BEER OF THE WEEK: CELEBRATOR DOPPELBOCK

by Chris Hammond

Hailing from Germany, Celebrator's reputation as a classic of its style proceeded it. Thick and treacly with a perfect sweet malt smell, I was expecting it to hit quite hard, especially with it's hefty 6.7% volume. But it trickled down my booze raddled throat with total ease. Smooth, moreish, potent, and overbearingly original this Deutsch delight justly deserves its position on the beer podium

Seek it out, sample it and surprise yourself that such a rich beer style can be so easily supped.

PUB REVIEW: THE ROYAL DUNKELD

DUNKELD



by Chris Hammond

Local legend has it that not far from Dunkeld a hermit lived in a cave inhabited by a ferocious demon. These days it would appear that regional misfits prefer the Royal Dunkeld – a pub bereft of spirits of all forms other than alcoholic.

That said there is an eerie feel to this otherwise homely bar, mostly due to the creepy wooden carved faces peering across from the wall. These odd wooden voyeurs complete with pipes and hats gaze manically from their vantage point at the back of the room, putting the drinker more in mind of a Bavarian backwater than a British bourgeois boozer.

That said the curious décor can’t detract from what is in most respects a top end watering hole. The traditional, well portioned food, decent real ale selection and superb courtyard beer garden all help make this place a good bet for prolonged quaffing. The fact it also doubles up as a hotel means the staff’s service is impeccable and the steady stream of travellers makes for an interesting multinational mix and a good atmosphere. With this in mind the Royal Dunkeld comes recommended, just remember that when full it’s fine but can be eerie when empty.

PUB REVIEW: THE PERTH ARMS

DUNKELD



by Chris Hammond

Whilst the weekend appeal of Dunkeld is awesomely obvious, watching the regulars recall decade old stories of small time banality loses its charm fairly swiftly.

When describing a rural bar so steeped in local tradition, it would be truculent to suggest its inhabitants resembled real life copies of Wicker Man extras. But that doesn’t mean they didn’t. From the gibbering tweed bonneted geriatrics to the hundred yard stares of the vacant youths, the Perth Arms clientele were hardly high class.

Slap bang in the middle of Dunkeld’s fine old centre, The Perth Arms is a basic bar for basic people. Outdated jukebox and pool table aside, the only other entertainment came in the form of a big screen. And yet despite the dull permanent Sunday night atmosphere, gleefully stereotypical tartan curtains and seemingly deliberately uninspiring drinks choice – this place does have some sort of bizarre backwards charm.

Whether this comes from the roaming leash free dogs, or a live feed of a wild osprey nest beaming across from the TV I couldn’t say, but the flawed quaintness of this dour drinking den makes it more than acceptable for a pint, albeit a very quick one.

NAE MINCE IN MORAY

Totally unrelated to anything pub wise but worthy of viewing none the less, The Scottish Pub Guide staff can't get enough of this weird wee tune from further north.

PUB REVIEW: THE MOORINGS

ABERDEEN


by Chris Hammond





Having once had the pleasure of living on the elegantly grim Marischal Street, I was once a mid-week regular at The Moorings. Here you could sit, scoof and survey the sights of Scotland’s most surreal harbour haunt.

Resembling a cross between a typical American dive bar and a secret pirate hideaway, the Moorings is a drunkards dream. Floor to ceiling are crammed with esoteric artefacts and nautical novelties, bar staff are unnervingly unhinged and the locals constitute a mix of students, seamen, goths, rockers and drifters. It’s a melting pot of boozed up mongrels, intent on a guaranteed hard rock, Jaegermeister fuelled oblivion. Live (predominately shit) music, dozens of exotic beers, tonnes of almost toxic shots and an overbearing atmosphere of excess, combine to provide bandana clad buccaneer and suited up scoundrel alike a momentously enjoyable experience.

In here I’ve been whipped, propositioned by a pregnant punk, survived some titanic urinal splashback and chatted to a tramp about constipation – all in the same evening. The Moorings is a one off and comes highly recommended.

FEATURE: BOOZY SHORT STORY

by Chris Hammond

Here's a little something I wrote for Hyper Short Stories - a blog which asks writers to submit 50 word tales on a certain prompt. I thought the concept was great and it's the first thing remotely creative I've done in months.

Yesterday I Spent My Last Dollar

"Eyes flick open. Stale beer on the tongue. Face stuck to the wooden floorboards, coat and shoes still on. The rain lashes against the kitchen window and the oak outside sways in the gale. Nature wouldn’t feel so active had it spent its last dollar on a pint of ale."

Click the link to check out the blog - Hyper-Short Stories

HALL OF SHAME: THE GRANARY

By Chris Hammond

ELGIN

Up north in Elgin for the week, it would have been rude not to indulge in a cheeky wee pint or two over the duration of my stay. And indulge I did. The Cooperage, Thunderton, Dicey Reilly’s, Muckle Cross and Rising Sun all had the pleasure of my company over the period. And whilst those who are familiar with many of these pubs won’t exactly be deliriously ripe with anticipation at the thought of them – I quite enjoyed their limited wares and general lack of aesthetic charm.

Later towards the end of my stay, it was mooted that a swift pint in the Granary might be a good idea. Essentially a godsend on its inception (when it was known as the Foundry) but lacking in thrills thereafter, things seem not to have changed much over the years. Inside it’s still the sort of high end youth club for adults you tend to find in small towns. You know the sort – pool tables, hot food, big screens, late night disco, themed nights, tea and coffee for the old buggers booze for the young ones.

So far so bland. But it isn’t the mundane lack of definition which makes this such a disappointing drinking den, it’s the utterly horrendous quality of the draught beer.

Amstel, Heineken and Peroni on tap might not force a seasoned city drinker into popping to the loo for a sly chug, but in Elgin these three beers are priceless and tasty commodities. I had been warned by my companion not to be drawn to these non-Tenants draught options and to stick with a bottled beer. I should have listened, because the pints were . . .

Awful.

Abysmal.

Rancid.

Watery.

Disgusting.

Offensive and

Literally the worst I have ever had anywhere on draught out with a Student Union. I'll be interested to see whether things have improved next time in in these parts.