Give me a minute,” I muttered, “Let me order my beer before I decide. I know Maclay Inns - also owners of Dram, Three Judges and a growing list of others – “pay close attention to their margins but you don’t need to remind me.” I declined anyway and went for a Thrappledouser from the impressive array of cask and bottled beers.

While he poured, I surveyed the uninspiring gantry and ubiquitous white tiles. That along with the abundance of unvarnished wood fills one with boredom. My server was a big fellow in a pristine apron and white shirt and the three or four others in sight were of similar build and attire. Well, at least they do sample their product – in litres.

I took a high stool and noticed I could see virtually everyone else inside as could everyone else outside because of the large windows that are as customary nowadays as those tiles. Openness and transparency are admirable in politics but not necessarily in pub design.

As mentioned earlier the drinks list is good, particular note going to the revolving cellar of cask offerings. All flagged in the wee brown envelope/menus everywhere but the food is less varied with not much beyond pizzas and platters.

Returning to the booze – as is customary in this blog – I know holding a large range of beers does add to a pub’s costs but it still doesn’t justify £3.99 for a Guinness especially when over the road Wintersgill’s has it over a pound less. You don’t always get what you pay for just like in clothes retailing.

From where I was sitting the smell of linseed was very strong, its presence due to all that wood? But, saying that, there are a few innovative touches that bring some interest to the interior: upturned bales as tables, tyre light fittings and an eclectic selection of low seats and high stools. However, the homestead-look in one corner – complete with stove, wicker chairs, logs and rug – doesn’t fit in at all.

There are a couple of booths but even these have an open aspect and all this space and clear vision of couples and small groups of friends sipping on drinks and nibbling on plain fare made me hanker for the nefarious obscure corners of The Captain’s Rest. This is not the place for uproarious times and gallons of booze, one and half pints here would be my limit.

A bar has to be something more than just the length its beer list and the most interesting joints are peopled by folk wearing everything from tux to grunge not identikit urbanwear that is more conformist than cutting edge.

Wintersgill's - No One Will Suspect

Wintersgill's - 226 Great Western Road, Glasgow G4 9EJ


Many Glasgow bars operate under the radar. Wintersgill’s is one. Sitting on the quietest stretch of Great Western Road, near St George’s Cross, for a few decades does that to a bar and means it doesn’t feel the need to shout about itself.

The name has an old-fashioned ring to it but is not the original. That was Andros, back in the 70s, and at that time it was a fashionable hang-out under the celebrated ownership of the Dows. A place where champagne glasses were assembled into that fountain effect we’ve all seen in the movies but probably never in real life.

Since then a more modest existence, apart from being an unofficial Partick Thistle fan meeting point. Most people will pass by thinking it’s just a local for aging, hardened imbibers and leave it to the regulars. This is a view of the place that suits some who have used it, as I will explain.

Picture an evening a few years ago. I had visited ‘Gill’s a few times as I worked nearby, so chose it as the starting point for a Friday night. I even phoned ahead and booked a meal in the side bar. Judging from the reaction over the phone this was unusual. But in there I sat – now there is a posher back area for food – until I tired of the solitude and took my plate next doors into the busy public bar.

The stately brown banquettes that make up most of the seating were half-full and eager eyes followed my dinner to its seat. To discourage them I ate quickly, before starting to admire the large interior. It is surprisingly elegant, with fittings that have a pleasing permanence. Elaborate cornicing, cream pillars, globe lamps and shapely panelling all impress.

Pleasing to look at and also functional. Space to move around in and an environment to make you linger. Details such as the facing of the bar counter sloping away from your legs to give you extra room – pointed out to me by Borrochneldia – were missed by me at the time, but I did appreciate the overall ambience. It was going to be a good night, I felt, both here and in later venues.

Most of the rest of the people seemed to share my optimism but two young blokes near me did not. They looked uptight, on edge, uncomfortable. The smaller of the two was doing the only talking. And patting his mate on the arm every so often. None of it got any reaction.

I gravitate towards tension, so once I’d finished my dinner, I edged into a seat nearer the two. There was still little chat and the mood unchanged. I went for pee, down the enclosed narrow stairs.

I was mid-stream when other people entered the toilet. A quick glance over my shoulder revealed it was the nervy blokes. I turned away again quickly. I could then sense a pause, before there was the sound of a door closing. Aye, aye, I said – inwardly.

Washing my hands I noticed the cubicle door didn’t seem to have a proper snib on it. I took a step closer.

Their voices were clear. “What’s the problem?” said the smaller guy – his volume was in inverse proportion to his size.
“Nothing,” said his pal.
“Aye there is, I can tell. Look, shut up” (superfluous comment surely) “ and keep your back to that door.”

Then came some tap, tapping, and scraping on porcelain. I was about to leave them to it when out came the immortal line, again from the wee man: “This is an old man’s bar, no one will ever suspect.”

I chuckled going back up the stairs but never quite realised I would be using that line some years in the future in a wildly successful blog.

Anyway, they returned soon after me and soon began to be a lot freer in their conversation. Passing by their table a number of times I heard phrases like “big consignment coming in” and “the Gleneagles deal”.

Now this was before the G8 summit and the successful Ryder Cup bid but even then the hotel carried a luxurious reputation, so I was sceptical about what I’d heard, thinking that the closest these guys would get to Gleneagles and cash negotiations was the bookies on Auchterarder High Street.

My horse didn’t come in either because my pal called to cancel and so I had to head-off to pursue my chemical highs (CH3-CH2-OH) alone.

Nowadays Wintersgill’s boasts some natty wicker outside-furniture and a slightly more sophisticated air than before. Go there and enjoy yourself.

Note: Author cannot accept any responsibility for any trouble you get yourself in through your drug of choice. Though, if reports on a certain type’s purity these days are true, you will get a better hit with a couple of quick, strong cups of black followed by a brandy chaser.