Scotch Eggs: The Jugged Hare and The Old Red Cow, City of London

From humble utilitarian bar snack to fully evolved gastro pub status symbol, the recent gentrification of the Scotch egg speaks volumes about our current gastronomic zeitgeist. A bit broke without being totally penniless, the discerning punter now contextualizes the relative expense of their eating and drinking habits. Now, he or she rightly thinks: if it costs more, it should do more. So generic, only vaguely psychoactive piddle of the Carlsberg school has been replaced by potent double IPAs from as far as New Zealand and smoky porters from as close to home as Haggerston. We have come to realise, it seems, that while more bespoke pleasures may cost more, they also tastes twice as good and, crucially, pack twice the punch. 

The same but also the reverse is true of our dining habits: no longer can be regarded as slaves to the sit down meal. Rather, a splash out supper can now comprise a few small plates over some pisco sours at a trendy new joint like Ceviche or, if you’re really ancient, a comparable experience at the relatively geriatric Spuntino. Likewise, for considerably less trendy types like me, it can amount a bit of old school munch at a nice boozer – not the full on sausage and mash treatment so much as that wondrous deep-fried combination of chicken period, sausage meat, and bread crumbs, the Scotch egg. Sure, with some of the better ones approaching £5, it might all seem a bit excessive for a bar snack, but when you consider that Mark Hix would call it a starter, charge close to a tenner for it, and have it served to you by an arrogant turd, you realise that you’re almost approaching the realm of good value.

Because for all our pretensions as foodies - for all our affectations as crusaders of the smoked artichoke - sometimes it still is more about lining the stomach than chasing down the next temple of gastronomic greatness. Until about a year or so ago, I scarcely knew Scotch eggs existed outside of the odd roadside M&S en route to the mysterious territory known as the North. Now, they’re the first thing that cross my mind every time I step into a pub that seems to have an above average air about it. More often than not, I’m disappointed and presented with something that’s about as attractive as a graceless description of its raw ingredients. Occasionally I find myself satisfied, and ever so rarely I’m left wowed. 

The Jugged Hare is one place that elicit the less common response. As you would expect from the ETM Group – also known for the Botanist in Sloane Square and the Prince Arthur in London Fields - the recently opened Hare is a textbook posh pub. The deferential bar staff dress in waist coats and are attractive in a generic kind of way, there are lots of stuffed dead things, and much of the building is given over to full-scale dining. You really wouldn’t fancy your chances of getting served if you wandered in wearing a tracksuit, but it’s not so intimidating that you wouldn’t pop in just for a beer and ales are a real strength. The well-kept selection is focused around London breweries and is served in frosty mugs, a brave move that will no doubt irk traditionalists but one I fully endorse. Inevitably, the pricing is enthusiastic: the handpulls aren't too jawdropping, but bottles, including an excellent house pale ale, are a bit precious for my wallet. Still, so long as you have an ample budget and don't get too worked up by the 'City types' that tend to dominate this part of town, it’s a good spot to get a good beer. 

And a very good bar snack. Crispy skate knobs sound tempting, while chips and gravy seems deliberately out of place on the menu of a City gastropub, but it's really all about the Scotch egg. While the choice of meat filling comes across as knowingly upmarket, there is no question that this venison version is superb. Made fresh – so expect a short wait - it arrives warm, crisp and delicately crunchy on the outside, with rich gamey flavours lurking inside, along with an egg that is crucially still a bit runny. It's big enough to justify it's £4.50 price tag and the accompanying Cumberland sauce is another gutsy decision I thoroughly approve of and a further nod to the more righteous elements of Northern gastronomy. In fact, I would actually venture that it’s a much better partner as hot mustard can be too dominant at times.

Brew Dog Bar Bad Ass Burgers, Camden

The lack of interest in the burgers at London’s Brew Dog bar surprises me, if only because their menu – which also features a small selection of pizzas – was designed by Tim Anderson. Tim was the slightly nutty, totally loveable American Japanophile and craft beer fiend who triumphed on last year’s edition of Masterchef. With sliders. You read that correctly: he won the most prestigious amateur cooking competition in the United Kingdom with mini-burgers.

They were hardly ordinary sliders, mind, with his tribute to Los Angeles including a German smoked beer to invoke the city’s smog on the palate. It was his ability to create this kind of bizarre gastronomic nostalgia and his madcap but genius deployment of unusual ingredients in even quirkier ways that helped him on his way to becoming the show’s youngest ever winner. So you would think that the prospect of burgers conceived and endorsed by the wacky Wisconsiner, accompanied by some of the finest brews in the land, would have London’s burgerholics flocking to Camden Town faster than the Great Red Donkey Andy Carroll would rewind to last season's January transfer window if he was able to.

Yet to date, only Burger Anarchy seems to have launched an investigation into the state of affairs in NW1. Are bloggers and beef patties falling out of love? Hardly. One needs only to witness the success of new arrivals like Brockley Market’s Motherflipper and Street Kitchen’s recent pop-up venture, Patty and Bun, to know that this is a gluttonous liaison with some serious shelf life. The blogospheric neglect is even more surprising because, in more ways than one, it’s a pretty decent burger. 

  

I’ve munched Brew Dog’s ‘Bad Ass’ burger on two occasions now. The first was following a lunchtime knees-up at the new Camden Brewery bar not long ago and was not the most instructive experience to judge by. Not only was I was I gradually becoming over-refreshed, but it’s kind of cruel to pronounce on food after yamming down two Big Apple Hot Dog’s in the sun. So a second bit of ‘research’ was clearly in order and while somewhat surprisingly I hadn’t missed anything too important, I was able to clarify a number of points. The three main ones were: it’s extraordinarily good value, the patty and its accompaniments – especially the sauce - are better than fine, and the bun is absolutely fucking awful. 

Real Ale and Rockin' Blues Festival, Sebright Arms, Bethnal Green

One of the hazards of formally announcing the arrival of Britain’s craft beer revolution is that it puts heaps of pressure on the business and small upstarts in particular. It’s a double-edged sword. Healthy competition and a desire to stand out by way of genuine innovation is obviously a good thing, but there’s also a danger of stagnation: either dozens of Brew Dog clones announcing themselves, or long spells with nothing worth shouting about because potential brewers don’t want to risk paling into comparison to the Scottish mavericks. At present, these are thankfully just minor unfounded fears to bear in mind for the future, as a recent tasting of three new London microbreweries revealed the next wave of the capital’s craft brews to match the quality of their predecessors.

The star of my Saturday afternoon spent drinking – ahem, researching - at last weekend’s Real Ale and Rockin’ Blues Festival at the Sebright Arms near Bethnal Green was undoubtedly the Weird Beard Brew Co’s Single Hop No.7 Summit IPA. Lightly hazy in colour due to the dry hopping process, its subtle nose belied a truly explosive palate: slightly sweet and delicately floral, it was packed with exotic fruit flavours. Perhaps it’s just my imagination, but I was getting serious hits of kiwi and guava from that bad boy. Comparisons are lazy but inevitable: its quality couldn’t help but remind me of some of Kernel’s single hop offerings, but don’t get me wrong, this was no mere knock off. It was as fresh, unique, and vibrant a bottled beer as I have had the pleasure to sup in a long time, and if this effort is anything to judge by, then Weird Beard Brew Co look a good bet to take a seat in Britain’s pantheon of elite craft brewers.

The London Drinker Beer and Cider Festival, nr King's Cross

Most people who have shared a drink with me will know that I have an ambivalent attitude towards CAMRA, something that inhabits a bizarre psychic territory somewhere between a classic love/hate relationship and a blatant case of biting the hand that feeds. Frequently deriding those who help enable you to obtain something you desire – a quality pint - is contradictory at best and a bit mean, not to mention arrogant, at worst.  Perhaps it’s the fact that the real ale ultras are so opposed to keg beer, or maybe it’s just that my frequently sozzled mind needs on-going sources of light-hearted amusement. Much like Hackney’s hipster contingent (if they’re so offensive, why exactly did I move to East London again?), the CAMRA crew are a good bunch to poke fun at, especially when you moonlight as a bartender at a reputable pub specialising in cask beer. 

But whatever easy jokes and bold statements I make at their expense need always be mitigated by two admissions. Firstly, that they a thing or two about good beer, a beverage I am quite partial to. I have never been served a dud pint at a CAMRA endorsed or frequented establishment and I don’t believe I will anytime soon. And B, that it is entirely likely my beer belly will have one of their membership cards or t-shirts glued to in the next twenty years. A third indisputable statement is that they put on bloody good drinking events. 

The Great British Beer Festival is one of the highlights of any beer enthusiasts’ calendar, whatever stance they take on the Great Carbonation Debate. The selection of rare American bottles alone is enough to keep me going back year in, year out. Now, I don’t know whether the London Drinker Beer & Cider Festival is a long-standing occurrence or a new invention and frankly I don’t care. But what must be said is that it’s as comprehensive a selection of top-quality ales as the capital is likely to see until SW5 in August and a must visit for all crusaders of the pint.

Granted, when CAMRA members congregate in such large numbers, the atmosphere often makes me wish I was locked inside an abattoir with a mentally unstable, pissed up pig farmer. And the venue itself, like the Earl’s Court Exhibition Centre, isn’t exactly character personified. In fact, if Earl’s Court resembles an abandoned sweatshop, then the Camden Centre is somewhere between a dilapidated masonic lodge and a slightly grand AA venue. But the epic selection of beer enables me to happily relax in this otherwise unremarkable environment.

Camden Town Brewery Bar

Along with the venerable Brew Dog, Camden Town Brewery is one of the leading ambassadors for Britain’s burgeoning craft beer scene, their wares now commonly stocked in good London boozers. Fortunately for the capital’s microbrew fanboys, a full range of their beers will soon be available straight from the vat when they launch an on-site bar later this month. Saturday they opened their doors to offer a taster of what is to come, and while it was evident that a few finishing touches were needed here and there, the space and concept itself seemed well thought out. For one, they had gone through the trouble of recruiting the inimitable Big Apple Hot Dogs to sling stomach liners on the day, something that you cannot help but hope becomes a regular feature.

The outdoor space under the arches near Kentish Town West is hardly scenic, but it’s got bags of potential on a pleasant day, which Saturday was. There’s something reassuringly simple about supping a fresh brew seated on top of a keg near DIY wheelbarrow fires, the basic set up inviting you to focus on your drink rather than what pretentious song choice the Skins wannabe behind the bar is contemplating. Of course, the centrepiece of the day was the beers and, more specifically, their new limited release USA Hells. We managed to get through nearly everything on offer, from their supercharged Ink stout to their beautifully cloudy and floral Gentleman’s Wit by way of the perfectly refreshing American-style pale ale. Yet it was the USA Hells that I kept coming back to. Unfiltered and unpasteurized, it bore about as much relation to commercial lagers as Russia does to a democratic nation.

The lack of meddling, along with the juicy American hops, meant it almost resembles a kind of strange pale ale, wheat beer hybrid – tropical fruit flavours, especially grapefruit, were dominant and complimented amply by the subtly spicy hops, with a hint of bitterness on the finish reminding you that, yes, keg beer can be real beer. There’s little question that Camden Town favours more approachable styles of beer and this isn’t at all a bad thing. Not least, it encourages a more egalitarian drinking experience: more women tipped up to enjoy a bevvy in the early afternoon than probably pass through the Earl’s Court Exhibition Centre during the entire four days of the (totally awesome) Great British Beer Festival.  

That’s not to say that cask ale is or should be the sole preserve of obese middle age men - just that more where traditional methods and styles dominate, said demographic tend to congregate in especially large numbers, flocking to the dark mild end of the bar like paedophiles to playgrounds. Nor is the fairer sex inherently put off by the cask. Indeed, there's some great, forward-thinking real ale coming out of Britain at the moment, with Dark Star consistently good and Redemption a new favourite. But there's also a lot of lazy choices being made by brewers, publicans, and punters alike. So the growing diversity of the craft brewing scene can only be a positive omen as more and more drinkers - male and female - will be lured away from the tight grip of Carling. People can get hung up about technical distinctions between different kinds of beer and methods of brewing, but it really is as simple as good beer is real and real beer is good - presence or lack of carbonation is largely irrelevant.

Similarly, the range and inventiveness of somewhere like Brew Dog is pretty mind boggling, especially when you consume more than a couple of them. But sometimes you just want a tasty, easy-drinking beer – a lager even - that isn’t going to leave you knocking over chairs at your local and thinking that the rather special bottle of Icelandic porter you bought is a great match for a chicken doner. Camden Town Brewery fills this niche in style, their combination of classic German and more modern American influences proving an inspired synergy. Their new bar looks set to be a stellar addition to London’s reinvention as something of a discerning beer drinkers’ paradise.