Pub Crawling

I went out on a pubcrawl last week with an awesome buddy of mine. Codename Owlbear is a giant of a man who has the mere definition of "An empty barrel" inside him, only used to accumulate vast quantities of alcohol. My theory is he needs it to produce bellowing laughter and disdain for most of humanity. Seriously, who can blame him?

He's also a bit touchy (hurrr) with physical contact.

We started the pub crawl in an Irish bar called Waxy o'Connors near Leicester square. It's a great and vast bar, littered with quaint Irish paraphernalia. "Druidic" Codename Owlbear called it. And one can see his point there as the large (and fake we found out) tree dominates the centre of the pub. Combined with brown tones it creates this weird earthy feel.

And that's as far as the drivel about the design goes since I'm not an interior decorator, and neither do I care much for it.

The next trip took us to Chinatown, where situated among Dim Sum bars and windows covered in mummified ducks, gives way to De Hems. De Hems is a Dutch bar, and don't ask us what the connection is with Chinatown as it makes as much sense as a bacon shop in Jerusalem.

De Hems is a great bar though if you're looking for Dutch or Belgian speciality beers. And as you may know, Belgian speciality beers usually come in 8 to 10 degrees so they offer a nice kick. I had a Kwak, a quaint little beer in a glass what is likely even more quaint. Unfortunately it didn't come in one of those wooden holsters. Probably on purpose since otherwise I would have gladly given it a new home. Codename Bourbon is an alcoholic magpie you see. 

I recommended the Chimay Blue to my vastly superior drinking buddy. A Chimay is a Belgian trappist, a sort of dark authentic ale and one of the best of its kind as well. A drink of depth and subtle favour. With it's 8.5 degrees also not a drink for the weak.

The prices in the bar are reasonable as well. Still expensive, but not as bad as you would think for imported beer. Dutch food, although bordering on greasy insanity, has some really great beer snacks; all deep fried and full of cholesterol. Allow me to recommend you readers the Bitterballs in particular.

We also met some French bloke, who managed to pack all of his local stereotypes in one gay package. It was so remarkable that I offered him a white napkin. I was told his kind has great affinity in its use: both in war, as behind closed doors. Codename Bugbear seemed quite amused by that fact. Although he may have just been admiring the well-pronounced bosom of a nearby patron.

After De Hems we visited yet another Irishly themed bar called the Toucan. For those who can't place the link already (You may now drown your head in a bucket of the black stuff if that's the case) It's obviously a guiness bar. The pub packs a good guiness and certainly some of the best I've drank in London. But having said that ... I can't think of anything else to add in its advantage either. 

After all those traditional bars we kicked it up a notch and decided to visit two of London's nearby Rock and Metal pubs. The first one was called the Intrepid Fox. It's the reanimated corpse of a previous bar with the same name. A seedy and shambling shadow of its former namesake's glory. A bar so seedy, you probably have a one in ten chance exiting the bar with herpes. The usual tatted up tiny barmaid was there as well, I barely recognized her at first since for once she was not dancing on top of the bar like a 10-year old girl trying to please daddy. The bar also happened to be visited that day by a fourty-to-fifty year-old typical English bloke .... with vampire teeth. It would've been freaking hilarious if it wasn't so damn pathetic and embarrassing. I can imagine the discussion at home:

"Where is daddy mommy?" "

"Daddy is just being a ponce looking for some emo arse atm sweety" 

Even IF you would happen to be a vampire at that age with those looks, it could only be some form of sadistic punishment of a rather cynic God. I'll have to admit though, it takes a certain type of cajones to go about looking like a tosser. ... gay cajones.

For the last bar we went (I'm 100% sure that at that point I more or less crawled my way) to the Crobar. That however turned out to be a bigger disapointment than George Bush writing his own soliloquis. That place was so rundown I think I'm struck with ... amnesia . Truthfully however, that is probably due to being completely and utterly drunk. Although Subject Owlbear informed me all I've missed apparently were "a bunch of fat chicks"

so meh...

Codename Bourbon signing off