Pub Vignettes #9
Episode #9: Northern Canalmania (Leeds)
Chips, man. Proper chips. The frenchfriedification of pub chips this millennium is worthy of governmental inquiry, but by the canal they do it differently. Christmas decor railing against the dying embers of early April, patterned carpet giving equally limited shits about stylistic norms. Who cares? Canal pubs don’t. Dog walkers, intrepid stag parties regretfully checking Google maps “Ow far is Leeds from ‘ere, lad?”, pensioners in their out-for-pub-lunch-best donning reading glasses to pore over laminated menus. The beer doesn’t need to be as good as it is, but it’s an added flex. Tropically abundant golden ale from up the road, sparkled to within an inch of its life, as you’d expect. The canal adds a quarter inch of foam, I’m told. But the main event, the modus operandi, the raison d’être: chips in a basket. That often unachievable mix of soggy and crisp is here. Vinegar bottles aplenty. Sauce? It’s red. No queries, no substitutions. Long live Northern canal life.
Abbey Inn, 99 Pollard Ln, Bramley, Leeds LS13 1EQ
A canal walk feels different after a basket of chips. Lighter? No. Better? Yes. We yomp on. To the Bridge. Everyone knows the Bridge. We’re hewn into the Yorkshire sandstone here, triple level, at one with the Bridge. Feats of engineering and design the modern day architect would likely baulk at, but not in this region’s heyday. Sterner stuff, Kirkstall made. The brewery owners of this slice of Northern canalmania have become unusually iconic over the past decade. But is Kirkstall trendy? Not like Verdant, they’re not. But also not like Timothy Taylor at the other end. Do people in London give a shit about them? Everyone at the bridge hopes not. Immaculate beers abound. Like a sparkled Motown Chartbusters record. Hit after hit. But not tunes you’d play weekly. Well, unless you’re in spitting distance of the Bridge.
Kirkstall Bridge Inn, 12 Bridge Rd, Kirkstall, Leeds LS5 3BW
Narrow bars. We’ve left the canal, but here we are drinking in the dimensions of a houseboat. Sunday roasts, the signage says. They sure hide their ability to physically cook them. I’ve heard enough lyricals waxed about “them lunches” that I don’t doubt it. A group of just-about-eighteen year old lads nervously supping away at some best bitter in a dark leather booth. Warms your cockles. There’s hope for these next generations. Late fifties blokes have thoughtlessly chinned too many pints of hard-to-come-by Munich Helles ahead of their descent to the Spoons round the corner. Careful what you wish for. Is there anywhere better to drink cask ale and join up a transcendent canal day with the reality of a city blossoming into a Saturday night?
Whitelock’s Alehouse, Turk's Head Yard, Leeds LS1 6HB
Pub Vignettes is a monthly(ish) 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.
This got me itching for some summer day drinkin’ n’ pub crawlin’.