A day at the seaside

On what turned out to be hottest day of the year to date in the UK, I joined nine other beer enthusiasts, most of them local CAMRA members, on a trip to Folkestone. A day out at the seaside if you like, but also the opportunity to explore some of the pubs and bars in this once popular coastal resort. We travelled by direct train from Tonbridge, a journey of approximately one hour. The carriages were packed, the fine weather having tempted many people out of their homes and workplaces to enjoy, like us, a day at the seaside.

It was a long time since I last visited Folkestone even though it was a regular halt during childhood. I'm sure I've written before that both of my parents were fans of this genteel seaside town, and although that mantle has slipped somewhat over the past half century, Folkestone still boasts a number of attractions to draw people in.  Probably the biggest loss to the town’s prestige was the cessation of cross channel ferry services between Folkestone and the French fishing port of Boulogne, in 2001.

One factor, said to have played a role in the decision to terminate the service, was the withdrawal of Duty Free, whilst the other allegedly was the Swedish company Stena, paying over the odds when they bought Sealink British Ferries, from British Rail. The real reason was the small size of Folkestone harbour, compared with that at Dover, plus the opening in 1993, of the Channel Tunnel. So, whilst Folkestone no longer plays the role in cross-channel traffic that it once did, there are encouraging signs that the town is quietly reinventing itself.

It must be 40 years or so since I last made a proper visit to Folkestone, and that occasion almost certainly involved a day trip to Boulogne.  This charming French town is well worth a visit especially the old part of the town perched up on a hill.  But now the cross-channel traffic has disappeared, I imagine that, like Folkestone, Boulogne has had to undergo a similar renaissance. It’s not quite so easy to visit without a car, although I imagine there must be buses linking the town with its larger neighbour, Calais.

Still, we're talking about Folkestone here is the town, and my last fun memories of the town are of Saturday evening visits to the Leas Cliff Hall a large concert hall, built into the cliff-face and looking out to sea. Opened in1927, this spacious venue has a standing capacity of 1,500 people, and it was here that as a 17–18-year-old sixth form pupil that I saw bands like Uriah Heep, Caravan, Groundhogs, the Strawbs, Fleetwood Mac (before the Buckingham-Nicks partnership joined up), and quite a few other groups seen.

Attending a gig at the Leas Cliff Hall, with your mates, was always a good night out, and there was also the added bonus of a bar, just to the right of the stage. For someone who hadn’t turned 18 at the time, it was relatively easy to get served, so many an evening was spent in a slight, alcoholic haze! It was an easy journey to make by train, from Ashford to Folkestone Central, followed by a 15–20-minute walk across town to the Leas Cliff Hall itself.

Those memories came flooding back last Friday, as even after four that route through Cheriton Gardens towards the hall, seemed familiar. My companions and I were making for the first pub of the day which, as it turned out, proved to be the best – in my view at least. However, as we visited nine pubs/bars in total, that day I shall deal with all of them, in a separate article.

For now, I want to tell you a little more about Folkestone itself, and draw a comparison between today’s reality, and the seaside town I remember from a childhood spent growing up in East Kent. The town’s heyday began during late Victorian times and extended into the Edwardian era that followed. During this period, Folkestone was considered one of the most fashionable resort of the time, with the western part of the town being home to numerous townhouses, villas, large hotels and other impressive buildings, high up on the cliffs and overlooking the English Channel. These opulent dwellings were built to accommodate the wealthy and the well-to-do, who flocked to the town.

Unfortunately, this success was not destined to continue, and following two world wars, the increased demand for package overseas holiday, and changing fashions generally, Folkestone began a slow decline. Walking through this once fashionable part of town, it is still possible to imagine what Folkestone was like during its glory days, and it is easy to see why people were attracted here in the first place.

My companions and I passed through this area on our way to the second pub of the day, and before beginning our descent towards the parish church, were rewarded with views out over a flat and dead calm sea. Despite a haze, hovering just above the water, it was possible to make out the French coast, just over 20 miles away. The area around the church is known as the Bayle, with the attractive, Grade II listed building dedicated to St Mary & St Eanswythe. Parts of the church date from the 13^th Century, but it was largely rebuilt in the 19^th Century.

Connecting the Bayle with the Harbour area is the Old High Street, a steep and narrow cobbled street, which is now at the heart of "Folkestone's Creative Quarter". Together with nearby Rendezvous Street, this part of the town is now thriving, with independent businesses and restaurants surrounded by restored buildings, many painted in bright, vibrant colours. I can still remember taking this route down to the harbour, with my parents, stopping off to watch seaside rock being made in the window of a local sweet shop.

Unfortunately, other places I remember from childhood have vanished, including Bobby’s, Folkestone’s stylish department store on Sandgate Road, which opened 1931, before becoming a branch of Debenhams, 40 years later. My mother particularly liked this store, so although the building is still standing, the shop itself is sadly no more.

One welcome, and presumably quite recent development, is that the pedestrianisation of much of the town centre. The harbour area has also undergone extensive renovation, with the Harbour Arm (the large, curved, stone built breakwater that juts out into the sea, restored and developed as a recreational space and promenade with bars, restaurants, and entertainment at weekends and sometimes other evenings, as well. 

There wasn’t sufficient time to explore the latter area, much as I would have like to, but from the limited amount I saw, and the more detailed information I have read, this area alone makes a return visit to Folkestone not only desirable, but essential as well.

 

£6 Hot Dogs make the perfect lunch offering at Fuggles

Three months ago, I published a post that begged the question “Is a cheap and cheerful pub lunch too much to ask for? It was a straightforward question, and a genuine one at that, but it stemmed from a desire to find a pub selling simple, but solid pub fayre, such as a cheese roll, a slice of pork pie, or even a charcuterie/cheese selection. It was a genuine cry from the heart against the inexorable rise of the gourmet pub, with its tarted-up fancy sandwiches smothered in rocket leaves, or a handful of potato crisps. Such fancy offerings often lead to a doubling in price of a simple roll or sandwich.

The post attracted over 30 comments, a number that is a rare event for the blog, and whilst most commentators were in agreement, there was the odd dissenting voice expressing concern that here was someone who is not from the trade, preaching to those who are, and trying to tell them how to run their businesses. My response was that whilst I might not run a pub, although I did run an off-licence for five years, I have been drinking in them for the past fifty years, in numerous locations all over the country. However, given this background, it still isn’t easy to understand where exactly abominations such as the gourmet sandwich appeared from. My quest for something plain, simple and fairly priced continues, and the other week, like a maiden’s prayer, my pleas were answered.

Even better was the fact that salvation came much closer to home than I thought it would, although there is a catch. The catch is that the cut-price offer on the pub in question’s food selection, is only available one day per week. The pub I am referring to is Fuggles Beer Café, or should that be Cafes? As the company operates in both Tonbridge and Tunbridge Wells, and here is what the chain has to say about its food. “Join us for a bite to eat with one of our highly regarded grilled cheese sandwiches, delicious Hot Dogs or sample some of the tastiest British cheese & charcuterie with one of our sharing boards.”

So simple, tasty and easy to prepare, which is important seeing as neither of the Fuggles Café’s have a proper kitchen. What they do have, is a food preparation area behind the bar, and this is where toasties, hot dogs and charcuterie boards are put together, in full view of the customer. Hot dogs are the star attraction for me, especially as they contain a Bratwurst in a brioche bun (vegetarian Brats are available, for those so inclined). Then there is a range of different toppings or sauces to accompany. Prices range from £7.25 for a “naked” dog, up to £9.00 for something a little more fancy.

Moderately expensive, especially when compared to a £2.50 Midlands cheese cob, but all-day Thursday, Fuggles run a promotion on their hot dogs, retailing them at just £6.00 each, a price that applies to all the dogs, and also includes two extras on the “naked dog.” Game on, and Paul is now able to dine out on Bratwurst and beer, for just over a tenner! What’s more Thursday is a good day for me to call at my local Fuggles, for the following reasons.

“Thor’s day” is where my four-day weekend begins and is one I really look forward to. Furthermore, I have the house to myself that day, as Mrs PBT’s puts in a five-hour stint, looking after the accounts of a local scaffolding company. I drive her over in the morning and then pick her up at 2.30 – I was late today, so a black mark there! After getting few domestic chores out of the way, I like to take a walk down into Tonbridge, withdraw a bit of cash, have a look around the charity shops (I still like to pick up the odd, second-hand CD, or two), do a spot of shopping (my stuff) and then, if there’s time, call in somewhere for a quick pint.  Only the one, mind you, as I have to drive over to the farm-based office where Mrs PBT’s works, and chauffeur her home.

Thursday lunchtime in Fuggles, is quiet and relaxed, or it certainly feels that way between midday and half one. Later in the afternoon, the pub starts to fill up, although the atmosphere is maintained. I expect the time will come, when I will tire of hot dogs, but for the time being, they remain a tasty and reasonably priced lunchtime snack, and the perfect accompaniment to a glass of beer.

I’ve little doubt that serial troll, and juvenile, snide remark expert, Cooking Lager, will try to make some capital out of this short article, but this sad individual needs to grow up, and also be aware that all insulting comments, even if made in jest, will be remove as soon as they are spotted. So if you are reading this CL, don’t waste your time!

  

 

 

Nuremberg - a nostalgic look back at one of Germany's best beer-drinking cities

Nuremberg is the second largest city in Bavaria, but it is also the capital of Franconia; a region, which was once a separate state, until Napoleon came on the scene. Its inhabitants, like those of the rest of Franconia, see themselves as Franks rather than Bavarians and tend to disapprove of the macho image portrayed by their southern neighbours. Interestingly though, many Franconians (Franks) will support Bayern Munich when it comes to choosing a football team!

I have been to Nuremberg several times. Most of these visits were when I was passing through, as I have used the city’s airport as a convenient gateway to several destinations in Germany: most notably Bamberg, but also Forchheim and Regensburg. I have also visited Nuremberg’s famous Christmas Market, whilst on a coach tour. There is plenty to see in the city, including several museums (the transport and toy museums are particularly well worth seeing), art galleries and some fine old churches, but for me the most interesting, and also the most impressive, are Nuremberg’s fortifications.  These date back to medieval times and as well as the massive Imperial Castle (Kaiserburg) which over-looks the city, the old city walls are well worth a look.

I have walked along the north-west section, and there are two massive stone walls separated by a deep and wide ditch. I am not sure if this would have been filled with water during the medieval period, but the defences would have been sufficient to deter even the most determined of invaders. The inner section of wall is covered in places, to provide shelter for the defenders. A number of the old city gates remain, and these are fortified with various towers etc. Like most German cities, Nuremberg has a fully integrated public transport system, meaning that with a valid ticket it is possible to transfer easily between trains (both over-ground and underground), buses and trams. Day tickets are available, covering several different zones which radiate out from the city centre.

Up until the early 1945, Nuremberg had one of the best-preserved medieval townscapes in Europe, but unfortunately around 90% of the old city was destroyed, in a devastating raid carried out by the RAF in February of that year. With the end of the war, just two months away, you have to wonder at the mind-set of men like Arthur Harris. This surely was destruction, just for the sake of it; and if further proof was needed, “Bomber Harris” carried on his campaign of indiscriminate carpet bombing, almost to the end of hostilities. After the war, much of the old city was rebuilt in a modernised version of the original style, with the most important buildings re-built true to the originals but walking about it is still possible to spot the original medieval buildings which survived the raid.

My visit at the beginning of June 2015 though was the first time I had actually stayed in the city, and I have to report that I really liked what I saw. My family-run hotel was conveniently situated just a short walk away from the Hauptmarkt and just slightly further from the massive Imperial Castle which towers over the city. The latter, of course, was the venue for the Fränkisches Bierfest; which was the main reason for my visit to Nuremberg. The weather was fine throughout my stay, with plenty of sunshine and temperatures peaking at around 30˚ on the Saturday.

I have only drunk in a handful of Nuremberg’s pubs, and on my most recent trip, only one.  I had singled out a pub called Hutt’n as the ideal place for a meal plus a few drinks on my first evening in the city. Not only did the pub offer one of the best ranges of beer in town, but the menu also looked enticing. The first thing I discovered was Hutt’n has moved to larger premises, near to the castle. The second though was it was absolutely packed; both inside and out, so there was no chance of a table.

I returned to Hutt’n the following day, whilst waiting for Fränkischerbierfest to open. I called in for a quick Rauchbier fix. Even at this early hour I had to sit outside; no problem under a shady umbrella in 30˚ of heat. I went for a smoke beer from Fischer. Although perhaps not quite as smoky as that of Schlenkerla, the most famous and best known Rauchbier, the example from Fischer still packed in plenty of smokiness and certainly hit the spot so far as I was concerned. It was good sitting there under the shady umbrella watching the world go by and seeing people struggling up the hill in the 30˚ temperatures, but tempted as I was to stop for another, I had a potentially heavy afternoon’s supping ahead of me, so decided to call it a day.

I visited two other pubs on my first visit to Nuremberg, which took place in December 2007. The contrast in temperature could not have been more striking, as it was bitterly cold. I was in the city as part of a coach party on a brief visit to Nuremberg’s world-famous Christmas Market; the Christkindlmarkt.  It was too cold to spend time walking around the stalls, so I headed up the hill to the Schwarzer Bauer, which is the tap for the tiny Altstadthof Brauerei next door. It was nice and cosy inside the pub, and after enjoying a couple of mugs of the house-brewed beer, I was loath to step back out into the cold. However, I wanted to see Nuremberg’s magnificent Imperial Castle, and can report that this massive structure, is well worth visiting.

On the way back to the coach pick-up, I just had time for a quick glass at Gasthaus Schranke; a fine old, half-timbered pub, just down from the castle’s main gate and in the shadow of its imposing walls. The place was packed and in view of this, people were drinking outside, standing at tables which had been converted from old wooden barrels. I joined them, in-spite of the cold, and waited for the waiter to come and take my order.

Gasthaus Schranke now appears to be owned by Augustiner of Munich, but 10 years previously it sold, amongst other beers, Aecht Schlenkerla Rauchbier from Bamberg. Despite having enjoyed this magnificent “smoke beer”, earlier in the day, at the Schlenkerla Tavern, in Bamberg itself, I just had to have one last glass, before rushing back to board the coach. It seemed a fitting way to end this whistle-stop tour of Bavaria’s second largest city.

Putting people in the picture, and getting things back in context

Some of you might remember that for a period of approximately two years I hosted my own website called, Paul's Beer Travels. It was a self-hosted site, which meant that, unlike Google's Blogger, I had to pay an annual fee to a company (Bluehost, in my case), just to host the site. I also had to pay an initial fee to register the site's name, and then pay an annual renewal fee.

The platform I chose was WordPress.org,  a self-hosted website, where the originator has full control over the layout, appearance, and general theme of the site, as well as being responsible for the creative content. WordPress.org, was not the most intuitive of software, and it certainly couldn't be described as “user friendly,”  in fact it was hard work. It was also a duplication of effort, although to be fair, the majority of the articles were lengthier, and went into much more detail than those on the blog. 

Crunch time came two years ago when, faced with renewal fees of over £500, I decided to pull the plug on the website. And there, things might have ended, because once the hosting lapsed, so did the site itself, along with the entire content, so that's copy, photos and countless hours of racking my brain for ideas, and then bashing it all out on my computer keyboard. Fortunately, before everything disappeared into the ether, I painstakingly copied and saved the entire content of the website, onto my hard-drive. That's 34 articles in total and all fortunately, saved for posterity. 

So, from time to time I intend to reproduce some of those articles, here on the blog, and this particularly  applies at times, such as at present, when I find myself too tired and too tied up to come up with much in the way of original content. Keep an eye out then, for the first of these posts, which is a look back at Nuremberg, the second largest city in the state of Bavaria, and a place I wouldn't mind being back in at this particular moment of time. 

A family wedding at the High Rocks, Tunbridge Wells

Just under a year ago, son Matthew and I paid a brief visit to the High Rocks, a country pub, restaurant and wedding venue situated down a quiet country lane, about 15 minutes’ drive from the centre of Tunbridge Wells. The pub and restaurant complex is named after the adjacent High Rocks, an outcrop of sandstone rocks, spread over several acres of a tranquil woodland setting. Along with the nearby Harrison’s Rocks, these rocky crags form a world-renowned location for rock climbing.

The lad and I had stopped at the High Rocks, after finding the Huntsman at Eridge, our intended port of call, closed due to a power outage. It had been a decade or more since the last time I’d set foot in the High Rocks, and whilst a visit there was long overdue, there was another motive for us calling in at the pub. That reason was that Heidi, the youngest of Eileen’s two nieces would be marrying her fiancé Phil there, at the beginning of July 2024. So, last Friday, which was just under a year following on from our visit, the day of the wedding finally arrived.

I mentioned in a previous article that there was a family connection with the High Rocks, as attached to the main building, is a magnificent, oak-beamed barn, used to host larger functions at the High Rocks. The barn was assembled by Heidi’s late father, Brian, after starting life as an old farm building. It was acquired by the owner of the High Rocks, and then taken apart, and transported to its new site, for reassembly.  It was quite a project, and Brian was rightly very proud of it.

Brian sadly passed away four years ago, right at the beginning of the pandemic, although his death was not COVID related, so was not there to give his youngest daughter away. That honour should have passed to Heidi’s son but, as sometimes happens in families there was a bit of a family falling out. I won’t go into detail, especially as they aren’t relevant to this post, but the long and the short of this is, Matthew was asked to step in, and take the place of his second cousin.

Matthew was honoured to accept his cousin’s request and come the day Eileen and I were very proud of the way that performed, carrying out his duties flawlessly, and looking every bit the part in his hired suit. I had to drive him down to the bride and groom’s house at Uckfield, earlier that morning, so he could travel up to the High Rocks with Heidi, in the bridal car. There was a pay-off here, as it meant with Matthew’s car still at our place, he could then drive me over to the High Rocks the following morning. I could then collect my vehicle, which we would be leaving there overnight, having booked a taxi to pick us up after the wedding. All very complicated, but it worked!

Eileen and I arrived early at the High Rocks, as the usual and expected heavy traffic through Southborough and St Johns, failed to materialise. We weren’t the only early arrivals, and after parking the car in the large car park, just opposite the pub, met up with friends and other family members. There was time for a drink before the ceremony, or so I thought, as did several other people, but I was halfway through my pint of Tonbridge Rustic, when the Master of Ceremonies came along and asked us to file into the room where the wedding would be taking place. Fine, we thought, until the MC also informed us that no glasses were permitted inside the hall during the ceremony.

The wedding passed off well, and as mentioned earlier, Matthew gave his cousin away without a hitch, if you’ll excuse the pun. After the ceremony and the signing of the register were complete, we all trouped outside and across the road to the High Rocks themselves, where the wedding photos were to be taken. In the meantime, our absence from the hall would allow staff to get all the tables set out and laid, ready for the wedding breakfast. (Why is it described as a breakfast?) This occasion was the first time that I’d seen the actual High Rocks, close-up, and I have to say they  really are impressive. 

You can see what I mean from the photos, but as far as the wedding was concerned, these imposing, rocky outcrops formed the perfect backdrop for the various bridal and wedding party photographs. Photos over, we filed back across, and found our allocated places around the well-laid out, circular tables. Matthew was on the top table, but company wise Eileen and I definitely got the bum deal, as we were stuck with some of the most boring people imaginable, who spent most of the time discussing their various ailments. If this is what growing old really means, then put me down now!  

By way of compensation, we enjoyed an excellent roast beef dinner. I also got stuck into the wine, during the meal, but I was the only person drinking the red stuff. I didn’t finish the bottle, particularly as there were glasses of bubbly to toast the happy couple, during and after the inevitable speeches. I carried on with the wine, for a while, as the cask choices - Rustic from Tonbridge Brewery and Flintlock from Musket Brewery, didn’t really appeal to me. 

I’m becoming ultra fussy in my old age, but my consumption of wine caused Mrs PBT’s to raise her eyebrows. She claimed that the taxi driver wouldn’t let me in the cab, if I was drunk, but the only thing the prosecco and red wine did was to make me feel thirsty. I solved the conundrum by switching to Guinness Zero, as the evening wore on, and that provided sufficient taste without the risk of me getting sloshed.

There was the inevitable disco, playing the same old records for those who like to “dad dance”, but there was other entertainment in the form of a magician – who came round to each table, plus a fully laid out gambling area, where guests could play roulette and other gaming activities that mean absolutely nothing to me. Fortunately, the stakes used fake money only, and it was here that master Matthew showed his gambling prowess by accumulating a substantial pile of chips.

As the evening wore on, people began to gradually drift off, but as my good lady had mis-judged the finish time, and had booked the taxi for an 11.45 pick-up, the three of us were virtually the only people left by the time our driver arrived. I did suggest phoning the taxi company earlier, and request a change of pick-up time, but with no mobile signal at the High Rocks, and an automated booking that Eileen had made, earlier in the week, we stuck it out, by waiting in reception. I can imagine the fuss that would have ensued, if I had made an error on the booking, but it didn’t really matter, and it certainly didn’t spoil what had overall been an excellent, and very enjoyable, family occasion.