In our rush to welcome the arrival of the gastropub, are we in danger of losing our unique, traditional pub culture? Joseph Micklewhite thinks so
Is it me, or is virtually every other pub in this sceptred isle turning into a gastropub? Are our ancient and respected hostelries slowly but surely morphing into a homogenous whole of zinc-covered bars, stripped wood furniture and wooden floors, not to mention limp rocket, badly grilled tuna and painfully trendy bar staff who couldn't pull a pint for toffee?
It strikes me that, if this is the case, then we may well be losing our traditional pub culture, which I find worrying. It concerns me that I can't think for the life of me where all those poor, lonely gentlemen will go to, once their traditional boozer has been turned into a spanking new gastropub. Presumably they just move on to the next nearest local, and hope there's a couple of years before the young developer that spoiled their last drinking hole turns his beady eye on their new haunt.
I also find it worrying that when I try really hard to think of what constitutes a traditional
British pub, the answer is elusive. There is, of course, the Americanised version of what a good old British pub should look like. Roaring fireplace, rummy old landlord, and busty barmaid. But is this a true picture?
For me, the British pub is defined not by its decor, and certainly not by the quality of its meat pie or barmaid, but by its position at the heart of a community. And this goes for a pub in Brixton as much as it does for one in an idyllic rural setting. It used to be a place you could go and fraternise with a diverse mix of characters, each of whom were all, essentially, there for the same reason: to have a decent pint of beer or two and a chitchat.
Perhaps that's part of the problem. As a nation, we are drinking less beer and more wine than we used to, so one of the core reasons for visiting the pub is slowly being taken away. Since 1992, we've shaved almost six litres off our annual consumption of beer per capita, but added seven litres to our wine intake - and the trend doesn't look like changing. Of the 60,000 pubs we have, more close each year than open. So it's perfectly possible that the wave of gastropubs that has swept across the UK over recent years is actually a way of stemming the tide. I'm not sure it is, but it is always a possibility.
There are, of course, some great gastropubs. The Eagle on London's Farringdon Road, for example, is thought to be the original gastropub and it's still going strong, almost a decade and a half after it first opened its doors to introduce us to the concept of decent food, served well, in an establishment that poured pints.
And there are others. The Crooked Billet in Oxfordshire, the Cow in west London, Bread and Roses in Clapham, the Gunmakers in London's Clerkenwell... All have breathed new life into old pubs and turned them back into a thriving hubbub of activity and delight. And let's face it, no one in their right mind is going to complain about an Eagle or a Cow cropping up in their neighbourhood.
The problem I have is that often it's not an Eagle or a Cow that is created - it's usually a watered-down version of a chain bar, and that's not good. I wonder sometimes whether the people behind these creations have actually scrutinised what 'gastropub' means. 'Gastro' is clearly a shortening of 'gastronomy', which the dictionary tells us is "the practice or art of choosing, cooking and eating good food". I'm not sure that definition could be applied to even half of the gastropubs I've been in lately.
The 'pub' part of the term appears straightforward, clearing referring to a place that sells beer, decent beer, preferably. Yet in most gastropubs these days you'll be lucky to find
anything more inventive than Foster's, Stella and a couple of big-brand bitters - all of which stand a good chance of being served badly. In short, a good concept has been taken, watered down and then fed to the masses in a less than impressive manner and the results do little credit to originators such as the Eagle.
So why aren't more people making a decent job of reinventing the great British pub? "Well, because it's really hard work," says James McDowell, one quarter of Kushti, the management team behind the Gunmakers, and the wildly popular Highgate Bar. "This is why it's easier to copy the gastropub concept without any real passion or originality. And don't forget, a lot of pubs are owned by big breweries with shareholders and are more interested in the value of customers to them, than in giving value back to their customers."
And that sadly sums it up. Pubs are meant to be about the people in them as much as their surroundings. They are meant to contribute to the community: if its owners ignore this principle, what chance does a pub stand? No amount of polished wood and fancy food will make up for that. I worry - seriously worry - that if we don't do something to halt the pub decline then we're in real danger of losing what was once a great British institution, and I don't believe the gastropub is necessarily the solution.
"There is nothing which has yet been contrived by man, by which so much happiness is produced as by a good tavern or inn," said a very wise Samuel Johnson. It would be nice to think that again about British pub culture one day.
Do you agree with Joseph? Send your comments to food@jbcp.co.uk.