|
The Golden Eagle could quite easily be the best pub in Chester, but the lack of any draught bitter and a rather listless selection of beverages in other departments is too important a consideration to be denied. For not only is there no real ale, the keg stuff - Fosters, Worthington, Tetley - is unexciting and the bottled beers are the dull and predictable Bud, Becks and Holsten. On our latest visit there was no dry white wine and what wine there was was served in silly little glasses, of the sort that were customary in the olden days of long ago.
But the bad news stops right there. In every other respect this is as fine a specimen of a city pub as you could hope for. The approach, through Georgian back streets, sets the mood. On a dark night the glow from the windows is almost palpable, as if being filtered through a heavy mist. Inside, the crimson and cream walls, dark floor and beamed ceiling feel just right. Tables and leaners are scattered sensibly, creating little pools of humanity, illuminated by lanterns. There is a pool table and a big screen that is only turned on when necessary. A rather well stocked juke box is loud enough to hear but not so loud as to discourage conversation.
For this is a very sociable sort of place. There are people chatting everywhere. You get the feeling most of them have come out for the purpose of chatting, not just to escape domesticity or get smashed or loosen up ready for Rosie's. Some are students, others are older locals, there is some gothicness. But the best pubs can accommodate all types and ages and not be dominated by one particular demographic.
And, by way of compensation for the feeble drinks selection, the draught Guinness was as good as I can remember having.
|
