The Hampstead Heritage Pub Crawl: Spaniards Inn

The Spaniards Inn

I left the Old Bull & Bush and headed back into the Heath, continuing along the same path.  Just as I was getting into a good rhythm­—again, surprisingly quickly­—I found myself on Spaniard’s Road, behind the famous Spaniards Inn.

I was looking forward to this one.  Pubs don’t get much more historic than the Spaniards.  Originally built in 1585, the inn hosted Keats, Shelley and Byron in the heyday of the romantic poets; it is mentioned in both Stoker’s Dracula and Dickens’s The Pickwick Papers; and it is one of the most notorious haunted pubs in Britain, reputedly harbouring the ghost of infamous highwayman Dick Turpin (1705-1739).

The Spaniards is also famously dog friendly—they offer organic doggy treats and baths to dogs who bring their muddy masters in from the Heath.  I imagined many a walk with Jazz that included a refuelling stop at the Spaniards.

I still do. But never again on a Sunday.

Traffic hazard!

The first problem I encountered is that getting into the pub is a hazard to life and limb.  Spaniard’s Road is very busy on a Sunday afternoon, but the road narrows at the inn so that only one car can go through at a time.  There is no traffic control, and no pedestrian walk way.  So you just kind of have to sneak up the side of the building, and duck around the corner hoping no one is trying to drive through from the other side at the same time.

Then there’s the atrocious car park, which along with the building’s whitewashed exterior gives the impression of a second-rate roadside attraction somewhere in New Mexico.  That’s not entirely inaccurate, because the pub is very much a tourist attraction in its own right.  And for purposes of my pub crawl, that’s a problem.

A lovely beer garden . . .

The pub is fronted with a huge, multilevel  beer garden with ample tables, leading down to the dog bath.  Most of the tables were empty on this cool November afternoon, and after the disaster at the Bull & Bush, I was looking forward to zipping up my jacket and having a nice pint under the sunny skies.

But then I went inside.  The place was mobbed.  Patrons were aligned in ranks at the bar, three or four deep.  That’s okay, I thought, I have nowhere to be and no one is waiting for me.  I could wait. So I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And while I was waiting, I noticed that they were pouring only three or four cask beers, and two had the handle tags turned around – the signal that the casks were empty.  The third was the ubiquitous London Pride.

. . . and a nice interior -- if you avoid the crowds!

Whew! The fourth cask ale was called Tribute, a bitter from St. Austell’s Brewery in Cornwall, which I had never tried before.  Okay! A new beer to try to justify the wait.  So I waited a little more.

And waited.

And waited.

And then just as I got to the bar, the woman in front of me decided she wanted to order mixed drinks.  For a half dozen people.  And she wasn’t sure what she wanted. And she kept changing her order. And then she decided to order food. For a half dozen people. And she wasn’t sure what she wanted. And she kept changing her order.

And the moron behind the bar did nothing to speed things up or hurry her along, or to serve the dozens of other customers trapped behind her.

So I left.  To hell with these people.  I’ll spend my money elsewhere.

Strike 2!

Up next: The Flask

Update: The upside of London's inability to cope with even a moderate amount of snow is that I'm working from home this week (the week before Christmas).  Yesterday, Heidi and I took Jack for a snow trek across the Heath to the Spaniards, trusting it wouldn't be too crowded on a Monday lunchtime. We were right, although a fair number of tourists and even a few locals also had braved the snow.  We really liked the ramshackle, rambling charm of the place, with an open fire in the main room, dark cushioned pews and worn wooden tables. The hot mulled wine was fruity and refreshing, and the pint of Timothy Taylor Landlord was perfect. It's easy to see why this place attracts the crowds.

One caveat: We did not eat, so I can't comment on the food, but the weekday lunch menu looked suspiciously elaborate to me -- I can't imagine them prepping and cooking so many different and diverse dishes well or with fresh ingredients, particularly on a slow service day.