Archive for the ‘Devizes’ Tag
[The Chippy Challenge: to eat more fish and chips in 2014; see original post for details.]
Fish: cod
Sides: none
Evaluation: Unbelievably delicious and I would have gone back for seconds, some chips, and mushy peas if a) I hadn’t promised to do a proper green curry from scratch when Jackie got home and b) the bus, which only runs hourly, wasn’t due. The Pelican, two doors down and which allows you to bring in outside food, was a real temptation at this point; my resolve was later rewarded (great meal, good wine, lovely company) but I shall ever be nagged by what might have been.
Days since last: 1 (Leo Fish and Chips, Wootton, Oxfordshire)
Map link.
Monthly consolidations/compilations: January
February
March
April
May
June
July
August
September
October
November
There have been days when meeting the 3 mile minimum for the Holiday Run Streak have been daunting (hangovers, bone idleness, actual injuries). Today was a joy, though.
I caught the 9 o’clock to Devizes and headed south into the slimy mud, down one steep ridge and up another and emerging, eventually, in Market Lavington. The timing was actually rubbish, though, as the only pub open before noon is the Green Dragon (no complaints, mind; it was a self-inflicted wound I would have avoided by taking the 10 o’clock bus instead).
9.4 miles out, with a beer break in Market Lavington
5.8 miles back after beer break in Great Cheverell
I thought I could kill a little time by inspecting the pubs on offer for another day and the Churchill in Littleton Panell looked worthy. The Owl in Little Cheverell was turned into a private residence a year or so ago to the dismay of the old fellow I spoke with there and the Bridge downhill from the Churchill got a recommendation from a kind gentleman I met at the Bell in Great Cheverell which I wandered up to just as it opened.
To be honest, the 9.4 miles run up to then had been like forced labour but the longer than planned (and greater fluid volume than planned) stop at the Bell recharged me. Although I thought I had restarted the GPS I arrived back in Devizes with no additional miles. This was easy enough to manually map (5.8 miles) and the voice recorder — which I failed to turn off, as well, upon leaving — showed this last leg to be 40 minutes long. There was a bit of sunshine and mostly good surfaces to run and I made the most of the opportunity…plus, I was afraid the chippy in Devizes would close at 2 and I really hankered for a bit of cod.
Good run, pleasant company, fine ales, and a treat at the end. Not a bad way to start the longest night of the year.
Pubs 1, 2, and 3;
Left to my own Devizes,
What’s a boy to do?
Name: Cape Codder
Type: cocktail
Recipe: vodka and cranberry juice poured over ice with a slice of lime to garnish (Mr. Boston version)
Venue: house
Review/notes: I didn’t know this had a name until I got my new Mr. Boston; most ‘tenders know what to make when you ask for vodka cranberry. But, as it has an official name and as I have had cod for lunch five days in a row (or, 4 plus a haddock today and sushi for breakfast two of those days), my new superhero alter ego would likely be called the Caped Codder.
[DT =Daily Tipple, explained in DT #000 here]
The Caped Codder!
[The Chippy Challenge: to eat more fish and chips in 2014; see original post for details.]
Fish: haddock
Sides: chips and mushy peas
Evaluation: tasty but I was in a hurry..they take the term ‘small’ seriously, too
Days since last: 1 (Mr. Cod)
Map link.
In Devizes for a short run I was caught out by the weather, so after the third pub I put on my dry kit and went in search of an open chippy. I know three near the town centre that could have been open and one not far from the path that I already knew was closed, but with time to kill it seemed worth exploring the streets; but, though signed as ‘Open Sundays’ the Market Plaice had a hand-written card on the door stipulating that it meant after 4pm (Sunday NIGHT, as a lot of us would call it) and the other two were simply closed. So, I eventually settled on a pub for a fish, the Castle Hotel.
It was good, if pricy, and it took for fucking ever to come out so I ended up wolfing it down to try, in vain, to catch my bus which I chased for several stops. Everyone there had already been served, so it was really just the pretension of a restaurant that cause the delay in this simple pub grub. Oh, well. First haddock of the challenge.
The Lamb was my first choice for the 1200th, but the stack shifted down last week when I found the long overlooked Gardener’s Arms in Oxford (a few hundred meters from the other Gardener’s Arms in Oxford). But, as I pointed out in the notes on the 1200th, it is just a number.
Like the 1200th, it was quiet but there were more people; we all just settled into the Sunday regime of reading newspapers. This was very copacetic, and I feel that this old house is probably very much the local I would gravitate toward should I ever move house to Devizes.
It has taken nearly 15 months to find the most recent 200 pubs (with pub number 1000 ticking over in just over 3 years 8 months and longer than it took to do the previous 400), and it might seem that the bloom is off the rose; quite the contrary, but with so many of the remaining pubs remote from where I live and work it takes a bit more effort to plan than most alcoholic trail runners are willing to put in. As a point of reference, though, here is a simple breakdown of the Endless British Pub Crawl progress:
Pub #1, The Red Lion, Stretham (Ely), Cambridgeshire 19 January 2009 (first day of the Crawl, fifth day in country)
Pub #200, The Five Bells, Newmarket, Suffolk 31 July 2009 (day 193) Δt = 198 days (from immigration)
Pub #400, The SportsBar in Marylebone Station, London 30 May 2010 (day 496) Δt = 303 days
Pub #600, The Boundary House, Swindon 28 May 2011(day 859) Δt = 363 days
Pub #800, The Wheatsheaf, Lower Woodford, Wiltshire 8 January 2012 (day 1084) Δt = 225 days
Pub #1000, The Red Lion. East Chisenbury, Wiltshire 9 September 2012 (day 1329) Δt = 245 days
Pub #1200, 5 January 2014 (day 1812) Δt = 483 days
That said, I have done much worse than the Fox and Hounds in the past, though, so let’s just review the visit on its own merits and not any artifice of round numbers. I arrived wet and cold and out-of-breath in the deathly quiet of the pub to meet two attractive waitresses bored off their tits by the slow day. All I had to offer for relief was my awful accent and an order for a pint of Swordfish before retiring to the fire to warm my feet. A hiking couple with a dog came along and a couple of deuces were reserved, but the pub is too nice for so little traffic…go if you can.
It has been a while since my last pub run but with Jackie working Sunday afternoon the opportunity arose and I decided to clear the backlog of Devizes pubs still on my to do list. There were only two left on my list but a quick internet search turned up the Hourglass near the Devizes Marina and not far from a bus stop so I started with a warm-up jog there to get a Ramsbury XXXX Porter.
The beer was slate-y with a bit of ashtray to it, but the kind of ashtray that involves the scrapings of a bong or hash pipe so it was a happy find on this chilly day with a storm looming. I worried about flooding on the path along the canal but needn’t and the choice to start here seemed an auspicious one despite the dining bent of the canalside, estate centred venue.
[*kpw = kebab per week for 2013, as noted in an earlier post and the 47th entry for the 2013 Challenge]
There was a Fire Fighter’s “industrial action” (a strike, in American parlance) Saturday night so precautionary actions were urged; for instance, all lab work was suspended in the Chemistry Department during the stoppage. And, Essex Fire and Safety gained international attention with their campaign to minimise incidents related to drunk cooking:
I had already planned on a takeaway for Sunday after the Devizes Half Marathon, so didn’t need the fire brigade’s suggestions. At the Chick-O-Land, not far from my stop for the bus back to Swindon, they piled generous portions smothered in a great — and unusually hot — chilli sauce atop chips that were crisp and caramelized and more than welcome after the rainy run. As the meat portions refried on the griddle a gamy reek of mutton wafted my way promising me a real sheep treat.
I returned to the bus stop to looks of self-righteous scorn from the finishers of the race heading my way. Of course they were well within their rights and may even have felt obligated to cast a disgusted glance at this laggard that shoveled this unhealthy repast down with such abandon — except that this laggard had finished so far ahead of them that he had time to run for a pint 1/2 mile away from the finish, changed clothing on the street while waiting for the pub to open, had another pint on the return trip, and collected this feast after my own finish. I may not be that healthy, but I’m reasonably fast.
I estimated the Moonrakers was built in the early 30’s and asked the landlord when he returned from elsewhere with my pint of 6X. “It was built in 1928.” I said I thought right about then and he, not listening at all, went on to correct me for believing it was much older. He also was eager to say that he and the wife had put in their four years there and were looking forward to their next gig, a hotel at Lake Windermere.
“Do they have anyone to take over, then?” I asked, referring to Wadworth, the brewery that owns the Moonrakers.
“No, their going to shut down, fully renovate, and reopen as a steakhouse. Another pub bites the dust.”
Maybe that is what gives this awesome venue the smell of death, as if it was a hospice (or, in one). I finished my glass and moved on, leaving him and his lonely staff to tend to the one table of diners.
I finished my race and downed some fruit and juice then ran back against the flow of finishers to the Cavalier, a neighbourhood pub I knew of roughly a half mile away. The sun broke through but I was still drenched from the day’s downpours and, since the pub was still closed for a few more minutes, I decided to use the picnic tables out front as a changing room.
Some dry, warm clothing really helped with the low core temperature but what I really needed to fend off hypothermia was something nutritious, like a Corvus Stout. My cold fingers were still sore and shriveled from the damp and I felt human again shortly after the first sip.
This is not the most attractive pub on the outside but inside there are large nooks and lot’s of dark, wooden features. It is truly lovely, inside, and popular…by the time my pint sat before me there were ten other punters lined up and a couple more had stopped for a cigarette before coming in.
On the way out I noticed a little English Civil War joke related to the pub and its location, too. The Cavalier sits on the corner of Cromwell Road.
My bus arrived after the official end of check-in for the Devizes Half Marathon and just 5 minutes before the gun, so I dashed up to the back of the pack and started stripping off my warm clothing in the rain and packing it away in a backpack. Just as I got the last item zipped into the bag, the starter’s klaxon blew and we were off and the rain intensified.
It wasn’t all rain as there were two 5 minute long bursts of sunshine to taunt us before the torrents returned. To add to the joy, it hailed for about ten minutes as well and the dairy we passed at the seven mile mark provided a slurry creek for us to lose our scents (and senses) to.
During one of the sunny spells we were ascending the hill just before the 6 mile marker and the dude in front of me slowed so I started to pass him when I heard this loud fart noise. I’m nothing if not immature and started to laugh. These were long, trumpeting blasts about 3 seconds in duration and occurring every 10-12 steps. The guy behind me started to pass and heard it, too: “Cor, mate, that Friday night curry isn’t setting too well.” We rounded a corner and there was a little girl with her parents; occasionally she blew a vuvuzela.
For those of you seeking a personal best, this might be the race. It is hilly and there are some muddy trails even if the farm sewage isn’t available BUT there was no chip mat at the start, just one at 7 miles and at the finish, so you could potentially treat this as a 10K. Just find a quiet stretch of road and wait for the leaders to blow past then join the crowd.
The pubs on the route don’t open until noon, so I had to double back to hit a couple after the finish. The first was the Cavalier (with a review to follow), and then the Moonrakers and finally a delicious kebab from Chick-O-Land later on to eat whilst watching the stragglers stumble in.
My local brewery, Arkell’s, had an open house Saturday to celebrate 170 years in business; however, the brewery tours were all booked up well in advance and the open house sounded like a drag without the tour, so we went to Devizes where the Wadworth Brewery puts on a brilliant, two-hour tour twice a day, six days per week.
That’s the breaks: an old-style sedimentation test of the quality of the boil
Our chirpy but professional and well-informed guide took our cast of Cocoon (we were by far the youngest members of the party) up the steep, Victorian stairs of this Grade 2 listed building to the very top.
The hard part over, we could then, like the brewing process described here, let gravity do most of the remaining work. We stopped briefly for a description of the ingredients in front of the tiny office of the Customs and Excise manager. This could have been brief as the entire content is water, malted barley, and hops but a thorough but pleasant lecture on malting ensued (and we got to smell and taste a few varieties, some sweet and breakfast cereal-like and others smoky like a savoury snack). She also covered hops and we sniffed a few samples of different strains.
Next was a stop by the mash tuns, where the malted barley is mixed to a cereal mash releasing maltases, enzymes that break the long-chain carbohydrates down into simpler sugars so that yeasts can access them as carbon sources (and, in anaerobic ferments, as an oxygen source). There are also loads of micronutrients available and much of the required nitrogen will be supplied by the hops. The older tun shown here is more than a hundred years old and still in near constant use.
The wort, the mash tun contents, is then dropped to a copper which is what they call the enormous kettles. The one shown here is open and quite old (and part of the Grade 2 Listing here) but still gets used once a year for an end-of-summer beer that uses leafy hops and, mostly, the old processes. In the coppers, the mash is brought to a boil with the hops (in the modern processes, pelletized hops are used) for a period and, in some cases, brought to a second boil after a short cooling period.
The coils in the copper carry steam that provides the heat, but at the bottom of this old pot you can still see the outlines of the old coal ovens used in the dark past:
From the copper, the solids are filtered out by sedimentation in what is known as a whirlpool which does essentially the same job as the hopback shown here…the liquor is pulled through the hops and remaining barley solids to extract the last bits of soluble oils, proteins and other flavouring agents:
Now, the yeast is added and the fun begins. When we walked through the open tank brewing rooms I was surprised at how small the tanks seemed although looking into an empty demonstrated they are fairly deep (holding something like 90,000 litres). The ferment is vigorous with geysers of CO2 occasionally spewing forth. They smell is grand.
Next, we went to the cooperage where the wooden barrels are made. These are done by hand and except for complying with the finished sizes and capacities (hogshead, barrel, kilderkin, and firkin), measuring tools are largely shunned in the process. The staves are cut to length by machine, sure, but the curves on the sides and interiors of each are done by hand tools and the master cooper’s experience–to a precision of 0.001 inch: un-fucking-believable.
Jackie’s favourite part of the tour was next: the sign painting shop. This was almost as impressive as the cooperage since every sign in the Wadworth estate of 260 pubs is done by hand without template–even the lettering is all free hand. Gorgeous work.
(The old guy that is memorialised as the Jolly Miller above was a former co-worker who loved beer but hated kitties–the sign painters did this one to take the mickey.)
More tradition lay around the corner at the stables. Unlike the ones at a St. Louis based brewery I toured nearly 30 years ago, the shire horses are more than symbolic (although they are still a bit of a gimmick): they deliver all the local casks to the pubs in Devizes and for a few miles around. Fantastic beasts (and at the annual open house they receive a portion of beer each…my kind of horses).
At long last, we went to the tasting bar back at the visitor centre (open to non-tours, one pound for a 1/3 pint taster, under three quid for a pint). Expecting a sip or two from each tap or, alternatively, a pint of our choice we were instead treated to the full lecture on each beer on offer (there were 6) in 1/3 pint measures. We got one each of
Horizon (the hoppy-bitter blond),
Red White and Brew (still yellow, but a bit tamer on the hops),
6X (their warhorse, dark but not too challenging–Jackie even liked this one),
Farmer’s Glory (formerly known as JCB and kind of splitting the difference between Horizon and Red White & Brew),
Swordfish (which is essentially 6X with a shot of rum in it–a tribute to the naval traditions), and
Corvus (their wonderful, chocolatey stout).
By the way, 6X is shortly to celebrate its 90th anniversary and the brewery is releasing a 6% ABV version which might well be a delight.
For the third year running, we spent our August Bank Holiday in Devizes (2012 edition write-up here). Some complaints were the same old nonsense for sale in the market tents, no map to the many venues in the programme, far too many kid-oriented street performers serving the far-too-abundant children and an emcee who seemed to think saying “y’all” and “AY-MAY-ree-cans” was all that was necessary for, we assume, a Southern Belle character she repeatedly fail to pull off (and why, dear lord, why was she even trying).
Dehli 2 Dublin
On the plus side, about half the street food stalls were tempting (roast pigs, jerk goat with rice, a good tapas tent) and the music was very good. It always is. First band we saw absolutely ruled: Dehli 2 Dublin, a fusion of Irish and Asian sounds from Vancouver. The Japanese guy with the Slayer t-shirt and the black kilt played the hell out of the electric sitar. They worked the crowd a bit heavily, but the music was spectacular.
Diabel Cissokho and band
Later we caught Diabel Cissokho’s act, blues, rock and African mixed. These guys ruled, too, and I had to look up this harp thing shaped like a swollen testicle and phallus; it is called a kora, and Diabel used to play this in Baaba Maal’s band (so he’s got quite a CV):
The festival goes on all over town and in wandering about we found Threepenny Bit busking in the street. More traditionally Irish than the Dehli 2 Dublin group, it started to sound a bit repetitive after 20 minutes then, as we started to leave, they did a variation on the Tarantella from Carmen so we threw some coins and stayed a bit longer:
We were going to stay for a bit of the last band and leave when it was time to catch the last bus. However, they finished their sound check 5 minutes after their scheduled start time and then the annoying faux Belle got up and blathered on for ten minutes (people booed her!) then we were forced to await a procession of banners that had been marched around the White Horses of Wiltshire and they took another 15 minutes to arrive. Too late to even try the first number from “Gee Baby I Love You“, we packed up and headed for the bus.
The bartender got up from a conversation about Chuck Berry being white (Buddy Holly was on the speakers at the time) and rushed over to pour my Taunton Cider, a VERY dry beverage with almost no apple taste or sugar to speak of but a walloping hit of alcohol…cheers.
He had the long and highly manicured fingernails of a professional musician on his right hand and a friendly attitude. The place was packed to be so early but the kids would be leaving soon and it would probably become even nicer.
Out in the smoking area/beer garden the atmosphere was just as friendly albeit a bit quieter…still busy but with no tannoy blaring music (Elvis was Caught in a Trap and Couldn’t Get Out when I exited).
The back is a little less obvious an entrance but you might stumble upon it coming from the Market Square. It is hard to believe I left this one so long before visiting.
The Bell is a pretty venue with a great location for people watching in and out of the bar and fantastic appointments well maintained. However, the three blokes at the end of the bar had to shout to hear one another over the Boy Band/X-Factor/Britain’s Got Talentless Fuckers videos blaring out of the large screen tv.
I had a Weston’s Old Rosie Scrumpy which is sweet and apple-y and good for a warm afternoon. The bellowing/humming/bad R&B mix was relentless, though. Two of the guys left for a smoke and the third started watching the vids and even singing along with them. What has happened to humanity that this is considered acceptable? I am depressed.
A visit to Devizes is always good, though, and if you find yourself in front of this pub considering a pint…the British Lion is about a hundred steps away.
The t-shirt retirements continue, with the race shirts joining the exodus started by the hashing shirts…the up-to-date map of the hashing shirt gravesites is here.
3 March: At first glance this might seem out of place, but two things make this particular shirt dumping hash relevant. First, it is in the loo of the Hare and Hounds (as hashy a pub name as you could hope for). Second and more to the point, I traded a Gypsies hash sweatshirt for a Carolina Trash t-shirt that was too tight on the poor shivering owner, and they say chivalry is dead; the first month in England a barman spilt my beer on that shirt and I traded him it for the shirt we have at hand:
16 March: The Thame 10K shirt is another dual-qualifying garment as the night before the race we stayed up till the early morning drinking and listening to old records the night before so that I spent the first portion of the pre-race vomiting…good times. This one, with the date and distance but not the race name (just the lone sponsor’s logo), was dumped in the Plume of Feathers as I changed into some dry clothing.
30 March: One of the few races I ran under my given name (or, at least, my family given name) while there, the 2006 Tucson Marathon was also my best ever performance at the distance as I steamed ahead of a half-dozen hash relay teams and snagged the first–nay, first three–beers as the jHavelina HHH beer check was still setting up. Also, a guy I hobbled along with the last two miles collapsed in the finishing chute and died as the emergency crews tried to help. Excellent day for me, not so much for the better athlete.
The shirt, like its caretaker these many years, is frayed, a bit too thin to be seen in public, and inappropriate in professional situations. We both visited the Ludgershall Castle, but only one of us returned.
[*kpw = kebab per week for 2013, as noted in an earlier post and the 12th entry for the 2013 Challenge–because I have no self control]
Abso-fucking-lutely starving at the end of the Kennet and Avon/overland run which ended at the Hare and Hounds, I grabbed some groceries and then headed toward the bus stop only to find I had a half hour till the next bus back to Swindon. Looking around for a quick bite I soon spotted the Kebab House and popped in for some nourishment.
The guys were friendly in that way that Turkish vendors on cartoons like the Simpsons are friendly, with gruff and angry voices loudly asking every question and punctuating every statement, like “you want SALT and VINEGAR on CHIPS!?!” or “THANK you, have a NICE DAY!!!”
But the meat was meatlike (it had a grain to it which is a bit disturbing since I am almost certain it is minced), and not especially fatty or salty. The sauce had a smoky flavour like you get using Scotch Bonnets and occasionally the heat was Scotch Bonnet-y. The chips were from heaven and I ate them fast so the gods wouldn’t know I had them. And, then the bus came.
I left the New Inn with the warm feeling that you get from meeting some really pleasant folks (and having three pints in the early afternoon). I also left with some decent directions to Devizes and soon found myself at the final pub on my day’s list, the Hare and Hounds.
The Hare and Hounds was an immediately welcoming place and though packed with punters I found a seat at the bar where a wiggly Staffordshire Terrier started cleaning the sheep shit from my shoes for me. I had a Wadworth seasonal ale of some sort but it tasted like any other. Several more dogs joined the first until I made a sucking sound with my teeth (trying to coax some interesting flavour from the beer, albeit not as interesting as the pooches were after) and they all went and sat near their respective humans.
“I often think if I was blue tack,
I’d like to prop up on a rack.”
–after Betjeman’s “I often think that I would like to be a saddle on a bike”
The conversation turned to dog training and how utterly stupid dogs are, but in a good, loyal, and lovable way. The training of greatest interest, only coincident with the name of the pub, was in hunting hares; when I turned to listen one guy seemed to feel obliged to say that hares escape most of the time: “they turn on a six-pence but a dog has a top-heavy momentum, like.” Not that it matters one way or the other to me…varmints.
Sadly, the Hare and Hounds was not yet open so I drifted toward the bus stop looking for a place to buy a bit of plastic or Plexiglas sheeting 300 mm x 400 mm with a 125 mm hole in it (household project) and spotted the Castle Hotel on the far side of town. Inside, the ancient hotel was a lovely mix of orignal wood floors and stone/brick walls and a line of Wadsworth taps.
It was early so I only saw hotel customers checking out or in but the beer was well kept and the staff affable (and immensely local–sift through the lovely West-country accents if you aren’t used to it…they are a good bunch of kids running the house).
Jackie worked this weekend leaving me to my own devices so I hopped the 49 at ten and popped off to Devizes. I got a run in yesterday and still suffer body aches from the move and refurbishments so this was just to grab a couple of pints and head back up to do more work on the house.
The first stop was the Silk Mercer, a Wetherspoons in a Grade 2 listed 18th century building that used to house the ‘John James Fox & Sons Linen and Woollen Drapers and Silk Mercers’. Spoilt for choice on the beer front, I settled on a Box Steam Brewery Dark and Handsome, chocolatey and thick and a good breakfast choice.
(Note: noticed on exiting that it is listed in the Good Beer Guide 2013, as well.)
The Endless British Pub Crawl 
[*kpw = kebab per week for 2013, as noted in an earlier post and the 47th entry for the 2013 Challenge]
There was a Fire Fighter’s “industrial action” (a strike, in American parlance) Saturday night so precautionary actions were urged; for instance, all lab work was suspended in the Chemistry Department during the stoppage. And, Essex Fire and Safety gained international attention with their campaign to minimise incidents related to drunk cooking:
I had already planned on a takeaway for Sunday after the Devizes Half Marathon, so didn’t need the fire brigade’s suggestions. At the Chick-O-Land, not far from my stop for the bus back to Swindon, they piled generous portions smothered in a great — and unusually hot — chilli sauce atop chips that were crisp and caramelized and more than welcome after the rainy run. As the meat portions refried on the griddle a gamy reek of mutton wafted my way promising me a real sheep treat.
I returned to the bus stop to looks of self-righteous scorn from the finishers of the race heading my way. Of course they were well within their rights and may even have felt obligated to cast a disgusted glance at this laggard that shoveled this unhealthy repast down with such abandon — except that this laggard had finished so far ahead of them that he had time to run for a pint 1/2 mile away from the finish, changed clothing on the street while waiting for the pub to open, had another pint on the return trip, and collected this feast after my own finish. I may not be that healthy, but I’m reasonably fast.
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