February: Soho Pride, Wembley's Wizard and Suds in the Suburbs
A monthly newsletter about London beer and pubs, (mostly) written by journalist Will Hawkes
Wild Horses
The carpet at the Greek Street end of the Coach and Horses is scarlet, overlaid with the sort of pattern you’ve seen a thousand times but would be hard pressed to describe. Three main repeating shapes are particularly baffling. Are they flowers? Not like any I’ve seen. One looks more like a Space Invaders alien.
It doesn’t really matter; what is significant is how spick and span it is. Ali Ross, General Manager at the Coach and Horses, says the carpet - produced by Axminster, naturally - was laid after Fuller’s took on the pub in 2019. It’s much the same as the one that was there before, she adds, except less grubby. As a metaphor for this most famous and infamous of Soho pubs, that’s perfect, so let’s run with it.
Before Fuller’s took it in-house, The Coach had two landlords in more than half a century. From 2006 until 2019, it was Alastair Choat; before then, it was Norman Balon - and if you’ve any interest in London pubs, you’ll know exactly who he is. “London’s Rudest Landlord” was his reputation, and he encouraged it. According to Jeffrey Bernard, journalist and not-very-bon-viveur, he had it printed on the pub’s promotional matchboxes.
Customers like Bernard, immortalised in Keith Waterhouse’s play Jeffrey Bernard is Unwell (the action takes place at the Coach and Horses); Tom Baker, Doctor Who and subject of the most entertaining Day In The Life of all (written by Bernard); and the Private Eye team, who enjoyed boozy weekly lunches upstairs at the Coach and Horses until Balon’s retirement, made the pub legendary. Journalist Christopher Howse describes it in detail in his memoir ‘Soho In The Eighties’:
“There was no music in the Coach,” he writes. “The people standing had a hard time getting served over the shoulders of the regulars sitting at the bar. To get to the lavatory was an obstacle course of squeezing through gaps, stepping over limbs, and not nudging an arm holding a drink - or there’d be bellows of anger or worse … As I neared the door of the gents’, a thin figure sprawled towards me. ‘Fucking bore,’ he spat, glaring at me.”
Things change, and nowhere more so than Soho, which has never been what it used to be. Those bar seats are gone, and the [famously disgusting] toilets are much nicer now, like the carpet, the beer, the cellar - renovated in 2019 - and, some might say, the person in charge.
Not that everyone welcomed the changes that brought Ross to the pub in 2019. Choat, who’d introduced singalong sessions around the piano and vegan food, launched a campaign against Fullers’ takeover, collecting nearly 12,000 names on a petition warning that the pub company would “very likely strip it of its unique character and spirit” if they took it over.
Have they? Hard to say, really - but what is certain is that this iteration of the Coach and Horses is a very good pub. The beer is better than it's ever been; there are six handpumps, and they get through 20 firkins of cask ale a week. In particular I can vouch for the London Pride, which is as good as anywhere in the city. (There’s also all manner of keg craft beer, such as the Verdant Putty that caused so much fuss a few weeks’ back.)
Drinkers don’t seem to have been put off by the change of management. On a recent Monday afternoon it was packed; on Friday morning, when I spoke to Ross, hopeful punters, their little faces pushed up against the window, kept requesting entry pre-12pm opening. This level of popularity is partly because it’s the Coach and Horses, but it has also got a lot to do with Ross, her Lithuanian deputy Ugne Grevyte and a team that is young and mostly female.
If Balon was the perfect landlord for Soho’s booze-addled decades post-War, this 38-year-old Londoner, born in East Finchley to a mum who came from Spain at the age of two and an Anglo-Indian dad who arrived here when he was 20, suits the neighbourhood now. She’s worked for Fuller’s for all 13 years of her hospitality career, from West London to The City, but Soho is a bit different. “It’s a joy to come to work,” she says, emphatically.
The customers here are still more interesting than is normal, although they don’t always drink as much: Willem Defoe and Robert Pattinson were photographed here for Esquire Magazine in the summer of 2019, to promote their film The Lighthouse. Despite pints of Fuller’s appearing in the images, they didn’t touch them, Ross says.
While The post-war Coach and Horses was never an exclusively male place - both Howse’s book and a 1987 documentary about Bernard confirm that - it was, like most pubs then, a bit of a sausage fest. It had a certain ambiance, an enter-if-you-dare vibe that put a lot of people off, perhaps especially women. It doesn’t feel like that now - the windows are still frosted but the stools by the bar are gone and the doors are thrown open when it’s warm - although some things are slow to change.
“Some days I look around the pub and it’s all men,” Ross says. “And then other days there’s people on dates, groups of girls drinking cask beer, people who work in the restaurant next door, and it’s a nice mix. You know, I don’t think we’ll ever get to the stage where it’s just girls sitting in a pub.
“But I think the days of going to the pub and downing eight to 10 pints, we’re slowly moving away from that. It’s really unhealthy. The way people are drinking thirds, discussing what they’re drinking, I find that a more comfortable place.”
However it changes, the Coach and Horses seems to have a lifeforce of its own. It gets into people’s blood. Choat recently wrote a play about Balon. Has Ross tried being rude to the customers? “People like that, sometimes,” she says, laughing. “It’s a strange thing - they don’t expect it and it puts them off guard. They quite enjoy a little telling off now and then.”
But perhaps Balon, who’s still battling on at the age of 96, wasn’t as mean as all that. He still comes into the pub to play cards before opening some Wednesdays; he’s not such a cantankerous old bastard, Ross says, he’s “very sweet and supportive”. Another Soho legend shot down.
On the wall at the pub is a sign reading ‘Norman’s’. Above is a new sign - less than a month old - reading ‘Alison’s’. What’s this? “The team made me the sign for Christmas,” she says. “We had our staff party on Sunday and when we were a bit drunk we put it up there.” Is it staying up there? “It’s going to stay up.” And why not? Things change. In Soho of all places, you have to get used to that.
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Another Brexit Dividend
The Hamilton Road Industrial Estate, SE27, is a good place to take the temperature of London brewing. Until recently, it was home to two breweries, Gipsy Hill (Units 5, and 7-11) and the London Beer Factory (Units 4 and 6). Not any more. The latter left before Christmas, headed for Norfolk - and while the former are still in-situ, things are as difficult as they’re ever been.
The various pressures breweries are facing are much the same as those all businesses are struggling with now, from energy costs to the decline in customers’ disposable income. Everything - malt, heat, etc - is more expensive than it was. But there’s an extra burden many breweries - and other companies based on industrial estates - face: the escalating cost of light industrial units. Sam McMeekin, founder and managing director, explains.
“Brexit severed the smoothness of the supply chains between Britain and the rest of Europe, and made the previous ‘just in time’ model no longer viable,” he says. “This has meant that lots of European companies have had to take on warehouse space in Britain, and they’ll pay whatever it takes, because their business depends on it.”
The price Gipsy Hill is paying for its home has almost quadrupled since they first signed a lease in 2013. Then it was £8 a square foot; £16 by 2018; now £28. Putting aside all other factors, McMeekin says, these price rises means they need to make another 5000 hectolitres of beer a year to break even: 22,000. Post-Covid, they’re making 13,500.
This means price increases, of course: about 5 percent last year and something similar this year. Gipsy Hill crowdfunded last year, and will be looking for private investment this year, and they’re increasingly focused on those places that can do high volume - pubs such as The Wheatsheaf in Borough, The Gladstone, also in Borough, or The Railway Tavern in Tulse Hill.
“That’s the positive note,” says McMeekin. “It’s been tough for pubs, but it almost seems like the great ones have got even better. Working with them has been a dream.”
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Desi Pub of the Month: The Aroma Lounge, Wembley
In his latest column, David Jesudason, author of the soon-to-be-published Desi Pubs, savours superb food in the home of football:
There’s a good argument that co-landlord of the Aroma Lounge in Wembley, Shiba Tiwari, might be the best chef in the country. That’s right. Not the best desi pub chef. Nor the best chef of Indian food. But the best chef.
‘Bold claim’ you might say but here’s my compelling argument (I hope). There’s nowhere in the country where you can get such high quality desi, pub, vegetarian or restaurant food cooked (or overseen – as there’s a team of chefs as well as Tiwari) by someone who really wants to push the boundaries of excellence. The dishes such as Mock Duck and tandoori chops cater for every demographic and are always mouthwateringly excellent.
When they opened the Aroma Lounge they didn’t really publicise the venture as Tiwari had been working in Indian restaurants for 27 years and they knew his food would be so incredible it wouldn’t need any slick marketing. It gained a loyal following from a desi crowd who would enthuse about the dishes on Facebook group CARBDashian and, unlikely as it sounds, Premier League footballers.
It’s a rare thing: a pub which is packed when they show big matches on the TV but with fans eating food that is truly remarkable.
David’s book, Desi Pubs, comes out in May. Pre-order it here
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Mother’s Little Helper
In 1987 the Queen Mother visited the Queen’s Head pub in Limehouse, pulled a pint of bitter, necked it, wiped her lips on a floral sleeve and declared, with a loud burp, that it “tastes better than Champagne”. The beer she enjoyed so much was Young’s Special, and various images from that trip can still be seen on Young’s Beer Co pub walls all over the city. The pub, however, has had a few tough years - but it’s about to make a vigorous comeback.
That’s thanks to Tadgh Barry, once of the Greenwich Pensioner in Poplar, who is currently in the process of fitting out the pub ahead of a reopening this month. Expect beer of the same quality as at the Pensioner; for more information and progress updates, see the pub's instagram.
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Two Pubs, One City
The Real Ale Way, Hayes, & One Inn The Wood, Petts Wood
The two pubs listed above have at least three things in common:
They’re micropubs
They have terrible names
They major on beer from Kent despite being in Greater London
I’m going to focus on the third of these (apologies to fans of micropubs and places with terrible names). I find it fascinating (well, quite interesting) that, despite having been part of London since 1965, a residue of Kentish sentiment remains abroad in these sleepy outer ’burbs, an inclination to turn towards the Downs and Weald rather than the Great Wen, particularly when it comes to beer. Why should that be? It’s a real three-pipe problem. Perhaps visiting the venues can offer me some insight.
Before that, though, some crucial context. Kentish stubbornness on this matter has a long history, a history that can be summed up in one word: Knockholt. It’s as evocative in Kentish lore as The Alamo is to Texans (I’m guessing here, never been to Texas). This village of 1000 souls refused to be part of London when the capital took its current form in 1965 and, more impressively, subsequently convinced the powers-that-be to agree it wasn’t part of London.
It left London on April Fools Day 1969, with a touching ceremony at Knockholt Police Station, a humble two-storey structure originally built to detain drunken hop pickers. PC Kenneth Keenes of the Metropolitan Police gave the building’s keys to Kent PC Alan Cooke, before they both posed, avec clé, for a photographer from the local press. Miss Fowler, the village’s postmistress, spoke for many: “There are pros and cons to it, but I am glad to be in Kent.”
Pros and cons! It stirs the blood. That Kentish tradition of forthright, no-holds-barred chat was on full display at The Real Ale Way when I arrived mid-afternoon one recent Sunday. There were about 10 people in the pub, but all the noise was coming from four middle-aged pals sitting at the bar. In quick succession, they discussed a close friend’s recent death, made a joke about a woman called Beryl, chuckled at a lewd gag, and then got into hot sauces and chillies, in some depth. “That’s the annoying thing about it,” said the resident expert, alluding to a supermarket hot sauce. “It’s tailored to the British palate.”
The pub is housed in a 1930s mock-Tudor shop unit opposite the station. Opened in 2018, it serves - almost exclusively - Kentish beer, cider and wine (the crisps are also from Kent). On this Sunday there were seven cask ales, with just one from outside Kent: an interloper from (of all places!) Surrey, Titsey’s Gresham Hopper. I studiously ignore it, opting instead for Larkin’s Pale (4.2 ABV, £4.50), poured on gravity in the chilled back room. It’s delicious: brambly and bitter, a touch of sweet malt.
Not too much expense has been expended on decoration, it must be said, although there is a delightfully kitsch painting of the Queen with her corgis. A TV, sound down but showing the thrilling Six Nations rugby union game between Italy and France, dominates the room.
Outside, things are on the surreal side of suburban. A man walks by in deerhunter and plus fours, wheeling a Penny Farthing. Down the street, a mother is putting her daughter straight about the small dog she’s cooing at: “it’s not a French Bulldog, darling, it’s a Boston Terrier.” Around a corner there’s The George, described on the sign as ‘Country Pub & Dining’. I scoff. Country? Lol. This is suburbia, Georgey Porgey.
But there is a patch of country here: Bromley Common, which separates Hayes from Petts Wood, my destination. And it has historic Kentish significance: Kent played All-England at cricket here in 1739, the first of many similar matches, and beat them too. Now it’s home to quite a few horses, a bridleway which is mostly rutted mud, and the (very nice) home of Bromley Common cricket club (who play in the Kent League, naturally).
After the Common, it’s a long haul through neat but dull suburban streets and across a railway line to Petts Wood, but it’s worth it. One Inn The Wood, housed in a 1960s shop unit, is alive with chatter and gentle laughter. There are families outside, as many women inside as men, and lots of beer - much of it from Kent. Even better, the two lads serving (who are playing chess on a tiny board in between fetching beer from the cold room at the back) offer a warm welcome.
The pub focuses on, as the website puts it, “produce from our wonderful county of Kent.” I go for Tonbridge’s gently bitter ‘Permanent Wood’ (£.6 ABV, £4), the name apparently a reference to its status as house beer rather than anything else, stop sniggering at the back.
There’s one seat left, next to a tiny Spaniel called Trixie, and I boldly occupy it. Trixie’s owner is talking to a pal about Sunday roasts (‘The meat is in already, and the veg is easy’). In front of me is a mural of a verdant forest glade with a dog running through the middle. A “Kent, Beer Garden of England’ poster is on the wall next to it, and there are hops. Good to see that, unlike The Real Ale Way, there is some Kentish theme to the decoration.
As I wander back to Petts Wood, I gather my thoughts. What have I learnt? That humans crave community, and these micropubs provide that in buckets. Also, that a sense of identity is a big part of ‘community’, and to think of yourself as coming from an ancient county is more romantic and attractive than being from a relatively humdrum suburb. (That’s probably what I would have assumed, anyway, but at least I had a nice afternoon’s walk and two tasty pints.)
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Chain Reaction
One of the things I didn’t necessarily expect post-Covid/Britain’s economic collapse was for London craft-beer chains to expand. But that is, to a certain degree, what has happened. The Craft Beer Co opened a new venue, The Bear, in Paddington late last year, and now two more stalwarts of the past decade are spreading their wings.
Firstly, Kill The Cat, a snazzy little bottle shop on Brick Lane, is opening a kitchen and bar in Spitalfields Market next month. And then there’s Mother Kelly’s, owner of bars in Bethnal Green and Vauxhall, which - I hear - has some interesting expansion plans in the offing. More on that when we have it.
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Valentine’s Wahey
Got something romantic planned for Tuesday 14th February? Cancel it! Here’s something better: Orbit are launching their Baltic Porter, the result of a collaboration with Devon lager hotshots Utopian Brewery, at The Southampton Arms that very evening. Given the calibre of the breweries involved, this is likely to be good - and there’ll be a cask of Orbit’s Dead Wax London Porter on the bar too.
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Penny Drop
Finally … There's a three-day beer festival at Big Penny, the brewery formerly known as Truman’s, next week. The beer list is London-heavy, including Anspach & Hobday, Five Points, Hammerton, Wild Card, Wimbledon and more; look out, too, for Gravesend’s Iron Pier and Sussex’s Burning Sky. More details here.
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London Beer City is written by journalist Will Hawkes. If you’ve got a story or an observation, contact me on londonbeercity@gmail.com. If you like what you’ve read, please share it with your friends; if you’ve been forwarded this email and enjoyed it, you can sign up here. Thanks for reading.