Glasgow is somewhere I have visited three times but never been able to do a proper pub search -most recently (about six years ago) I was on a poorly received quiz show called Pressure Pad which was filmed in Glasgow and so I only saw the inside of a BBC studio, a hotel, and one pub which I have little recollection of, except that I was still in full TV makeup and was the only woman in the place, which caused a lot of muttering.
Back in Glasgow and not looking like Elizabeth Taylor in Cleopatra my first stop was the Spoons just so that I could get my bearings. Spoons is like the table after airport security where you can sort out all your stuff, it’s not a destination, it’s just handy and stops people staring at you. I had a Ruddles, which is exactly the same as it is in Runcorn, in the Crystal Palace, a very attractive glass fronted get up inspired by the Joseph Paxton place which was the centrepiece of the Great Exhibition. Only that one didn’t have Ruddles for £2.18.
Next pitstop was Hootenanny which from my perspective was a pretty run of the mill boozer with not bad prices for a city centre. It was only when I got to the hotel and logged into Pokemon Go that I realised it had a massive mural of Billy Connolly on the side of it. I’m known for my powers of observation.
I was in Glasgow for a comedy show which was on at the 02, so I set off to have a look where that was an lo and behold – there only five minutes away from the venue was the most highly recommended pub in Glasgow from the good folks at Twitter (or X if you insist). Yes, the Laurieston was very popular and from the outside I could see why – it’s a sixties pub frozen in time, though obviously the hand written sign saying ‘cash only please’ is a recent addition.
The Laurieston instantly became one of my favourite place on this earth. No museum or interactive experience can give you the genuine feel of what it was like to have a pint in a pub in the 1960s, the only thing missing was the cigarette smoke and a nearby smokey bacon vape went some way to filling in even that blank. The women’s toilets are clearly a late add on, roughly the area of a mid-size wardrobe. It closed quite early and is cash only, but then it must be. A card machine bleeping away would be completely out of place. There’s even an old gent working behind the bar in shirt and tie, the dad of the current landlord. He confided in us that he didn’t know the name of the young barman with the massive afro, so he had written it on his bus pass as a reminder. And then he produced it to show us. “Ah, Jude! Yes, I remember now I’ve seen it”, he said with a smile. On this occasion there was a guitar group of four old boys and an old lady taking it in turns to pick what they would regale the pub with. “Is this organised by you?” I asked the landlord. “No, not really, they just show up”. Well of course they do. The Innis and Gun IPA was fine, but who cares, I would have necked NBSS 1.0 in this place and still left with a smile.
The 02 Glasgow was pretty unremarkable as regards beer, and the Laurieston was shut by the time we emerged. We were waiting to see what some friends were up to so didn’t want to wander far, so we went back across the river and ended up in the bar of the Eurohostel drinking Big Wave while we waited for further instructions. We didn’t know it was the Eurohostel when we went in, it just had the look of a city centre bar with big windows and a pool table, but as soon as we sat down between the Dublin Dance Academy and a Belgian biker gang we sussed it. Nothing wrong with the place, it was quite cheap and purely transitional. The text came through “Meet at the Laurieston”. “It’s closed” we responded. “Yes it is, meet at Howlin’ Wolf”.
Howlin’ Wolf was a 15 minute walk which seemed longer but Glasgow being roughly on a grid system it was not hard to find. It’s describes itself as a ‘juke joint’ but this being Saturday night there was a DJ and the stage area which usually houses the live band was set out with seats. You can get a decent pint of keg in here, I had something vaguely mango like but don’t remember what it was, it was not befitting the vibe to get my phone out and check it in, so I left it to the Gods. Nice though. I’m told the food here is very nice but didn’t partake, the Howlin’ Wolf’s chief attribute seemed to be that it was open late but I’m sure it has other charms.
An unexpected highlight was The Smokin’ Fox, which looks tiny on the outside but is not, it has an extra floor at the back which seemed to be chiefly for diners and people watching the Wimbledon men’s singes final. I had a Mango’On Yerself by local Cold Town Beer, which was a treat, served very cold and giving that old Solero taste that you’re looking for in a mango beer, rather than the ‘Caribbean restaurant with 2 out of five stars from the health inspector’ which you sometimes end up with. The cocktails were also very pleasing but definitely not at their advertised discounted price as emblazoned on a million posters round the place. Lies! Lies everywhere! But it was a cozy place with a nice atmosphere and so I didn’t begrudge the extra pound. I can enthusiastically recommend the sweet potato fries, best I’ve ever had, if not slightly difficult to eat being served in a large metal cone, but hey, there is so little hipster nonsense in Glasgow it went by the by.
Another highly recommended venue was the Pot Still, and yes, I do understand why. It’s an old fashioned boozer / whisky bar with a ton of old shite lying around and a nice mix of people. Something I noticed about Glasgow was the tendency to see all walks of life in the same venue – old boys nursing a mild and reading the racing post next to two hipsters with a whisky flight instagramming for all they’re worth, plus tourists and other randomers, all happily coinciding. I don’t drink whisky but Lewis asked for ‘a nice one that’s cheap’, God bless him and was happy with what he got for £3 a single. I had a Pale Armadillo by Tempest Brewing, which was fine, it was fine. The men’s singles was close to its end and we chatted to another punter visiting from Palm Springs. “Ah, you’ll be used to the Glasgow weather then,” I quipped. “No, no, it’s not the same at all,” he replied, confused, but then he did catch on, just as I about to have to do the mortifying job of explaining my own sarcasm. I asked who he wanted to win. “The Spanish guy, because Djokovic is a shithead”. So true, and a sentiment which was reflected everywhere we watched the tennis that day.
A small aside to make an anti-recommendation. I fancied a cocktail after our excellent Khabsa at the local Yemeni place, Palm Tree Kitchen. We had been recommended the Kahari Palace near to the Laurieston by Retired Martin, but Lewis issued the brown person veto (his words) and said we should follow the scent of chicken and rice to the Palm Tree and what an excellent choice that was – always be the only white person in a restaurant if at all possible and you won’t go far wrong. Palm Tree Kitchen was alcohol free so we went in search of cocktails and found the Rhoderick Du, the Smokin’ Fox having closed at 8pm for some reason. ‘Cocktails! Here! So many cocktails! Come and try one of our cocktails!’ Said every single A board and poster outside this place. Once inside I took the cocktail menu from the table to the bar, to be told they don’t do cocktails, because they don’t have the ingredients. I could literally see the ingredients very attractively back lit behind the bar person in question, but yet another member of staff said ‘No, we don’t do cocktails, THEY keep saying we have to”, she then walked off without serving me anything so I ended up calling her back for a rum and coke. I don’t know who the mysterious THEY are, some sort of cocktail pushing cabal whose only agenda is making bar staff work for a living. So if you’re in Glasgow and you see a bar called the Rhoderick Dhu advertising cocktails, it’s just a conspiracy.
Heading back towards the hotel we stopped off at the Alpen Lodge. It amazes me how pubs like this can survive in a city centre, though I’m glad they can. I was propelled in by the 1960s frontage and found a pub with a capacity of about twenty five which was bedecked with birthday decorations for one of the regulars. As I ordered the Tennants I remarked that the tennis had finished. “Aye, the wee boy won!” said the barmaid, clearly gleeful that the aforementioned ‘shithead’ had been defeated. About ten minutes into our visit a guy came in and started his set playing electric guitar and singing. This was a very accomplished musician, playing solos behind his head and all sorts, wandering outside with his wireless guitar to try and tempt in the punters from the over subscribed Sloans over the road. “I don’t know what else I can do to get them in,” he said forlornly as he came back in and continued playing in the traditional manner. I wondered why on earth a pub which was already half full would pay what I imagine is a pretty penny to get another eight people through the door drinking Tennants at £4 a time. Odd, but we were entertained, and long live the Alpen Lodge and all its ilk.
The very next day we went to Moffat in Dumfries and Galloway which has its own post coming soon, but we returned to Glasgow to get our train, which was miraculously already delayed despite not having started its journey yet and revisited Hootenanny where I was served two very nice beers, a red ale and Heidi Weiss, both from West Brewing, and this time I did notice the twenty foot high mural of Billy Connolly. Until next time, cheers!
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