In the last two months, two pubs have closed literally just around the corner: first my newly discovered favourite, ‘L’Oasis’, now it’s more grubby neighbour, the ‘Old Globe’.
There are few things sadder than the shell of a pub. Sniff.
On a recent trip through the East End I passed the green tiled entrance of a pub that had caught my eye before: a slightly grubby entrance with big, golden letters over the door announcing to the world that behind the the slighty grubby and not particular welcoming face of the building there lurks a place where people can rest, spelled in French. Inspired by the positive comments in the Michelin Guide for “Eating Out in Pubs “ I ventured in, not particularly suspecting anything exciting. I couldn’t have been more wrong: inside you’ll find a roomy, tastefully furnished pub with wooden tables, a long bar, pleasant music at pleasant level, friendly, local punters AND NO, I repeat, NO TV!! Praise his noodly appendage and vulcanoes!
But it gets better: their catchy slogan ‘real chefs, real food’ is probably a dig at the recent revelations that rhere is a plethora of pre-cooked, off-site produced food out there, but on my second vist after only 3 days the menu had already changed, but the food was just as excellent as before. Even the best girlfriend ever was impressed and probably added the place as another reason to move to Stepney or Bow. But it gets even better: they have a lovely collection of ‘Meantime‘ beers on tab and in bottles (including an amzing wheat AND a framboise) that promise to light up any rainy Saturday afternoon.