Monday 17 August 2015

Pub 59, Day 24 – Porter Brook


This blog introduces the first of our guest writers. In this instance, the author in question is our long-suffering friend Lucy, who was lucky enough to be selected (from a crowd of eager applicants) to join us for a few beers...

By Lucy

Fast approaching its 60th pub-iversary, the founders of Pubquest had something of a celebration approaching. So, what better way to celebrate than to head to the very heart of sophistication that is Ecclesall Road? Situated in the second wealthiest area in the UK, it boasts an array of upmarket boutiques, restaurants, bars, and South Yorkshire’s only Waitrose. Except we weren't interested in any of that, we were there for the other treat Eccy Road has to offer – pubs, obviously.

Despite Rob and Andy's pledge to address the fact that Pubquest visits a disproportionate number of “nice” pubs, we found ourselves gravitating towards one of the more affluent areas of Sheffield (we’re not snobs, honest). Incidentally, it also happened to be the day of my graduation! Yes, the eagle-eyed readers among you will have spotted that neither Andy nor Rob have bothered to blog tonight. Instead, they've decided to introduce the concept of guest-bloggers as a “celebratory” affair. I've known them both for over a decade now, so it comes as no surprise that they're outsourcing their work – they're far too lazy to write every review themselves. 

 
Our celebration began where Ecclesall Road meets Hunter's Bar roundabout, in a cosy pub with a rather elegant facade (i.e: it had bay windows). Except it didn’t begin there for me, because unlike Andy and Rob I do not possess an encyclopaedic knowledge of Sheffield pubs, and they had failed to specify whereabouts on Ecclesall Road the Porter Brook was. Given that we're talking about a stretch of road approximately three and a half miles long, this was rather an important detail. So, whilst Andy and Rob were tucking into their first pints, I was wandering around the wrong end of the road, furiously channelling my frustration into a group text.

Where are you?!?!”

Two minutes later – which, by the way, feels like a lifetime when you’re hanging aimlessly around, trying to look like you have a purpose – there was a distinct lack of reply from either of them. Faced with no other option, I resorted to what every millennial dreads: I called them.

Neither of them answered – it’s an unwritten rule. However, as soon as I hung my phone up after the 274th ring, a text message immediately came through from Rob.

Where are you?”

I’m where you told me to be. By the Eccy Road roundabout.”

Which roundabout?”

The Waitrose one.”

Oh that’s the wrong one. We’re at Hunter's Bar.”

By the time I had traipsed a mile or so up the road, Andy and Rob were significantly ahead of me, drink-wise. Nevertheless, I ordered my pint and hauled up a chair. I was pleasantly surprised by the pub; I had expected a more middle-class affair. Despite its dignified exterior, the Porter Brook emitted a very homely, personal atmosphere. It boasted Sky Sports, a decent range of locally brewed ales, and plenty of comfortable red leather chairs for which I was particularly grateful. You can even sit outside and admire the riverside view if your visit coincides with warm weather (the river is also named the Porter Brook, as I’m sure you've figured out). Sadly, there was no sign of a pool table, therefore Andy couldn’t further secure his already substantial lead in their Pubquest sub-quest.

The pint, a home brew called Porter Brook Ale (which we were apparently obliged to drink due to some obscure rule the guys invented), went down a treat: served at just the right temperature and quenching the kind of thirst that only a passive-aggressive stomp up a posh road can muster. Being the height of British summer, the floral, slightly citrusy notes of the ale reminded its drinkers of the sun they never get to see; rounding off to a lip-puckering bitter finish which is precisely the feeling we get when we realise how pathetic our summers actually are.

It should also be said that the Porter Brook does some delightful-sounding nosh too. Sadly, I had indulged in a carvery and half a bottle of “Champsecco” earlier in the day, so there was absolutely no chance I was going to sample their traditional pub grub at least not without making myself violently ill.

So, despite its disappointing lack of pool/snooker facilities in which Rob could further embarrass himself, the pub demonstrated the perfect home away from home: light, spacious, yet somehow managing to exude an intimate, welcome-home feel from the moment you walk through the door. A very good find.

Pub: Porter Brook (565 Ecclesall Rd, Sheffield S11 8PR)
Rating: 7/10
Brewery: Porter Brook (Homebrew)

NEXT UP: Accidental flirting, at The Porter Cottage...

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