Pub cats are an endangered species. Barstool Welshman can't stand that Paul Simon fella, get Nat King Cole on. Real music. He knows it, Valley raised. You never hear Motown in he— Oh hang on, here's the Supremes on, to interrupt that gripe. Dried hop bines, wood panels, Wetherspoon’s carpet predating Tim himself. Piano and fireplace combo, douze points. Gadds’ cask categorically never tastes better than here. Some alchemy? Or are all other cellarmen shit? Go down the road to Ho Wong, they do a mean dog tongue. Or is it cow’s tongue? What about that cheese with maggots in it, though. French? Spanish? A land of unanswered seminal questions, lingering. Pub cat paws the window, unaware of the multiplayer conversation unfolding.
Montefiore Arms, 1 Trinity Pl, Ramsgate CT11 7HJ
It takes a while for bad smells to dissipate. No longer home to the HQ of an arch-Brexiteer former MP, this street is gradually losing its stench. Floor to ceiling shopfront windows, steamed with good conversation and increased body temperatures, will guide you in. Micropub territory. But, mercifully, all round less dank. Dogs abound. Day drinkers. Board games that actually get played. Multiple high strength ciders-in-boxes that I’ve never seen drunk. Pro-vape, pro-cash, pro-pints-under-a-fiver. I’m only keen on the latter, but there’s a hint of Maritime Law in places like these. Andy’s the Admiral, go with it. Not many able seamen keep cask as well as he does.
The Royston, 2 The Broadway, Broadstairs CT10 2AD.
Turn left at the Ladies for a mid-price haircut. Mixed use spaces. Businesses gripping onto life by their fingernails in this bloody climate. Old lad mixes Del Boy and Compo, with all the trappings of beloved sitcom leads that have not aged well. The room sways to the beat of his conduction. Dogs, chat, scampi fries, Guinness flows. Flecks of interesting wallpaper hint at someone with at least half a design-eye hanging around. Old lad looks at his palm-held shrapnel, barters for one last lager top. Walk away, look back, you could be in a country idyll. Not many Chinese buffets and Tesco Expresses nestled at the perimeter of most people's idylls, though. Mixed use spaces.
The Honeysuckle Inn, 31 Honeysuckle Rd, Ramsgate CT11 8AA
You here for the Meat Raffle, son? Wasn’t aiming for a whole side of lamb kind of afternoon, but carpe diem. Strip of five tickets. Sonny and Cher. Simon and Garfunkel. Micropub and Butcher. Get the collab while it’s happening, nothing’s eternal. Jaipur pouring. Gravity cask, as per the rules round here. It’s a bit flavourful says our Geoff, but he’ll have a fourth. That mobility scooter of his will hit warp speed after the fifth. Numbers being called. Lady on the sauv blanc has nabbed herself a T-bone steak. Will be a good test of that new air fryer of hers, she jokes. I’m the only one laughing, Christ she’s serious. Ticket 115, got it, we’re on. Not the offal, not the offal. A bottle of my choice from the fridge? The planet and my cholesterol give thanks as I walk off with a bottle of local barleywine.
The Hovelling Boat Inn, 12 York St, Ramsgate CT11 9DS
Pub Vignettes is a fortnightly collection of impressions of the world’s more interesting drinking spots.
For those who’ve followed along for more than a decade via the now-retired Beermack site, welcome back. For those newer to this parish, welcome.
Dipping a toe back into the social media realm via the rather good Bluesky this week. It’s like pre-pandemic Twitter before the megalomaniacs and arseholes took over, connect via @pubvignettes.bsky.social if that’s your jam.