Wednesday, 1 August 2012
Visited on 29 May 2012
Here's the photo ...
... and here's the map
After a walk along Gresty Green Road and a number of footpaths – not recommended after dark – I arrive at The Raven (you’d more usually get there via Davenport Avenue or Brookhouse Drive). A recent build pub with a very empty car park. Not that I’m about to advocate driving and then having a few scoops, but it just looks, well, a bit bare.
A nearby new build housing development lies behind gates and a substantial wall. Some of the less new housing has seen better days. But it’s the pub that counts. The lease is for sale. But it’s open, so let’s have a look.
There are two rooms and not very many punters. But there are two handpumps on the bar. So is there any cask beer? Here’s the answer.
NO CASK BEER
Well, no there isn’t, “at the moment”. What is this, the Lawro fan club? One look at the pumps tells me they haven’t seen service for weeks, if not months. Be honest with your punters, for goodness’ sake. Oh wait, he is being: “Actually we’ve no bitter at all”. Whoopee. The Pub With No Bitter.
I’ll have a Guinness, then. That should be OK. In fact, at 50p more than I paid at the Cumberland Arms, it should be bloody marvellous. So I let it settle and check out the surroundings. The contrast with the Cheshire Cheese, from where I just walked, could not be greater. The floor may have been swept recently, but cleaned? Let’s not go there. There is very little in the way of bottled beer choices, either.
And there’s no sign that it does food, but at least every nearby takeaway has a flyer available. So not much of an offer for the passing punter. I take a few sips of the Guinness. Then a few more. Then I pause. Something is not quite right.
And that something is that this is one rank bad pint of beer. There is a nasty metallic taste, and an even nastier aftertaste. Whether it’s spent ages in the pipe, or they haven’t cleaned the lines recently, or a combination of both, I ultimately don’t care. It’s vile, it’s virtually undrinkable, and it’s an insult.
Why anyone should part with their discretionary cash for this offering is beyond me. The only reason I carry on drinking is that, well, it’s the path of least resistance. At least there were no unpleasant later side effects.
“Are you not having another?” asks the bloke behind the bar as I finish up and depart. Dead sodding right I’m not. If that’s the best that this place can do, it deserves to close, and soon, if only to put it out of its misery. An absolutely appalling pub. Really, really bad.